[h3]The Hunter's Dream[/h3]
Leaving behind the now-smoldering forms of the creatures that had once been Messengers, Farren climbed the stairs toward the workshop with the Shopkeeper following close behind. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air and overpowered the floral scents that usually wafted through the Dream on every gust of its gentle breeze, all while an unnerving quiet settled over this tiny, isolated little piece of the world; this peaceful little Dream within the Nightmare.
Moving to the doorway at the top of the stairs, Farren would doubtlessly immediately realize what the Shopkeeper had meant to call attention to. Right there on the wooden floorboards of the workshop the doll lay on her back, her shiny glass-eyes staring lifelessly into the ceiling and her limbs sprawled out around her like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
The Shopkeeper rushed inside, pushing past Farren if necessary, and hastened to the doll's side where they fell to their knees. One hand reached out and tenderly brushed aside a stray tuft of artificial hair, but contrary to how they had seen her on every past visit, the doll appeared to now be quite inanimate.