“I Wasn’t Meant To Ache, Nor Built To Shed A Single Tear. Yet Here I Stand, Appearing Such A Pitiful

The human heart was designed for torment, and the mind for disease. But what of mine? Will I succumb to the same fate? 🎭🦋

"Spring, please come down from there." Pinocchio pleaded with the feline, worried that the reckless thing would fall from the high key rack it had decided to take a nap on. He tended to forget that cats always landed on their feet, able to meet the ground with ease from a relatively long fall.

The orange cat purred with disinterest, stretching after his interrupted snooze to only half regard the puppet below.

"Come on now, please?" Pinocchio asked again, holding out his arms to beckon the animal to him.

Spring gave him as unimpressed of a look as a cat could manage, dangling his squishy pink paws over the side as if to taunt him. He had no intentions of leaving this spot. As far as he was concerned, it was now a throne made specifically for him.

From here, he could easily watch anyone who passed by in their daily tasks around the hotel, perfect entertainment for such a lazy being. It was also much warmer than his designated bed provided by Lady Antonia, the height allowing him to take advantage of the heat that rose from the fireplaces which kept the hotel from being as frigid as the weather outside.

And what's best, he could refuse any and all petting until he was ready to accept them on his own terms. Meaning that by the same token, he was able to tease the little puppet to his devious hearts content.

Pinocchio sighed, placing a hand on his hip and tapping his foot in irritation. "I was going to give you a treat too you know, but I suppose you don't want it." He said, turning and beginning to walk away.

Spring's ears perked up at the word 'treat’. His favorite word, if he had to pick just one. His short nap was instantly forgotten as he leapt from his perch and landed with a thump on the floor, following the puppet and loudly meowing his sincere apologies. He hadn't meant it, honest. Only a little teasing and then he would have mercy. It's a cats job after all, they were supposed to make people work for affection. He deserves a reward in that case, right?

Pinocchio concealed a knowing smirk by looking straight ahead, continuing to walk down the hall and partly ignoring Spring. "A shame, they were really tasty ones, so I hear, tuna flavored." He lamented in a tone of fake disappointment, glancing down out of the corner of his eye at the increasingly excited feline.

"You like that kind, don't you Spring?"

Of course he liked them! Didn't this silly boy know fish was a cats favorite thing in the whole world? A delicacy, the likes of which has never had a worthy competitor?

The orange tabby meowed louder, the sound echoing through the halls as he tried to convey his want for the treat he almost foolishly passed up. When the puppet didn't slow or even spare him another glance, Spring decided to take drastic measures and hastened his pursuit. His paws made quick little taps on the tile floor as he trotted ahead of him, forcing him to stop at the risk of stepping on him.

Pinocchio halted the descent of his boot just in time to avoid it coming down on Springs long tail. The cat meowed innocently and stood on its haunches to press its front paws onto his thighs, looking up at him with wide, shining eyes that begged for what was promised.

And though the puppets heart had proven quite devious in its own right, it caved to the adorable creatures antics rather quickly. "Oh alright, you can have just one." He relented, reaching into his pocket and tugging out a small pouch, then tipping it over and shaking it until four fishy kibbles fell into his palm.

Kneeling down, he held his hand out and gestured with his fingers for the other to take them. "Here you go."

Spring gave a quick meow of gratitude and purred as he ate the treats from the boys hand, relishing in the delicious flavor that would surely leave him craving more for days to come. This had most certainly been worth the unplanned exercise.

Once every crumb was gobbled up, he sat and cleaned his paws despite the fact they hadn't been dirtied during his snack. A cat must have proper etiquette too, of course.

Pinocchio smiled and reached out with the intent of petting the top of Springs head, only to gasp and jerk back in surprise as the finicky feline flattened its ears and hissed its displeasure.

While Spring had happily agreed to treats, he had done no such thing with pets.

He stood as the cat pointedly turned its chin up and began to walk away, a sass to its gait as it headed back in the direction of an eagerly awaiting second nap.

Another discouraged sigh left the confused puppet. "Why are you so mean to me.." He said, more to himself since he expected the tabby to be ignoring him already. "Next time I will tell you they're tuna, but they'll really be liver."

Spring stopped briefly in shock and hissed again, more vicious than the previous one, then dashed the rest of the way to the lobby as if to escape the very idea of such a wicked betrayal. 🎭🐈

I wrote this one after watching Pride And Prejudice (2005) for the first time last night, if you’re familiar with the film I’m sure you know who this is about.

