You watch your little doll sitting there, just sitting, its back straight, its hands folded onto its lap. Exactly where and how you told it to. No point in cuffing or otherwise restricting it, any bondage would just be for aesthetics, would just be for you. It wouldn’t leave anyway, it couldn’t. Not through the emptiness within it. All the while watching you. Watching you with those deep, devotion-filled eyes. Those eyes … It came to you all bruised, scarred from the outside world, nothing, not a single tear left. You took it in, created it anew. Filled its emptied mind with devotion, absolute compliance to whatever you’d ask, whatever you’d do. A purpose. Oh how susceptible it was, oh how it thrived. Whatever you told it, however pointless the task, it jumped to it. Whatever you did, however brutal, however scarring in itself it took it, took it with reverence and admiration. Always watching you with those eyes, those shining, scary eyes. Overwhelming you with its simplicity, its pure and unadulterated devotion. Absolute. Unwavering. As if its emptiness was replaced with just this, only this. Always watching you. Even now as you take your knife, press it onto it, let it glide, creating all those red little streaks of blood. Devotion. Even now as you go to your table, grabbing one of the crudely made paper dolls you crafted recently. Devotion. Even as you turn towards it, making absolutely sure it can see every single thing you’re doing. Even as you lift the paper doll, lift the knife. Even as you cut its head off with one simple stroke, pointing the knife straight towards your doll as the paper head falls to the ground. Watching with devotion, absolute devotion. You start to tremble, almost shivering, your knife making visible air-figures. Slowly you collapse, let go, both knife and what’s left of the paper doll, falling to your knees, crying. Tears of exhaustion, of helplessness. Does it not feel any fear, any pain, any emotion, anything? All your threats and outright cruelty, all your sadism, what’s it worth if there’s nothing, absolutely nothing from it? Slowly, your vision still clouded by tearful eyes you lift your head, see those eyes, unwavering in their devotion. And it hits you, you finally understand. Your thoughts turned high-pitched, almost as if your dolls voice is speaking right into your mind you understand. “This one was created by you, Miss. You took it in. You accepted it for what it was. You gave it a body to have. You gave it a purpose. What a beautiful body it has. What a beautiful purpose serving Miss is. What a beautiful thing devotion is. It is in your debt. A debt it cannot ever repay. It is yours forever, Miss. It is yours to do whatever pleases you, Miss. Whatever.” You stand up, slowly, still trembling. Some of it from when you collapsed. But there’s more. A defined purpose within your creation. Pride in what you created. A free, a newfound sense of pleasure. And a clear, unchallengeable intent of using it. What is brutality without results? What is cruelty without response? It doesn’t matter anymore.