Backstitch

Chapter 1

Their song truly resonated with the atmosphere of the villa. Nolan watched the colors come to life. Colors that had never even been on the horizon of the Institute of Perfection. While he hadn't been in existence for nearly as long as most of the Pretty Dolls here, he felt a breath of fresh air in this new environment. Who knew that simply blurring the lines of the restrictions of perfection could bring such a sense of liberation? Everything felt lighter. Even the nights were brighter.

He stood at the platform's base, eyes boring holes into the vast, luminescent vortex that was the key to every doll's fulfillment. Strange. Nolan figured the twist in his gut would be more akin to excitement than trepidation. Watching the light radiate across the platform was like staring into the light foreshadowed to the afterlife. As if walking through would be his end. But dolls still came back. What of the dolls that didn't, though? While his short existence could be attributed to his ignorance, there were passing rumors of fewer dolls returning. The past few weeks had shown some decline in their numbers. The factory still sent in fleets of Model 12s, but what good were they other than temporary replacements for the dolls that had yet to return? More sacrifices were what they were becoming.

That wasn't the reason for his stock-still posture. Something didn't feel right, like a pressure on his chest preventing him from venturing further to the portal. He could have sworn his self-esteem had replenished itself, especially after his sweet revenge of putting Lou in the wash. However, he didn't feel prepared to leave. They called it the "Big World" for a reason. How big was it exactly? How giant were the kids they were made for? Sure, the Gauntlet was a mock trial, but to what justice did it do to the real thing?

Nolan was desperately beginning to wish that The Gauntlet was still an option. A few more trials in that, and perhaps he'd feel more confident to leave. Though, Moxy and her friends had destroyed it when Ox had opened the border between their two worlds. His nose wrinkled at the thought. The Institute of Perfection wasn't much more than Limbo now. A bridge between the new doll's existence and their settlement in UglyVille. All that space is essentially wasted for no other reason than the fact that the dolls found more comfort in this new world.

He bit his lip, conscious of the other dolls casting wayward glances at him. None of them spoke to him, though. Of course, he never dared to reach out to them first. Mandy may be the only doll who speaks to him—other than Lou, but that had been a fleeting moment before his demise.

Speaking of the devil, where was the blonde? Lou was put to work keeping UglyVille clean. A glorified janitor, really. Nolan had no problem redirecting his attention to the villa, glad to have a reason to avoid contemplating his departure. As he walked, the golden sign embracing his neck flapped unceremoniously against his chest. Moxie had been the one to suggest changing it. Of course, he began to think that her idea of changing it was more so getting rid of it altogether. Or changing the sign to say something more flattering than "ugly." Nolan interpreted her suggestion differently and decided that embracing the label Lou had given him was more fitting. A kind of slap-in-the-face to the ex-dictator that his words hadn't hurt the brunette as much as he'd thought.

Nolan convinced himself, momentarily, that that was the reason he was seeking Lou out in the first place. To see the look on his face when he took in the glamorous sign that put new rhetoric to the insult. Apparently, finding the blonde wasn't too difficult. It was about as easy as it had been before his downfall. Despite his hair being a stark contrast to how he used to have it, it was still a look that couldn't be hidden so easily. Even the vibrancy of UglyVille could hardly conform to his appearance. Lou was wrestling with a weed that decided to take refuge in the crack between the sidewalk and grass. Smudges of dirt were streaked across his face and the sleeves of the white undershirt he had on. He must have opted out of wearing his shrunken tux for today. His unruly hair was beginning to droop and sweep over his eyes, which made blowing them from his face a vain effort.