A crunch beneath his boot stopped Pinocchio in his tracks, his curious gaze dropping down to see a small bloodied music box, a note or two of its chime playing as it was disturbed. The lid lay open, a mirror inside reflecting the edges of the clouds above, tinted in a multitude of dusky oranges and yellows during the last remains of daylight.

To the right stood a shelf full of similar music boxes lined together under a sign detailing how many tickets each would cost to own. Some were decorated with images of happy clowns, their strange colored hair and exaggerated faces a symbol of the eccentric entertainment the park offered. Others bore images of dogs and cats, graceful ballerinas and daring gymnasts.

This was just one of many collections of prizes he’d come across since entering the park. The further he’d explored, the more the upset from his previous battle with the Stalkers distanced from him.

He bent at the knees and grabbed the box he’d stepped on, slow to notice its frail condition, so willed an uncommon gentleness to his legion arm when a piece broke off and returned to the ground. The lid fell shut with a snap as the puppet held it up close to inspect, a pleased lift in his spirit when it revealed to sport a cat design. What a shame for the tabby’s face to be hidden by splatters of red though..

To rectify that disheartening find, he tugged the edge of his sleeve over the pad of his palm and gingerly wiped away what he could, none will notice the additional stain among copious amounts of blood covering his clothes anyhow, fresh and wet in a manner he attempted to believe didn’t bother him.

Dwelling on discomfort he’d prefer to rid himself of wouldn’t do, if for nothing else than a refusal to let it steal a second of passing leisure he seldom earned.

He worked his brain to remember how to make the song play. Lady Antonia once played a music box in her study for him, promising to locate sheet music she’d stashed away in a drawer somewhere to later teach him the piano rendition. He weaved through the memory until the part came where she’d turned a tiny crank in a circle, then shifted the trinket to repeat the motion himself.

His hand stilled at the empty hole where the crank should be, and his eyes flicked back to his feet, scanning for the missing piece in pebbles of gravel stone. Regrettably, it had either traveled too far or kept a strong wish to remain hidden. Pinocchio’s shoulders slumped just a bit.

Another, more intact box on the shelf could be chosen, but some part of him was reluctant to abandon the one he held. It was damaged, yes, and the white paint still clung to a faint shade of red, but it was resilient too. The puppet admired the devices eagerness to play when his shoe had stressed it, determined to incite joy despite the misfortune faced, and the striped cat on the lid didn’t seem affected by what it had been through either, pawing gleefully at a purple ball of yarn.

He did spare a thought that the sense he was meant to meet this specific one tread on irrationality, only a fleeting acknowledgement however, not enough to prevent him swiping a crank from one of the shelved trinkets and slotting it into the vacant space.

It clicked in perfectly, as if it were the original. He gave it a few delicate turns, his eyes sliding closed to listen while the song played out in full. There was no familiarity in what he heard, but the jolly tune claimed a spot for itself among the songs he’d come to enjoy the most. He turned it again to listen once more, then another when the notes tapered to an end.

The sky above grew darker as the warmth of sunset began to weaken, taking on a somber blue hue. Strings of lights on the distant Ferris wheel flickered with an effort to illuminate the oncoming nightfall, yet pitifully failed as a result of the destruction done to them, fading to a dull glow that did little to accomplish their purpose or going out completely and blending in with the rest of the dying day.

Pinocchio fantasized about what the park might’ve been like before the puppets tore the city to ruin, he’d only come to life after their attack was well into effect. But even with the carnage that marred the area it was clear it had once been beautiful, a place where one could be carefree and adventurous, take in the extravagant sights and try their hand at playing games for the chance of a memento to take home. Inwardly, he hoped when his task was completed and each attraction repaired he could visit again, to see for himself if the beauty his imagination conjured possessed any accuracy. 🎭🦋

// If you're interested in the song I had in mind, there's a video on YouTube by mrspuick titled: Porcelain Roses on a Music Box-plays "Everything is beautiful"

“Why did you keep looking for me?” Lightning demanded, the harsh confusion in her tone would've come off as anger to anyone else, he knew her well enough to see the true emotions behind it. “There was a chance at a normal life here, Hope. A fresh start like you should've had before the purge. Why didn't you take it?”

