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Alucard opened the door by turning the round doorknob. He lowered his head as he entered, and a hair lock fell on his face. With the tip of his fingers, he put it behind his ear, feeling that it left a trace of greasiness on his fingertips. The sunlight entered through the elongated window of the office, soon covered by a cloud that crossed the sky. Walking inside that room, just one among many in the profusion of places that the castle was, he found the table to be intact and sighed in relief.

He laid a hand on the chair back and felt it rickety. Still, he pulled it back and sat on it, dragging it closer to the table. In a stretch of his right arm, he reached for the wicker basket left on the floor and put it on his lap. A red cloth veiled it, and he uncovered the basket to reveal a bunch of more fabric flaps, spools, and buttons. He rummaged through the many articles until he found two pairs of matching blue buttons. With all four in the palm of his hand, he stared at them for a long moment with squinted eyes. This was from an outfit of mine. But which one?

He left the buttons on the table. With a rusty pair of scissors, he cut a handful of brown woolen yarn and set it aside with a crochet needle. He picked flaps of all colors until he decided for the right shades, splitting them apart from the wrong ones. An orange yarn ball joined the crew, besides the brown one. Among his fingers, he held two bluish strips, examining them and choosing the most familiar shade. He smiled at the fabric and rested it near the yarn.

Now, the stuffing. With the random-colored flaps, he made a multicolored pile of snips, chopping everything with the scissors. The squeaky noise it made sickened him, and he dripped some drops of oil on it to go on, which he found in a drawer. He shuffled the ready fabric mix as if he caressed it.

Four beige fabric squares were supposed to be the base. The rainbow mount of chopped fabric went inside two of the squares, and he closed it like a traveling bundle with a pair of whatever ribbons he found. With his free hand, he opened the first drawer from the top on the right side. A needle cushion and a pin cushion showed up, both made out of remains of checkered fabric. Alucard pulled a needle of medium thickness and a spool of a dark, strong thread for the thick fabric of the piece. He cut a piece of the thread and held the needle with his left hand, threading the needle after his third try. He knotted the two tips of the thread and got back the fabric bundle.

The first piercing of the needle was the most careful one. The ones that followed turned around the ends of the bundle until he closed it completely and tied up the loose ends of the thread. He copied the process on the other bundle and cut out the barbs to make them more presentable, even if the tip was going to be inside. I’m making them together. He held each fabric ball in a hand, indistinguishable from one another. Together as they are now.

He untied the ribbons that closed the bundles, no longer needed. In one of the spheres, he made a fake scratch with a needle and a carmine thread, tying up the loose ends on the top, where the marks would not be seen. In the base of the sphere, near the inferior sewing, he made lots of dark thread spots with a thin, black thread, and a needle just as thin. Do you know what else is missing? He sewed scraps of brown yarn under the vertical red mark, being careful to leave a loose lint down. A drooling mouth.

“Now, you can speak,” Alucard half-smiled to the sphere, “‘Hello, my name is Trevor Belmont, and it’s been ten years that I wake up having pissed myself from all my drinking. Now, give me a pair of eyes, you vampire bastard, I want to see where’s the next filthy tavern.’”

He left the first head on the table and picked up the other. 

“‘Hmm. Hmm, hmm,’” he approached the smooth sphere from his ear, “What are you saying, Sypha? That you’d like a mouth to tell me how I’m an insufferable brat that wants everything their way? And you mean to tell me that with a lot of words that no one has used in a century? Consider it done.”

On the empty sphere, he made a short and strong sewing with the same reddish thread, leaving it beside the first fabric ball.

“What do you guys think of having an upper body and hips?” He asked the spheres and started making an impression of Trevor, “‘It’d be good if they came with a pair of hands to punch this face of yours.’ How about you, Sypha? ‘Thanks for the mouth, you were taking long already. But anything that will aid me to set you two on fire will do, really.’ All right, then. Body, here we go.”

