DOLL :: Porcelain
PICTO :: Click
GENDER :: Doe
AGE :: 10 in human years
LOVE :: None

THE TALE :: A sweet doll made of china that sits on your shelf is only for decoration and memories. A souvenir. But if it moved! What then? This is what Porcelain struggles through in her daily hours. She is a tiny fawn just slightly larger than a rabbit that is made up entirely of fragile materials, like her namesake, porcelain. This is a smooth but easy to break glassy surface that she must protect by all means. It is tough for a fun-loving and kind little one to not get into trouble and trip over a stone, but she manages to somehow overcome this obstacle and remains intact.

She cannot feel anything outwardly. The grass that touches her hooves upon standing and the lilacs she so loves that tickle her skin are feelings she cannot describe. She does not know what water feels like, although she does have the ability to taste. But a nudge feels like air to this shaken creature, a friendly nibble on the ear a gesture that goes unnoticed. Porcelain knows this and was once a dreadful, tiny wreck that thought of nothing but how horrid it was to be in her state. She was made of glass. A mutant, a freak! And she had to watch her every step because her life literally depended on it! No one else had to do this but her. Why her? And why could she not feel? Our little doll has done nothing to deserve such a curse. But she learned her ways through the man in the moon and was taught how to love. What happens here is a tale so long and heartwarming that a story would be needed for it to be told.

Would someone kindly help me to get me the mini spell from inside the fairy rings of white mushrooms? I shall stay near one by the ruins, and I need it for future screenshots that will be difficult to take. This is for my biography that needs written. Anyone that helps shall receive my love, though nothing more; because nothing more is needed. <3

I may be unresponsive. Sorry if I should happen to be...

EDIT: Thank you, Scape clone. :) And Darcy, as well as Anzel; you all helped and I loved your support for the short time it was given and the waiting patiently made me proud to be a part of you guys. <3 I've logged off so I can save the spelldata, therefore making pictures easier when the minispell wears off. Now I have the struggle of wearing the shapeshifting spell and the devout pelt spell at once and long enough to take a picture. Wish me luck! And if you want to help you could try recasting the devout when it wears off, but by then the minispell will probably have done the same. D: How petrifying! We'll see how it works out...

"'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
- Alfred Lord Tennyson
________________ _____ ____ ___ __ _

A muscular, dark stag stood beneath one of two waterfalls bursting through hard marble that made up the Crying Idol, its tears spewing with emotion. He was trying to clear his vision what with crytal dew-drops lazily lying on his eyelashes, blurring his view, blinking until, finally, he made out a rainbow material shining blindingly beneath the rippling surface of the river created from the stone's tear trails. The flowing waters were clear as glass and you could see everything beneath it, from the bubbles erupting behind frightened, tiny fish's tails to the swaying, long grasses soaked forever inside the waters of purity.

How do you start a story off about a perfect little creature much like Thumbelina in an already beautiful and sunny world? Do you describe the sun that rises over the hills of blueberries, or describe our hero awakening from their slumber? Do you pretend to open the aging pages of a book, and begin reading, “Once Upon a Time…”?

No, actually. You don’t start off such a tale in any such ridiculous and popular way. With a fawn already sweet, you would expect a kind story turned lullaby about her happy adventures prancing around and helping those in need. So is that even a story? Not really. Then what is? Where’s the conflict in such a state as perfection? Why, it’s right there. Perfection itself is the problem. Because, after all, nothing is perfect...



Tears lovingly stroked the blades of grass they slipped down upon, falling furiously in such patterns that the plants around mistook the situation as rain. This was not possible, however, for it could not rain while snowing. Or could it? Curious and very confused, single flowers shivered under the heavy weight of snow, trying to see what the source of dripping water was. They were slightly comforted yet disturbed to see that it was all thanks to a tiny fawn, much smaller than average and completely different in appearance. Collecting their thoughts, all signs of life in all forms turned away from the emotion-drained doe to leave her in complete peace, letting themselves be forever buried under tiny flakes of dancing snow.