Donna had reached the top of the stairs and walked around the banister when Angie yelled back. Her little head just about visible over the railing.

“See Donna! She’s not normal, she should stay!” Those were her last words before her body collapsed into Donna’s chest. Her taunting and rambunctious manner sucked right out. Now just a pile of wood as she was carried away.

The whole house now seemed to come alive as now there was silence. All the laughter and fun replaced with feather light footsteps upstairs, and a distance creak of wood as the house settled.

Soon enough, Donna walked back to the banister. Her head titled downward and her hands splayed on her abdomen. Now stepping back down to the first floor, her veil unreadable as she spoke.

“I apologize,” She hushed out, shame ridden all over her voice.

“Sorry for what?” Carmilla blurted out.

Donna froze, her head titling in confusion. “I- well, Angie isn’t always so…” She trailed off, a heavy sigh fluttering her veil. “Who am I kidding.”

“Its fine, I really didn’t mind it.”Carmilla reassured.

“Right, that’s a relief,” Donna stood stiffly again, her hands unsure whether to pick on her nails or grasp on her skirts. Carmilla watched, uncertain if she should stop her from further injuring herself or just stand quietly. Carmilla hated the quiet.

“You have something for me?” She cleared her throat, now switching her attention between the floor and the wood paneling. Donna nodded her head, jumping from her trance and brushed past Carmilla to get whatever she promised.

Carmilla looked on, a sheepish smile on her lips as Donna opened a drawer of a table against a wall. It was a leather satchel and the blonde Lolita doll with cerulean eyes. She held them in her hands as she wordlessly stepped to her, handing her the satchel first.

Carmilla took it gratefully, her fingers running along the leather and cold metal buckles. It weighed a bit, but it wasn’t heavy enough to the point of a sore shoulder after a long wear. Next was the doll. Carmilla stood dumbfounded as Donna held it to her. She looked at the Doll maker, too stunned to speak.

“Why are you giving this to me?” She asked.

Donna held the doll out further, urging Carmilla to take it. “I haven’t given her a name, and you seemed quite drawn to her.” She said lowly, her words careful.

“I-I’m very flattered, but you really don’t have to give her away…” Carmilla said, putting a gentle hand on Donna’s arm. The doll maker tensed from the contact, pulling away momentarily.

“Please,” Donna said, her voice wavering. Carmilla's chest fluttered, taken aback by her persistence. She finally nodded, taking the doll from her carefully.

“Thank you,” She brought the doll close to her chest, “I’ll take good care of her.” At that, Donna seemed to relax. The air now feeling lighter with a fresh scent of poppies.

“Buono,” Donna blurred out in a foreign language.

“Sorry?” Carmilla titled her head.

Donna cleared her throat, hands back to picking at the frayed hem of her veil. “What will you name her?”

‘Adorable.’ Carmilla caught herself thinking.

“Ah, well. I was thinking Celeste,” She said as she threaded her fingers through the dolls golden hair.

Donna stepped closer, her fingers timidly swiping away a strand of hair from the dolls pale cheek, her cold fingers skimming past Carmilla's .

“What a delightful name.”

Carmilla stopped mid stroke, her skin feeling electric as a buzz ran up her arm. “T-Thanks,” She said, barely managing to keep her stutter at bay.

Donna stepped back a considerable amount, “Its a bit chilly outside, would you like a jacket?” She asked, now walking to a coat closet by the front door. Carmilla followed her with her eyes, thinking if she should accept or not. If she borrowed something, that would mean she had to come back to return it. Which also meant seeing her again.

Carmilla dispelled that thought, she wanted to refuse. But she also didn’t really like the cold, even after being forced to survive the winters with nothing but her ragged clothes. Maybe just this once.

“I would appreciate that,” She said, watching as Donna skimmed the many outside clothing. Throwing the satchel over her shoulder, she secured the doll tightly to her chest. Then she was presented with an emerald cloak. Donna held out the velvet robe to her, golden embellishments sewn to the hems with an intricate silver buckle on the collar. The hood was large and almost reached to the mid back of the cloak. Calling it a beauty was an understatement.

“Where did you get this?” She asked, bringing her pointer finger and thumb to rub at the green velvet. Donna approached closer, wrapping the shawl around Carmilla's shoulders. Her hands clasping the clip into place. The sudden closeness sent an infectious warmth down Carmilla's throat to her stomach. If she focused hard enough, she could feel the slight warmth of the Doll Maker, the faint hush of their breath the only sound.

“I made it,” Donna said, a mere whisper sounding like music to Carmilla. Her hands planted on her chest from where she buttoned the brooch. There was no doubt that she could have missed the pounding of Carmilla's chest at that moment. A breath trapped in her throat as they stood planted there for way longer than necessary. She could just about see through the black mesh of Donna’s veil. Grey and black the only indication of someone looking back. The height between them was unfair, Carmilla's  neck straining back to stare back at Donna. It was now in this moment where immortally didn’t seem so bad for Carmilla. The attention of someone so… alluring and enigmatic having it seem bearable.

Finally, the breath stuck in her throat was released. She shifted backwards to give some space between them.

“I’m impressed, you really have a knack for these kinds of things.” She said. Donna set her hands down and stood rigid, all the courage she portrayed seeming to melt. Making the air feel stuffy again.

“Its important for when you live alone,” Donna said, her words bringing out a hint of sorrow. Carmilla bit her lip, regret in her heart. She really didn’t want to leave now.

“Right,”Carmilla let out a nervous laugh, a weak smile on her lips. “It’s getting late, I better go,” She said, gripping the strap of the handbag, turning her head away from the Doll Maker. Donna nodded, clasping her hands together as she tip-toed to the front door, opening it with a loud creak. Winter air promptly blew into the foyer, a dead leaf being dragged into the home. Carmilla clutched tighter onto the moss colored cover, the cold nipping at her ears and nose.

