Lockheart Manor

Lockheart Manor

Status: In Progress

Genre: Fantasy

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Fantasy

Summary

Our story begins in a quaint little town somewhere in England, on an old, dreary road that houses several old properties. Many of them mansions, some manors, and some unfinished construction projects that never really came to completion. Though dreary, this road was clearly not poor. In fact, it was quite rich. White picket fences and red letter boxes. Autumn leaves scattered over unused roads. Rich, but not remembered. On this dreary, old and diminished road, specifically at one of the larger manor’s with a decent sized patch grass at the front - sat the road’s most popular feature: Lockheart Manor. The manor belonged to an elderly man; one with a quiet reputation for making toys, or more specifically dolls, for folk in much richer places. Though his reputation was quiet, the man, known as the dollmaker, made quite the income with his dolls. People discovered his work through word of mouth; he never advertised. His dolls were…different to those one would find in a toy store.

Summary

Our story begins in a quaint little town somewhere in England, on an old, dreary road that houses several old properties. Many of them mansions, some manors, and some unfinished construction projects that never really came to completion.

Though dreary, this road was clearly not poor. In fact, it was quite rich. White picket fences and red letter boxes. Autumn leaves scattered over unused roads. Rich, but not remembered.

On this dreary, old and diminished road, specifically at one of the larger manor’s with a decent sized patch grass at the front - sat the road’s most popular feature: Lockheart Manor.

The manor belonged to an elderly man; one with a quiet reputation for making toys, or more specifically dolls, for folk in much richer places.

Though his reputation was quiet, the man, known as the dollmaker, made quite the income with his dolls. People discovered his work through word of mouth; he never advertised. His dolls were…different to those one would find in a toy store.

Chapter2 (v.1) - Chapter Two

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 13, 2016

Reads: 501

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: May 13, 2016

A A A

A A A

A normal day in the manor. The tall windows were somewhat ajar as usual, and instead of the silence that had overcome the manor the day before, there were now the sounds of tiny, well placed footsteps.

Those footsteps belonged to tiny feet, and those tiny feet belonged to one of the manor’s doll’s. Her name was Fate, and she was a little smaller than the rest of the dolls, but no less precious than them.

The tiny creature resembled the size similar to that of a two or three year old human, perhaps a little taller. She was as child like as she was beautiful. Long, dark hair hung in dark tresses to frame an oval shaped face, quite clearly made of porcelain, with an odd softness to it, should one be lucky enough to get close enough to actually touch it.

Fate’s eyes were big, glassy, and the colour of rubies. They glimmered in what light the manor allowed; such being the light currently spilling from the tall windows, throwing spheres of liquid sun onto the plush carpets below.

Thick lashes were curled to a point, framing big, ruby red hues. This doll’s lips were poised in a forever indifferent expression that held a gentle innocence, and a wise appearance that only adults ever really had. Fate was the oldest, but also the smallest of the dolls here, and she belonged to the doll maker himself.

The doll maker had dressed this little doll in a frilled frock shaded a soft charcoal to match the manor itself, knee high stockings with little tabs of a non-permanent glue to keep them up, and blocked little shoes with laces and frills to better match the whole outfit.

Her skin had been painted white with the tiniest of rose blushes, giving her a sickly child appearance. It was oddly sweet, and the folk that were allowed to visit the manor were forever trying to take little Fate home with them. The doll maker of course would  never allow it, though.

Fate had been made to be a marionette, at one point: and so in her box, when she’d first been made, there lay a set of dark wood planks with strings attached; strings that fit the little creature’s porcalein limbs perfectly.

Of course, a Lockheart doll couldn’t be anything but perfect. It was all in the manor’s reputation, and it had been for years.

Fate’s key clicked in  the compartment of her back as she gazed over her shoulder towards the big, unlocked doors that sometimes let guests in: her thick lashes flickering down over those ominous ruby orbs like the wings of  a humming bird.

It wouldn’t be long before the other dolls were up and about, busying themselves with looking pretty, and keeping the manor at its best, even if the doll maker would chide them for it later.

The doll maker really did not approve of the dolls doing any kind of work: their fingers were too frail, their frames too delicate. He worried that a limb might snap, or pretty, painted skin might be stained.

The life of a doll was not the most entertaining. But the manor held its secrets, and the dolls had the minds of curious children, forever wondering.

One day, they’d  figure them out.

One day.


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