The Doll Maker's Curse [Completed]

TDMC: Chapter 1

1834:

Such as most girls of her a tender age, the young girl's frail hands held tightly to her mother’s bustle skirt as they weaved between the shoppers of crowded outdoor market. Around her, the yelling and mass movement over-whelming her senses, used to the hushed silence of her townhouse along the periphery of London. When out, it was normal for her to trail behind her Mother and to take a peek into stalls as they passed. She was fond of the imported, outlandish objects that sat in stalls between the food and glittered under the mild sunlight. Usually, gripping her mother's skirt tightly filled her with relief.

That day, however, she felt anything but safe.

She thought maybe it was her dream; no, the nightmare that had shaken her. The preceding midnight, the girl had woken swimming in her bed, screaming, and drowning in her sheets. The fear was unlike anything that she had experienced; it left her shaken to the core. She didn't even remember the dream, only that she’d woken feeling feeling eyes upon her back; a feeling that had not left her all day.

"Hurry up, dear; make haste, make haste." her Mother took her warm hand and squeezed it tightly for a short moment, before focusing on maneuvering through the mass. 

Her Mother quickened her paces as the crowd grew more and more aggressive around them. Any push the Mother gave to get past was matched by the irritated market-goers; but to her daughter, who was beginning to get violently bashed around between the angry shoppers.She ricocheted off their bodies, and into even more. A trail of angry mutters followed in her wake.

Her pink dress continued to get stepped on behind her.

"Mama, where are we going?" the girl looked around at all the frightening people looking down on her. Her blue eyes grew wider.

"Where nearly there dear; just be patient."

She mumbled out a ‘Yes Mama’, gnawing on her lip nervously.

The stench of dead meat permeated the air – the bodies lessened some as the crowd thinned. The Mother and daughter reached the far end of the market where the permanent shops were. These shops were for those of upper class, prestigious birth; the ones that had homes and beds.

Her Mother stopped in front of a toy shop; no, a doll shop, to be specific. The girl stared at the many shelves lined with the tiny porcelain beauties, smiling blankly into the pathway but dressed like they could be no more happier in the world. The dolls were so pretty the girl could not contain herself.

"Mama! Are you going to buy me a dolly?" she looked up with excitement, pointing frantically to the beautifully painted shop, trying to pry her hands from her Mother's and press her face against the glass.

"Not for you," she said sternly. "It’s for your cousin, Delilah."

"No!"she cried, throwing her arms down. "That isn't fair, she’s a meanie!"

Her mother scowled and swatted her outstretched hand. "Do not speak such foul words...inside now." She pushed the girl through the door.

A sweet bell chimed at their arrival, and the little girls crystalline eyes followed to find the sound. Her mouth was the shape of a perfect circle. The Doll-Maker – a short, rounded man with dimples in his smile – grinned at them from behind the counter. Opening a small latch at his side, he trotted over to greet them.

"How may I help you?" his eyes were on the girl. Pretty, he thought. Someone cleared their throat.

He straightened up, his gaze drifting reluctantly; as much as he didn't want to stop staring, he knew he'd have his time. One day her pretty blue eyes would be painted onto the most beautiful doll... the thought made the temptation lesser.

"We would like to purchase a small doll, to give as a gift." said her mother, her mouth wide with her best winning smile. She untied the ribbon of her luxuriously huge, floppy hat. She gently lifted it from her head, revealing a head of charming brown locks. Her daughter had inherited her hair, although the girls was wild without the ability to properly maintain it. 

The hat had shied her delicate, creamy skin from the light, but it was used for the purpose of awe instead of practicality. Pale; just like her daughter's. It looked as though they were both made of porcelain.

 "Step over here," said the Doll Maker in a polite tone, yet his voice boomed with an abundant ego and undeniable charisma.

The girls followed the smiling Doll-Maker to the back corner of the room, where the smaller dolls sat along intricate wooden shelves. Their perfect faces were partially concealed by the darkness. The young girl wondered why the man stared at the dolls so longingly; it was easy to tell he was infatuated with them. Stopping in the darkness, the man turned to face them.

"Would you like this one? It's dress is made of the finest silk, the shoes and..." he continued his rambling about the hardly impressive dolls; at least compared to the others. He mentioned every little detail, and it seemed the lady was not fussed by his excessive talking.

"How much is it?" the Mother asked, cutting the Doll-maker off.

"Umm..." he stated the price modestly.

The Mother stared at him horrified, mouth agape. "That much, for a Doll?! And it isn't even as pretty as the others!" he offered a sheepish smile, almost a grimace. So much for confident…

"Yes Ma'am. I have others if you want, at more reasonable prices... but they are mass-made; unindividual, unloved. These dolls are handmade with only the greatest care and passion poured int them. I promise you that these dolls I present to you are worth the money you will pay for them!"

The Mother pondered this for a moment, eyeing him with her ice cold eyes.

"I will pay."

The Doll-Maker smiled as he watched them leave, the money safely stored behind the counter. 

"I hope to see you again..." he stared into the young girl’s eyes, the same look as when he stared at his dolls, as she was pulled forward into the crowd.

She couldn't keep her eyes of him either...