The sight of that little trinket made her glass eyes leak water. That never happened before. Was she broken? In the Hunter’s presence, she shed one single tear, but now the Doll was alone in the peaceful, silent microcosmos of the Dream and she kept looking at the hairpin. And new tears streamed down her porcelain cheeks as she closed her segmented fingers on that worthless piece of metal. Not even the Little Ones would trade it for the Echoes of Blood, and the Hunter dismissed it as a common thing. Yet, a voice inside her empty doll-head repeated it was meant to be hers all along. How did she know that, she couldn’t tell, but the desire to find out became stronger and stronger as the hours went by. The Good Hunter had no answers to her questions.

Perhaps the First Hunter would.

=_= damn once again I’m busy as hell. Gotta work on the last tarot cards and a few commissions. All of this while wasting almost 4 hours each day on a train. I don’t know when I’ll be able to work on this again but once this short comic is out of the way, I want to adapt @viobliterator’s  script for our collaboration :)