He made two small fabric rolls with the two remaining beige squares. After looking for pins in the drawer, he pinned them so that they would not undo themselves. He threaded the needle and closed them for good, making small tubes with an open end and a closed one. Then, he turned the tubes inside out, stuffing them with the ball of chopped scraps. He got Trevor’s spheric head and sewed it to the open end of the tube. The needle almost escaped the fabric, brushing his finger just enough to scare him. He did the same to Sypha’s sphere.

It’s time for the eyes. He chose a red thread to contrast with the sky blue of the buttons and sewed them on with the greatest accuracy he could. One of Trevor’s eyes is hanging. It suits him well. He laughed alone. It felt strange. How long has it been since the last time? He contemplated the two bases, one in each hand, both clothless, hairless, armless, and legless. From dust, they came… From fabric, to be honest, naked and devoid like all of us.

With the white flap and the red ribbon he used to tie the unsewn heads, he gave Trevor a tunic. I won’t kindly give you pants. You’ll have your balls out in the cold. He added a hole on the outfit and passed a brown yarn through it, to be Trevor’s whip. For Sypha, he chose a washed-out black piece, tying it to another scrap which color was between lavender and blue, up like a collar that covered her small mouth made of thread.

As for the hair… He got the brown yarn ball and the crochet needle. The beginning of the braided threads was the hardest part, a borderline disaster, missing the needle to any possible direction. Luckily, this thing won’t poke me. At the end of the first cord, he deemed himself more proficient and made all the others, confectioning many of them to cover Trevor’s head in brown, as slowly as a meditation. Carefully, he let a short lock of hair falling on Trevor’s head, beside the scar. The sun was almost set, and Alucard lit up a half-burnt candle thrown on the table to continue. Sypha’s hair was made of individual yarn threads, joined in a bundle, tied up, and cut with scissors to create layers. Later, they were sewn one by one from a lateral spot on her head, in an uneven split hairdo, combed with Alucard’s finger so that they straightened.

He held each piece in a hand, looking at them with his stretched arms. “‘Give me legs so that I can kick your damn ass, you brooding bastard. And where are the arms I requested? How can I hold my beer that tastes like a cow’s stomach like that?’” Alucard made an impression of Trevor, then high-pitching his voice to copy Sypha, “‘And I need hands to drag this deadweight outside of the alley full of trash and shit where he spent the night because I decided to get involved with a useless drunkard and complain about it.’”

He left the chaotic table, leaving the office without closing the door. Arms and legs. Let’s go find arms and legs for you.

He walked by the corridors of the castle, slowly at first, then half-trotting, with his heart beating faster. Climbing down the stairs that took him to the central laboratory, he chose it instead of the tower one; it would be more in order. He guided himself by the working tables, the glassware, the weighing scales, and other instruments, which names he would forget now and then. Opening the third drawer from the left table, he found some sort of small spoons and miniature ladles. He picked up two pairs of spoons and two pairs of ladles. I need to poke holes into them… He stared at the small pieces in his right hand, with the dolls in the left hand. Leaving the dolls on the table, he searched the second drawer for a needle made out of thick metal and a dense fabric glove to protect him from the heat. With one of the instruments of the laboratory, a burner that released a potent flame, he warmed up the needle and manipulated it attentively until he made a hole in each ladle, which left a vestigial smell of incandescent metal in each one. He recalled the four spoons and went back to the office.

The candle was almost at its end when he opened the door with an elbow. He sat on the unstable chair once again, his back and buttocks feeling numb from the same posture. With more needles and threads, he sewed up Trevor’s arms first, passing the thread in a cross shape around the end of the small spoon handle, proceeding to give Sypha two arms.

“‘Finally! Why did you take this long? Now, take off my shirt, take off yours, too, and let’s brawl for three or four poorly thrown punches because I’m too drunk to even remember my name, then I’ll piss and puke myself until I fall asleep,’” Alucard poked Trevor on his fabric cheek, “What do you think of this, Sypha? ‘I think I’m going back to my shabby, ratty family, and sleep in a wagon with fifteen other people that didn’t take a freaking bath in three years, because you both bring me nothing but problems.’”

Alucard sighed. “It’s good to see you again. Care to join me for dinner?”