She began to exit through the door, when Donna began to grow restless in her spot, her arm shooting out to prevent Carmilla from going any further. “W-Wait here.” Her voice wavered, her chest rising as she let in a sharp inhale.

Stumped, Carmilla furrowed a brow, shifting away from the door with a little hum and a nod. Donna paced quickly from the door, going back to the coat closet and pulling out a heavy wool coat, her arms slipping through the sleeves. The fine black frock shining in the light, a thick fur trim nearly drowning her.

“Why are you putting that on?” Carmilla asked as Donna approached her. Her fingers busy with buttoning her coat.

“Its cold outside,” She said bluntly, her right hand reaching into a pocket and pulling out a house key.

“You’re not staying here?”

“The path to the village isn’t the safest,” Donna said, stepping onto the porch, Carmilla following close behind. She turned to the door and locked it, the key being dropped back into its pocket. Then they both set out to the overgrown path. Carmilla shivered slightly as a harsh breeze cut through her red hair.

“How dangerous?” Carmilla said, filling the silence between them once they exited through the front gate. It wasn’t until now that she noticed the raging waterfall behind the mansion. It was huge, and a beauty as it reflected weak rainbows in the scarce sunlight from the overcast. Mist begun to thicken as they distanced themselves from the Doll maker's homestead. A sense of apprehension creasing in Carmilla's  brow.

“How do you feel about rope bridges?” Donna asked after a moment of their awkward trek.

“Unpredictable and outdated,” Carmilla said, grateful for the question.

“I figured.”

‘What the hell was that supposed to mean?’ Carmilla bit her tongue from saying that out loud.

Soon enough, they approached the mouth of a cave, candles planted along its edges. Every one of them either completely melted with no wick, or on the verge of melting into the rock with one more lick of life. Hesitant to enter the cavern, Carmilla waited for Donna to enter first, she however stopped in her tracks once she noticed Carmilla pause.

“Something the matter?” Donna hushed out, her voice the same melody of the waterfall.

Carmilla shook her head, taking a large inhale and stepped through the threshold. Her anxieties nesting in her abdomen, pushing away each on as they continued on further. Ahead in the withering candle light, was a double sliding door, the same looking one as the elevator in Donna’s home. Once in its vicinity, Donna pushed the flickering button, and waited.

And waited.

Harsh squealing of metal on metal finally echoed along the chamber walls. The iron gates sputtered alive, as the elevator crate jangled in place. Donna opened the rusted doors, and they both stepped inside. Inside the space was cramped, probably only meant for one person. But Carmilla manged to squeeze herself into the corner. Donna stood tall in the middle, seemingly unbothered by the tight space. With the doors closing, an alarming realization sparked into her mind.

There was no recollection of an elevator in Camilla’s sprint to safety after the attack. How in the world did she mange to get to Donna’s residence? She remembered very little in her state of panic. She did recall almost falling to her death at one point, and scraping her knee on a particularly jagged rock. Though that healed before she even reach the porch. But wouldn’t she remember climbing up a cliff side? Maybe there was a secret path she ran into. There definitely no memory of an elevator or cave.

Strident of chains and the humming of wires that seemed like they would snap in a matter of moments ceased. The elevator coming to a jolting halt, shamelessly rocking Carmilla from her corner and into the Donna’s personal space. But the Doll maker caught her with expected ease. It was a quick hold of her shoulder and then nothing, her grasp just as fleeting as a butterflies wings.

“I should’ve warned you,” She said quietly as the gates veered open. “Rarely do I leave my home, so some things are in need of repair.” Her veil shifted from Carmilla to the narrow tunnel ahead. Only a pile of candles on a stack of rocks illuminated the carved surfaces.

“No need really, I don’t get spooked easily,” Carmilla laughed restlessly. That was a blatant lie, and Donna knew it. She chuckled humbly, her laugh as rich as dark chocolate.

“You can admit dolls aren’t your forte,” Donna said, patiently, “I won’t be offended.”

Carmilla shook her head with a guffaw, removing Celeste from under her arm. “I’m afraid Celeste and Angie are the only exceptions.” She said, holding out the blonde doll, showing off her ruffles and bow tie in the diminutive candlelight.

“That’s more than alright,” Donna said, finally stepping out into the dripping cold grotto. Carmilla smiled, tucking Celeste back under her cloak, stepping out of the elevator after Donna. Along the dark uneven path, a closed off entrance had them stop. A heavy lock barricading anyone from entering from the outside.

Donna moved soundlessly to unlock the hefty bolt, the metal rod clanking as she rotated it out of its socket and sliding it aside. The doors jiggling awake, the other side revealed slowly, yet surely. A calm aroma of flowers fluttered into the cave, a sense of melancholy and peace filling Carmilla's chest and head. As they stepped out, a large settlement of graved under a twisted weeping willow came into view. She couldn’t even call it a weeping willow, as all its leaves and branches were dead from the harsh winter.

Now out of the cave and back on dirt and slushy land, Carmilla had a better view of the small hill of graves. A rather large one set right in the middle, just against the tree trunk. Odd yellow flowers crowded the tombstones, a thin layout of pollen in the mist.

It held an air of calamity and unity, all interwoven together to piece a story Carmilla wished to know. Beside her, Donna fell still to the sight, her back hunched timidly with a reluctance to acknowledge her surrounding. Curious as Carmilla was, she didn’t wish to fish out bad memories for Donna. But she pieced the story the best she could as they circled the burial ground, noting the abundance of dolls. Someone important had passed. Maybe even more than one person. Seeing that there were many faded names on shrines. Now the way Donna presented herself with the secrecy of her gowns making more sense.