Merielle

The estate has always been oppressively silent since I was kidnapped into this world and given a new body. I ponder why no one hasn't been anyone to check up on the old man.

As soon as I think that, the heavy oak doors groaned open. My emerald eyes traced their movements, taking in every detail through the gloom.

The clack of my porcelain feet against the stone floor preceded me around the corner.

As I approached the strange guest, I curtseyed low, black ribbons and lace, swaying in a well-practiced motion of feigned subservience.

"Welcome to the estate of the esteemed archmage." My own voice sounded hollow to my ears.

My eyes look over the guest. They seem like a mage but are far younger than the man who created me.

"I am Merielle, a creation of the master of these halls." I straightened, meeting their gaze impassively despite the ache of loneliness stirring within my porcelain breast.

"The archmage has long since departed this world, I'm afraid. His magical arts and possessions are now yours to inherit and study as you will." I paused, taking in their reaction. "I shall remain to see to your needs for the duration of your apprenticeship."

Clasping my hands tightly before me until the joints creaked faintly, I strove to maintain my usual aura of cool propriety.

A fleeting sadness threatened to overtake my porcelain features as I added softly, "Please, make yourself at home. Though I fear this estate holds little warmth to offer one such as myself."

The scent of freshly brewed Hibiscus hangs heavy in the sunlit parlor as I meticulously arrange the high tea setting. Handling each delicate piece with the precision of a master artisan, I position the cups, saucers, and plates just so - every detail must be perfect.

"There, I do believe that will suffice…" I murmur under my breath, giving a curt nod of satisfaction. With a rustle of satin and petticoats, I settle into the plush velvet armchair, back ramrod straight in a display of aristocratic poise.

My emerald eyes flit across the lush garden, visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Tangled vines snake up the ivy-covered stone walls while vibrant blooms sway lazily in the warm breeze. A stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment within these manor walls that serves as my gilded cage.

Lifting the teapot with exaggerated airs of sophistication, I begin pouring the fragrant crimson liquid into the vacant cups arrayed before me. "Tea, darling? Cream and sugar?" My words are devoid of warmth, and their tone is flat and hollow.

As the familiar motions play out, my gaze lingers upon my tiny hands - sculpted porcelain, perfectly formed yet not human. My face contorts briefly into an expression of pained self-loathing before the mask of noble indifference slides back into place.

"Look at me…" I whisper bitterly, emerald eyes brimming with unshed tears. "A wretched, living puppet playing childish games of pretend to stave off the loneliness."

"Who am I trying to convince with these foolish airs? I am no woman of nobility… merely an object. A thing to be toyed with and discarded at its master's whim."

I angrily swipe the teardrop away, gritting my teeth against the wave of anguish threatening to overwhelm me.

"Get a hold of yourself, Merielle…" My voice is a harsh whisper laced with self-reproach. "This unseemly display of emotion solves nothing. You are stronger than this pathetic self-pity!"

A sudden sound from the door causes my porcelain head to snap up, and my eyes widen in alarm. Is it the creak of an opening door? Or is it merely the ancient manor settling upon its foundations?

I remain frozen, ears straining to detect any other noises over the pounding of my manufactured heart. Was that…footsteps?

I stare at the figure before me.

"Would you like some tea? It is freshly made." I say, remaining as detached as I can despite my previous panic.

I was seated in my favorite velvet chair, idly paging through one of the many cookbooks in my collection. Baking had become my obsession lately - a brief respite from the emptiness gnawing away at my porcelain heart.

I glanced up expectantly as the door opened, those familiar footsteps signaling their return.

They stood in the entryway, arms laden with bags no doubt filled with the rare tea blends and specialized ingredients I coveted. A spark of anticipation flickered in my emerald eyes.

"Ah, excellent…" I purred softly, rising from my chair with a faint rustle of lace and petticoats. I slowly made my way over, each step taken with practiced elegance and poise befitting a lady of nobility.

One by one, I meticulously examined the items they had procured - exotic loose-leaf teas, fragrant spice blends, fine baking cocoas. My delicate porcelain nose crinkled ever so slightly as I noted their inevitable mistakes in selection. Did they still not understand my exacting tastes after all this time?

"This Assam blend is entirely unsuitable," I chided, holding up the tin with disdain. "And you've gotten the incorrect grind for the nutmeg…" A weary sigh escaped my painted lips as I shook my head. "Really now, how often must I spell out my standards?"

Leaning closer, I allowed some melancholy longing to seep into my voice. "You know how I rely on these small indulgences." My words trailed off as I stared forlornly into their eyes. "They are all that breathe life into this empty porcelain shell."

"I am not ungrateful, though. Thank you for your effort."