Warning: hearing voices, torture, implied character death

She pulled desperately at her hair, her chest so tight she could barely breathe as she burst through the front door, stumbling around and nearly falling over the table next to her. They...they took him away. They took him away. She gasped as she fell onto the couch, panting loudly as she tried to take in breaths that she just couldn't seem to get enough of.  

Not hers. Not hers.  

They said he wasn't hers. She couldn't have him. 

They took him away.  

She rolled onto her back as she clawed at her face, moving down and clawing painfully at her chest, desperate to stop whatever was making it so difficult to breathe. She was crying, could feel the tears run down her smarting cheeks. All she wanted was N, it wasn't much. She just wanted him by her side again and love her like he did before. It hadn't been a hard or terrible wish. She didn't even want to use his doll to get him to come back, wanted him to come back on his own.  

She screamed in pain and regretted it immediately, feeling as if she coughed out the last bit of air in her lungs. Her head pounded terribly and she palmed her eyes, wishing for everything to stop. She wished N was here, to hold her and kiss away all her pain. She was sure if he was here everything would be fine. Nothing could be wrong if N was with her.  

Why wouldn't they let her be with him? 

She wasn't going to hurt him.  

She just wanted him back. 

She just wanted him to love her.  

Why didn't he love her?  

She treated him so well.  

She rolled onto her side, feeling her chest open up just slightly, and she gasped as hard and as fast as she could. Each breath hurt so much.

She hadn't been asking much. Just N.

But those other dolls took him away. They took him into their home and locked the door, shoved her and yelled at her to leave. They wouldn't even let Taek-woon in, had left the two of them outside. Even Taek-woon left her, didn't say anything to her as he eventually went home. Even Taek-woon was scared of her. She hadn't done anything. She hadn't done anything! Yet those other dolls accused her, pointed at her, demanded her stay away.  

‘Kill them.' 

Almost immediately the bindings on her chest released and she gasped painfully, each gasp of air nearly ripping apart her burning lungs. She spluttered, dry heaving, her eyes wide as she looked around for where the voice had come from.  

'Kill them.'

'Kill them. Kill them kill them kill them kill them.' 

She looked everywhere for the voice, her heart beating frantically as it repeated over and over and over again. The room was empty, Jung-hoon still in the kitchen watching her with a look of contempt-- she fell off the couch and got up on her hands and knees, glaring right back at him.

'Kill them kill them kill them kill them kill them kill them kill them kill them kill them kill HIM.'

It was all his fault; if Jung-hoon hadn't hit her, hadn't beat her, N wouldn't have been hurt. Then N wouldn't have thought she had been hurting him. Then N wouldn't have left her. Then they wouldn't have taken him away. She struggled to her feet, swaying as she stumbled towards him, her eyes never leaving his face. 

"It's all your fault," she hissed, and the mantra of 'Kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him' ran through her head. She bent down and picked up his doll off the floor, glaring at it in hopes that just her eyes would be enough to destroy it. Jung-hoon was looking at her in fear now, his eyes wide, and it made her laugh. She slammed the doll onto the table, frowning when he didn't make a sound, and annoyingly wiped her finger across its mouth.  

Jung-hoon screamed in pain, and just the sound was enough to silence the voices in her head. "Why did you hit me? Why did you do that to me? Why did I let you?" She smashed the doll again and again on the table, crying louder when his pain filled her with only more hatred. She had let him, had let him beat her because she had thought of it as her punishment. She was being punished for what happened to N-- why else would he have left her?  

But then that had been hurting N.  

She wouldn't forgive anyone who hurt N. 

She pounded her fist on the doll's head, and Jung-hoon cried out again, his hands still frozen in his lap. She untied his doll, and he fell to the ground in pain, clutching his head.  

'Kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill-' 

"Stop!" she screamed, throwing the doll away and scrambling backwards until she ran into the wall, falling to the ground and pressing her palms to her forehead. What was she doing? Dolls...she hated dolls. She didn't want anything to do with them, only wanted N. She didn't even want to use his doll to get him to come back, wanted him to come back on his own. What would N think if he saw her now, saw her using the doll to torture someone? She wasn't her mother, she wasn’t.  

'You have to kill them. They took him from you. Kill them.' 

'It's the only way.' 

'How dare they take away what is yours. Punish them.' 

'Punish them.' 

'Kill them.' 

She cried out as she ran to her room, jumping onto her bed and wrapping herself in her blankets, hoping it would block out the voices. But they only grew louder, telling her to punish the dolls that took N away. Had condemned her for things she hadn't done, who felt they were the ones who could determine whether she could be with her own doll or not. They acted like she was going to hurt him, as if she would torture him like her mother. She wasn't her mother! 

"Stop it!" she cried again, clawing at her head in desperation. "Leave me alone!"

'Punish them!'

'Kill them!'

She screamed as she shot out of her bed, running to her closet and ripping the door open, throwing everything inside away haphazardly. She only stopped when a small chest appeared, her hands pausing over the lock before ripping it open. The voices cried even louder, screaming to punish, to kill, to kill kill kill kill kill kill-- she reached inside and grabbed handfuls of dolls out, tossing them to the ground until there was a pile in the middle of her room.

She didn't know whose was whose; only knew that these were her mother's dolls. They had given them to her-- the police. They didn't know what kind of evidence they had given her, didn't think they were important. They never knew about the dolls, only thought her mother tortured them for fun. Didn't realize what they had given her. She grabbed one random doll, taking a pencil off her desk and ramming it into its stomach.

The voices squealed in delight, telling her to do it again. Again again again again again again again again again-- she stabbed it over and over, crying tearfully. She just wanted the voices to stop. She grabbed another doll, stabbing it in the same way, and she continued to stab doll after doll.

"Stop! Just stop!" she bawled, taking one of the dolls and slamming it to the ground as hard as she could. The soft fluff of the doll's head smushed under her fingers, the material of the cloth rough against her skin. She flipped it over so its eyes were staring at her; they were clear, only the heart was blood-stained. It wasn't a special doll.

It wasn't N.

She took her pencil and stabbed it as hard as she could, dragging it down until it tore through the cloth, the stuffing inside jumping out as if it had been bursting at the seams. The voices grew even louder, laughing and goading her on; she dug her fingers into the stuffing and ripped it apart, tore it until the stuffing lay out messily at her knees. She screamed as she tore the arms and legs off, stabbing into its eyes and ripping them apart.

'Stop it! Stop it Yoon Saet-byul!'

She jerked away at the voice, dropping the pencil in shock, panting as she stared down at the remnants of the doll. It was unrecognizable now, the only thing looking up at her being a part of its stitched smile. It was smiling at her. Her hands flew to when she realized what she had done-- she had killed this doll. Whoever it was, she had killed him. She crawled away, huddled in the corner with her eyes locked on the torn pieces of cloth.

She killed him.

Her hands dug into her hair as she heaved, the weight of what she had done pressing down on her painfully.

How could she look at N now? What would N think?

But the voices had stopped, and that was all that mattered to her.