Coming 2025
A free dark fantasy/mystery webnovel by Batensan
Two years have passed since the genocidal Witch-Hunt War.Alouette awakens in a secluded forest cottage, cared for by ditsy rag dolls. Stricken with amnesia and injuries, she realizes she is the Doll Witch.But the dolls won't answer her questions. The poor girl mustn't know.
Not about herself, or what watches her from the basement's cabinet.
✦ Alouette ✦
The heroine. A sweet, shy girl with a good heart but low self-esteem.Appearing as threads on her left hand is the Doll Witch's Dominion Mark—the symbol of a great witch.Due to her war injuries, she has to relearn everything from walking to how to be a witch.
✦ Guyot ✦
The deuteragonist. A gentle and attentive suit of armor that Alouette awakens in a forgotten battlefield graveyard.He died years ago, having reluctantly fought on the human side of the war.In his current form, he's unable to speak.
✦ Artifact ✦
The Artifact Witch, whose Dominion Mark is the knife in his left eye. A scholar who grew kind in the face of tragedy and loss.He owns a museum and is dedicated to archiving the best and worst of humanity.In his downtime, he's rather sloppy.
✦ Euclid ✦
A princely medical witch who appears as a ghost after Alouette returns his staff to his grave.Even in death, the grisly fatal wound on his neck remains.His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.
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...It's the middle of the night.
You went to sleep, safe in your warm bed like always.So why are you in the pitch-black basement?
Your hands twitch at your sides. You're sitting in a chair in the darkness.
The scent of carved wood, of course.
It would have been comforting if not for the disorienting awakening.This is the Doll Witch's workshop—your workshop.You try to lift your head, but it's heavy with sleep.
Blinking the blurriness out of your eyes, the silhouette of the work desk comes into view.Scrape.Scrape.Scrape.
Woodwork. But it's strange.
The handles of your tools are facing away from you.Someone is working at your desk—on your desk.
Who is this? Why are they here? Why are you here?As if bound by sleep paralysis, you remain seated, unable to lift your head, barely seeing, barely breathing—
Your breath hitches. The sound of tools ceases.A creaking sound. Whatever it is, it's leaning down.
It's peering into your face.
Wake up, Alouette.
You'll be happier that way.