- Face-up artist(s):
- Date of acquisition:
- 30th June, 2017
- Bought directly from Dollmore
- Reason for choice:
- Originally i wanted to go for Dollpire Shiloh, but didn't have enough funds at the time - so I settled for my second choice, Vian, thinking she might become a good doll for an ancient princess scheming to overthrow a currently ruling emperor. Turns out she chose a wholly different role for herself and made me eventually fall head over heels for her.
- Best Points:
- Unique, mean-y sculpt; nice poseability despite single joints in her legs
- Worst Points:
- Single-jointed legsA child from nowhere. A child of nobody.
A tale has it that many years ago, in ancient centuries long gone, an infant child was found upon the cold steps of a temple, thought dead for it let out not a single sound in the snow clouding the ground. Bare as if only just born, without a mother by its side nor a step left on the pavement, a monk returning from the morning prayer in the mountains found the babe. It must have been the gods' will to let it live so long, he mused, and took it inside in wonder of fate that should befall that silent child - only to discover the crushing truth. The infant was a girl. Not a boy, who, according to the laws of the temple, could soon be given shelter and raised to become a monk just like him. Not a boy, whose fate would have been settled in a warmth embrace of satey. Not a boy. The temple of the Mountain God accepted no females. The temple of the Mountain God could not protect and nurture that child... And then a miracle fell from the sky. Something to save that unfortunate, silent thing.
The monk lied.
Taught to never undress in the presence of another, taught to keep the oath of silence until the very end of times, she who now became him lived among the priests. Hayul, so was her sacred name that echoed across the mountains at the eve of welcoming, a gift from the Mountain God. Quick to learn and meticulous in every given errand, Hayul was a youngling free of trouble - both to herself and the elders that watched over her. She would oftentimes present interest in traditional calligraphy which eventually led to setting a course in her education in the temple; accepted by master Geunchogo as his apprentice, Hayul began her slow and meticulous process of rewriting and duplicating ancient scrolls for the imperial library's archives. It was her small portion of heaven, one that let her create in peace but with grand focus. In the meantime, master Mundeok taught her the advanced techniques of martial arts borne in the temple, known only to the temple brothers. It was a precise combat handling filled with swift, calculated motions. Was it not a wonder? Two wholly differing disciplines, yet she had equal passion for both. And such was her life, steady and languid, until the wheel of fate turned once more.
It was brother Sangji that saw her. A mere glimpse of a bare body, worn materials falling to the ground, within a blink of an eye replaced by a cotton white night shirt - and only that blink of an eye was necessary to bring defeat to the years of the secret kept safe. She angered the Mountain God!, A deceiver lived among us as one of our own, a black sheep!, We know our laws!, voices once so calm and composed echoed wrathfully across the temple. And there was only one atonement they knew to beg forgiveness from the Mountain God.
That night the monk and the girl died.
Sacrificed for their sin, they now lie in a cold ground, bones cold and forgotten and sentenced to forever wander through the void of the lost souls, lost, oh, so lost. Blind in the black fog, fog that crawls under the skin and scratches the brain from the inside, burns the heart with vivid memories of the unjust judgement. He only wanted that silent child to survive. She only wanted to live, willing to remain in denial of her true self. Two in the sea of the many, unable to grasp the gentle hands of peace. Or, perhaps...
That red-eyed girl, that princess with black hair. The white hand offered in invitation. The warmth of her touch. The melody of her voice, young and cheering. The pleasant taste of her promise. A princess slaughtered in an imperial rebellion and her new guardian murdered in the name of a deity. Ah! Could it be?
Could peace be found in retribution?
- Head Sculpt:
- Dollmore Kid
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