You agreed to be the witch’s doll, but she still hadn’t told you to pack your things or even when you’d be allowed into her house. “I’m preparing,” is all she’d ever say, when you asked. One day, she finally let slip she was preparing your new body.

“But I know plenty of dolls who are converted from humans, why am I different?” You’d ask, countless times again. She’d only ever tell you that her personal attendant needed a special touch, and she needed to be confident in your abilities.

Time passed ever so agonizingly slowly; tea date after tea date and errand after errand, until finally, you heard the words you’d been longing for. “Pack your valued belongings and meet in my garden. I have one final test for you.”

A week later, you found yourself standing face-to-face with undoubtedly one of the most powerful entities you’ve ever known, shaking, holding a shortsword that feels so much heavier than it looks.

“Come, then. Do your very best to strike me down, and I will judge if you are worthy to serve me.”

It wasn’t even a contest. She toyed with you, letting you get ever-so-close before simply swatting the blade away or stepping back just enough to be out of reach.

One misstep. That’s all it took. You barely caught the sight of…something…materializing from shadow in her hand, before a blindingly hot pain in your chest and a sickening crunch.

She steps closer, running the shadowed blade through your weak flesh, and pulls you into an embrace and speaks softer and kinder than you’ve ever heard.

“You did well. It’s over. You can let go now.”

The blade vanishes as quickly as it came, leaving only void.

You try to breathe, but only feel blood.

The last sight you see before you hit the ground is her face smiling down at you.

///

You wake, finding yourself in a massive bed, covered in the softest blankets.

You…well, you would’ve panicked, but you feel strangely…calm, instead. Still, even. Your mind feels…very still, missing its usual torrent of wayward thoughts and distractions. Sitting up, you see why – no body of flesh and muscle awaits you, instead, you see the precise and deadly shine of titanium and the etchings of magical wards between skin-like panels.

The door opens, and your Witch enters. You immediately recognize Her as such.
“You passed the test. No one’s actually been brave enough to attack me. Very, very well done. You are worthy enough to be my weapon.”

The words make your belly do flips. You like being a weapon. Her weapon.

“Shall we get acquainted properly?”