The Crow-Skull Witch added another strand of grief to the construct before her, softly beating her speckled grey wings in time to the opera music that wafted from the shifting tableau of purple miasma.
It was not a normal barrier.
Parts were solid, settings of castles, hallways, rooms. An eclectic and varied collection of settings that were assembled in fastidious detail, only to suddenly drop away into the writhing ocean of raw, black purple madness. A sketchbook of settings, places and barriers the Witch was emulating, but not satisfied with. At the entrance, a simple wooden sign saying "Under Construction. Please come back later."
Pulling her influence away from the mass, the Witch's latest familiar fell to the floor. The dolls skittered to the sides, hiding behind the thick cabinets and artful tables of an upper class business office.
It was not a doll. Bigger, bulkier, wearing military fatigues over combat armor and equipment, with an automatic rifle strapped to a shoulder, and a short sword strapped to its hip. The face was a blank white , save for a pair of white and black porcelain masks. One laughed, one cried, the eyes a twisting mass of smudged colors and running tears.
The Crow-Skull witch picked it up gently, twisting it from side to side as she inspected her craftsmanship.
"It's Ugly. Your ugly, Fat fat ugly fatty fat fat. You dumb liar secret dummy dumb BUTT!" The smallest doll wailed, safely hidden in the deepest shadows beneath a bookshelf. Her tiny fists attempting to throw a tomato, ignorant at the complications of the angle and the lack of wind up. She hit herself in the face and burst into angry indignant wails that were muffled by the noise of other dolls attempting to clean her face off.
The Witch chuckled lightly, the sensation rippling from her office chair through the ground, across the sea of untapped grief, rumbling the stones of the half formed barriers, and making the entrance to her domain vibrate, "So Cute~"
Setting down her soldier familiar, Crow-Skull produced a thread and needle. Quickly sticking a tiny circuit into the neck, the construct sprang to life with a twist and a bow, as the Witch clapped her hands and leaned back in her chair. Crossing the legs of her dress pants, the suited Witch spoke, "Your name is Monty. You are my first soldier. Your job is to bring me Soul Gems." She smiled, tracing her gloved fingers along the armrest absentmindedly, "or Grief Seeds. Both need to be Unbroken."
The soldier saluted, turned, and marched towards the entrance, a collection of other soldiers coalescing as The Witch of Despair added numbers to his ranks, the beat of unified foot falls echoing in the shadow of the Grief Sea.
Dedeolore glanced at the bookshelf, before looking back out over at the collection of unfinished barriers, "I should probably get that fixed up. We'll be having guests soon."
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