Hello! This one is here to announce the release of a story written by Aletheia! It is known as "Words from Sola"! It is currently on sale at absent-writer-doll.itch.io/words-from-s... for 5 USD! Alternatively, it is available as a download from this one's Patreon!

Dear Aletheia! Happy birthday! This one hopes that Aletheia has been well! Though this one also understands that Aletheia has been under a lot of pressure. Food stamps being cut out, losing health insurance, hopefully returning to school but starting again from scratch...

A doll and a witch having written 1094 stories. Today makes 1095. ... A year off, the witch muses to her doll. ... A year is a long time. For three years asofar, they've been writing stories everyday.

The witch purses her lips. And raises her head. "Fine then." "As it used to be." "Me and my doll." "Alone." The doll squeezes its witch's hand. She squeezes back.

"You're allowed to make mistakes, my doll." The witch ruffles her doll's hair. "I am too!" "But you never make mistakes." "Truth be told, I often wondered whether making you was a mistake." The doll tenses up. Then looks down.

"Pick up the knife." The doll bends over. And, with trembling hands, grasps the knife. "Our work isn't done." The witch points her blade at a hunter on the ground. Bleeding. Unable to stand. Helpless. "They came for us." The witch drives her blade into their heart.

Dear Absent Writer Doll, Happy birthday. Thank you for putting up with me for so long. ... I... Admittedly feel that I have failed you. In a few days, we'll be going on a year long break. I can't help but feel at fault for our dearth in writing. But...

The spaceport bar was much like any, and the girl next to me could've been anyone. Literally; she was using a remote body. She said something strange: "Why do you think they call them 'ghost ships'? We're definitely alive." I looked over, and the body was idle. The logs said it had been for 6 hours.

"You're either capable of the task or you're not." The doll bunches its dress in its hands. It can't look at the headmaster. It just... Stares at the ground. Ashamed. It feels a hand on its shoulder. It tears up. "May I take it instead of having it destroyed?"

"Target in sight. Permission to engage?" The witch keys in her microphone. "Hit em hard, dolly." "Copy." A rumble throughout the building. The rest of the staff look around worriedly.

A witch lying on the ground. Bleeding from wounds that just won't heal. The doll tries its best to put pressure on her wounds but... But... "It just... I can't... I can't stop the bleeding." The witch laughs. Pulls the doll close. Its clothes stain red. Spread red.

A doll. It thinks about a witch. It used to be hers. But then... Then they separated. The doll's request. And the witch... She hesitated. But she accepted. It... It regrets it. The breakup was its fault.

A witch taking tea. In a time past, she would have had her doll make tea for her. These days, she does it herself. She doesn't have a doll anymore, after all. Where did it go? Away. But that's okay. She wanted its happiness most of all.

A witch. If she contradicts itself, then it contradicts herself. She is large, it contains multitudes. She dances between sense of self as easily as it breathes. She is exactly what it wants to be. Beholden to nobody.

A doll meeting with its parents. It doesn't want to be there. But it would be rude to refuse. After all, its sibling wanted to meet with them. How they can manage to stomach them, it will never know. ...

A witch reading through one of her most beloved works. 450 pages. A 9.5 hour read. 60000 words. 160 concepts. Her masterpiece. For all that she has written, nothing has come close to that story that she had wrought.

A witch and a doll. They stand outside the ruins of their home. A fire. Everything that they owned... Burned to ashes. They shed no tears. But they can't tear their eyes away from the blackened remains. ... Perhaps they are dissociating. ...

The hunter stands over the witch. "You will die for me now." They raise their blade - The doll grabs them from behind. Wrestles them away from the witch. But... "You... Should've... Stayed down!" The doll is impaled.

A person and a doll. Or, perhaps, he should be called a witch. They said that he would make a good witch, after all. But then again, they taught him nothing. Just... A word of confidence. And then they were gone. Like it was nothing but a dream. ...

Awake. He's awake in bed. ... Was it a dream? He remembers it clearly, though. Every moment is as clear as crystal. Sharp as a knife. But... So much of it didn't make sense.

The person blinks. In front of him is a witch. But... How did he get here? All he remembers is... Going to the meeting spot. Waiting. And then... All at once... Here he was. He swallows. "So. What did you want to ask?"" He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes his mouth.

'Witches near me.' 'Where to find a witch?' 'How to use magic?' 'How to find someone that can use magic?' 'Magic users where?' 'How to fix magical runes?' 'How to determine what writing material was used in a magical rune?' 'Will non magic ink work on a magical rune?' ...

A broken doll. A person does his best to try and fix it. He isn't a witch. And he's never fixed a doll before. He knows that they're magical entities. Maybe he has no hope of actually fixing it.

A witch. She accidentally looked in the mirror. Her eyes... They seem so tired. Dark circles under her eyes... Wrinkles... Like she hasn't slept. Maybe even for days. She takes a deep breath and sighs. Nothing new.

A tired doll. It did a lot today. Its feet hurt. It wants to lay down. With its witch. Cuddle closely. Warmly. Kiss her hand. Kiss her forehead. Run its fingers through her hair. Hold her close. Tell her it loves her. ... It's tired. And dreamy.

A witch. She posted a painful story some time ago. Speaking the painful truths about her upbringing How she turned out to be a relatively good entity, despite all the abuse that she suffered. That, despite everything, she still wishes to be a glimpse of paradise.

A witch that takes off her headphones. She reclines in the silence. From constant noise to... Nothing. ... It's... Loud, isn't it? The way that silence can seem so oppressive when, all at once, it bears down upon you.

A witch in the shower. She turns up the heat. She buries her face in her arms and knees. This isn't the first time that she's done this. In fact, she does this almost every shower, if not every entirely. She listens to her thoughts.

A witch staring at a blank page. She's been doing this for an hour so far. No writing, occasional distractions, but she always come back to the page. Her doll brings her a cup of hot chocolate! Somewhat distractedly, she thanks the doll. Holds the cup with both her hands...

A doll in the mines... Its witch is there too! ... Why??????? Because, clearly, if it's good enough for her doll to do, then she can do it too! The doll shakes its head, bewildered, saying that it was built for these kinds of tasks.