"Is this it?"
The hunched old man reached behind his back and took out the cloth doll. It looked a little worn, but it had clearly been mended.
"You were clutching it the whole time back then. The stuffing was soaked with seawater, but I thought it must mean something special to you, so I patched it up a little."
She scrambled off the operating table.
She snatched her doll back with all her strength.
Her movements were so violent that she accidentally knocked the scissors and surgical tray off the table. The sharp scissors pierced the top of her foot, but she seemed not to notice.
"Doesn't that hurt?"
The old man asked her.
"I didn't give you anything for the pain when I stitched up the wound on your face. You woke up several times, but you never cried out. Can't you feel pain?"
She hugged her doll in silence, saying nothing to him.
When the old man came closer,
she instinctively grabbed the little sewing knife on the table behind her.
The wrinkles on the old man's face bunched together as he gave her a kindly smile. He hunched over, no longer crowding her, and said:
"I mean you no harm, child. As you can see, I'm a craftsman who makes dolls. I used to be very famous on the Old Continent. All sorts of bestselling dolls there were made by me. Perhaps even the one in your hands came from my inspiration and craftsmanship."
Yet his gaze never settled on the cloth doll in her arms. He kept looking at her face.
It was not a look of sinful desire, but there was still something strange and unsettling in it.
Yet when his gaze shifted, he was still smiling.
That same kindly smile.
She said nothing.