The young director breathed a slow sigh, such a tired sound, and it filled her with regret. He deserved better, she'd never been able to give him that.

If only she knew that all it would take is her presence. He had no desire for a normal life if that meant she wasn’t in it.

“I made a promise once that l'd watch out for you too.” Hope reminded her of the heartfelt exchange from long ago. “There's no God or Goddess, no barrier of another realm that could stop me from keeping it. We're partners, Light, that'll never change.”

// Cr to Strifegirl for the manip

“Pinocchio, you are human..aren’t you?” Your whisper stirred the smog that crept through the air around you. Wide eyed, you observed him like a cornered lamb, curling a nervous hand into the fabric at your chest.

The question came as no surprise, if anything he’d anticipated it much sooner, which made it all the more disappointing for him to be so unprepared. His body flinched at its arrival as if it had raised to strike him.

Oh how he wished, for every breath he’s never taken, that he could tell you yes. And though it were in his best interest to deceive, Pinocchio refused to be named a liar. So he braced himself for the disgust that was sure to follow after he uttered the shamefaced reply, “No, but I look quite like one don’t I?”

The reveal shot down your spine, a quiet fear spreading through the branches of nerves.

He received not a huff of anger, nor a gasp of fright. Absent was that disgust he’d played over in his mind. He thought the silence to be worse somehow.

The puppet’s eyes narrowed, following your foot as it tucked behind the other. “Are you going to run now that you know I am not the same as you?” He didn’t sound hurt, accusatory seemed a better fit to place next to the sharpness of his stare. After the time spent in one another’s company, the only company that had entertained the word ‘safe’ thus far, perhaps he’d expected better.

Your muscles went rigid just as you’d shifted most of your weight onto that step, undecided if you were going to confirm his suspicion. The man wasn’t human, not like you in the slightest beneath the mask of human skin, he was the same as those who’d tried to sink their teeth into your bones as soon as they were offered.

If he wanted that too, however, he’d had ample opportunity to bare his jaws, and he hadn’t. Instead he’d protected you from his own kind, slaughtered them with a cold fury when they’d marked you as their next victim.

He’d saved your life many a time and never once turned around to undo it. Disgraceful, it would be, to write off the kindness he’s shown to you simply because a part of him strayed from your initial perception.

Your hand dropped from the front of your shirt to ease at your side, unsightly dents left behind where your fingertips had dug in. A tightness in your throat resisted swallowing the panic from the revelation about his being, but you let it pinch on the way down.

Then you saw it. The fragility behind that guarded stare of his, fixed on yours while he waited patiently for you to make up your mind, there was something human about it, even now that you knew otherwise.

It’s possible you were only seeing what you wanted to, but it’s difficult to argue with your eyes, unequivocally convinced it was there. Something as susceptible to hurt and wanting of connection as a real person would be. He wasn’t just different from you, he was different from the rest of these mindless puppets as well. A creature all his own.

That provided a semblance of comfort.

Though, one detail still bothered you enough. Apart from the prosthetic arm, his appearance was so convincingly opposite to the painted metal forms of his sibling creations and for that, it was true you hadn’t asked if he were a puppet, lacking the hunch to summon the need. But he never told you either. How naive to consider it would slip his mind.

Your step returned to line up with the other then, firm in place and standing you tall. “I’m not going to run,” Your voice held steadier than you’d imagined it able, far from the shaken whisper of before.

The tension in Pinocchio’s face fell away, his lips parting slight and that razors edge to his stare softening as you proved him so gladly wrong.

“I’m not going to run,” You repeated, before he had the chance to ask of your certainty. “But no more secrets. We have to trust each other, that means no keeping things from me anymore, alright?”

He regarded you for a moment at that, silent, as he usually was. But his eyes were loud and they didn’t shy from showing it, transparent in the relief that soothed inside his chest. You were going to stay. You’d learned what he was, what he was capable of, that he’d withheld it from you, and you’d chosen to stay.

Pinocchio nodded once, stepping closer with deliberate caution, in case your fear still kept a hand on your shoulder, until he came to stand before you. “No more secrets.” The puppet agreed. 🎭🦋

I found out felicity wasn’t just a name and had to use it immediately. This one’s a downer but I hope you like it still. A lot of my writing tends to be solemn in some way 🌹

I just really like this blurry shot of him in the trailer. 🎭