-*| The Cursed World |*-

Chapter Thirteen: Sulking like a Drunk Man

I sit by myself in my room. Worries for Clover flood me. There's nothing I can do. I feel frozen. I feel trapped.

So here I am; sulking like a drunk man.

I feel like I'm mourning for someone who is still here.

Someone who is only a few rooms away.

Someone who I have hurt.

Memories wrap me; entertain me. I don't feel like moving. Not that I would find the strength to move. I need time by myself.

I remember that time we were braiding the doll's hair. I make sure the door is closed, before I pull off my wig. I start braiding it, as if braiding the doll's hair again.

' We're braiding the doll's hair. More like Clover is braiding the hair, and I'm watching. The doll has silky blonde hair, like white gold.

Her long fingers weave through each strand. They pull and push the same three, thick strands. After each set of this pattern is done, she will pull at it to make sure the design is secured, and won't come loose.

She starts off by the top of the pretty doll's forehead, and slowly makes an intricate design — With just hair!

There is something that is really calming about watching her do this. I have seen some writing, with how each line curves into another, to form a word. That is the same with art, except just more little lines and slashes to form something big and beautiful on one white canvas. Braiding is like that. It is like artwork too. I, myself, want to learn how to, too.

Clover sees me staring hard at her fingers deep in the doll's thick hair. "Do you want to try?" She asks me.

"Of course!" I basically exclaim.

The doll's hair is split off into two sections. She tells me this style is called a pigtail. I wonder if my wig would fall off if we tried to put it like the doll's hair.

"Wait," I said, and Clover stopped. "How is that a pigtail, when it doesn't even look like a pig's tail?"

I start laughing, but subconsciously make sure to not let my laughter get too loud. I see the dirty-coats working with some of our farm animals all the time. That includes pigs, and the doll's hair definitely did not look like their windy tails.

She laughed too. "I dunno. I guess whoever named it must've been loopy."

"Real loopy," I added.

I followed along with Clover's weaving patterns. She helped to show me how to easily line over the strands one over the other. The top part was a bit messy, but once I got down to the bottom, it was just like a straight line down.

Clover patted me on the back. "Good job! I'll be right back," '

I still wonder where she went. I still remember that stench. I look down at my work, and smile a bit. I fix the cap that holds my real hair, before slipping the wig back on.

—Dammit. What have I done?