the mechanics holding you down, punching and kicking until you break down into the angry dog She trained you to be. your snaps and snarls barely phase them.

if you get too rowdy, the tech that always helps you into the pilot seat wipes mind smoothing gel on your neck, and you fall complacent again,

soup in a cup; "what flavor could it be?" asked the doll, sitting in the cup.

She returns from her battle, scarred and worn. She finds her doll, and both brighten up like an intense supernova.

She inspects her doll for the first time in nearly a decade apart, only to find the same sorts of scars and wear she had gained herself.

A witch that leave her doll behind for a long battle; the doll lay in wait despite being equipped for the battle ahead.

7 years pass, the doll had been through its own combat and new witches, but not a single one treated it like that first Miss.

doll that has no issue falling from orbit

each time, landing on the earth with an elegant foot slide, despite all the energy of the fall; then apologizes to the earth for hitting it so hard

mech pilot that would prefer to work from home

retrofitted combat doll with demilitarized rocket pods that can only blow soap bubbles

one should worship false gods,,,

imagine simply praying to one's owner with a blood ritual and prayer beads and mantras <33

make the thought of Her be as if she holds one's soul in Her hands , ,

ok maybe it will use it for this handle :>