Information

Thrilled
Legacy Name: Thrilled

The Custom Graveyard Dillema
Owner: SundaysPlayzone

Age: 12 years, 2 weeks

Born: April 9th, 2012

Adopted: 11 years, 7 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: September 9th, 2012

Pet Spotlight Winner
July 20th, 2014

Statistics

• Level: 95
   
• Strength: 60
   
• Defense: 77
   
• Speed: 27
   
• Health: 58
   
• HP: 35/58
   
• Intelligence: 3
   
• Books Read: 3
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

I just want someone to protect. That can't be a lot to ask. That's what I was created for, after all, by Vanya himself, no less.

I remember it like it was yesterday. The amazing toy creator had placed out scraps of fabric, buttons, stuffing, thread, and needles on his work desk. He'd sat in front of it. He'd gone to work. And it wasn't long before I was made, then handed to the little girl I had been specifically intended for.

She'd held me out at an arms-length, her eyes narrowing as she squinted at me. She'd looked me over closely that first day, her eyes glancing from the tip of my plush horns, all the way down to my plush toes, then back up again. It was as if she was looking over every single inch of me just to make sure I would meet her expectations, and I could have squirmed beneath that hard gaze.

I'm not the sweetest-looking plushie around. I can admit that. I know what I look like. I'm kind of big to be so small. I have fangs and horns, and my ears are giant compared to the rest of my head. Then there are the wings on my back, resembling the ones you'd find on a gargoyle statue. There are even pins sticking out of my head, sewn in as a part of me!

It's all just for looks. I've never been a monster, even if I look like one. I was made to protect, to cuddle. I was made to love. But you wouldn't guess that, looking at me, and that day when she stared at me for so long I could practically feel her judging me, hating me.

That wasn't what was happening, however. Instead of being disappointed at how monstrous I looked, her eyes raking down every stitch Vanya had sewed into me, she was just committing me into memory. Because she was made to cuddle, too. In fact, as shy as she was, she needed cuddles. She needed someone to cling to, to help remind her everything would be okay, and I was chosen to be that someone.

I couldn't have known it that day, not at the time we first met, but I would be that someone for the next fifteen years.

Those years were filled with adventures. We had picnics and tea parties, and we played dress-up together. When she'd go to visit her grandparents in the north, I'd travel with her, keeping her company on the long journey, keeping her safe on the plains and trains that frightened her, just as I kept her safe from the monsters under her bed at night. I barely left her side for that entire time. And I was thrilled, even though before long my seams were ripped and numerous parts of my body were in need of patching.

But kids grow up. They get older, more independent. They get less afraid of things, and they start to live their own lives. They become new people, still shadows of their younger selves, but they're still different, and they don't need you as more then. Eventually the girl didn't need me anymore.

So back to Vanya's I went.

It was a confusing time for me. I mean, I had been with the same child ~ that same little girl ~ for nearly two decades. I had gone straight into her hands right after creation. It was strange to be back at the old man's place, where he put me on a shelf to gather dust. There were no more cuddles, no new adventures, and though that little girl was teary eyed when she'd left me behind she didn't return.

I wasn't a friend anymore. I was a thing, a forgotten possession.

I wasn't on the shelf he'd sat me for long. A new kid had come in, a little boy this time. He'd needed a friend, and I'd been there for the taking, so home with him I'd gone. That hadn't lasted, however, and after a while I was with Vanya once more.

More kids came. Each time I went home with someone new, but always I was returned to the workshop I was crafted in, placed upon that shelf for someone else. No one ever grew as attached to me as that girl had. No one ever kept me for very long. And no one was able to see passed my scary appearance.

I just want someone to protect, to take me home, see deeper than my horns and fangs, and not send me away again. Is that really too much to ask?





CreditsOverlay by hagane
Profile by User not found: morgan
Story by myself and wrote out by difficult (since left)
Art by Kayla-la and Halo

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