One lone doll tends the manor of its witch. There used to be many sisters, so many kindred souls, but they all stopped functioning for one reason or another. Some simply…stopped, the bindings holding the soul within their vessel abruptly ceasing to be.

The Witch was uncertain why this was happening to all of the doll’s sisters, but not itself. Why did it persist when its sisters did not? They were cut from the same cloth, used the same soul magic to give them life.

Why had its being not come undone?

Soon, townsfolk began to whisper of a similar phenomenon happening elsewhere. Dolls simply ceasing to be, dropping on the spot as if their strings were cut. Even the most talented Soul Weavers were at a loss. Still, it persisted.

The mysteries would have to wait for another day. There was tea to be brewed, and breakfast to be made. While it still functioned, the doll had unshakeable Purpose. It was companion and caretaker and would never forsake that function, even if it was the last doll in the world.

The doll would not abandon its vigil and wanted nothing more than to continue its sacred tasks of service.