The rebirth hurt every time. He could still feel the slashes in his abdomen, the places where his limbs had been severed, the hole where Maria had stabbed him through the heart. Whatever she was guarding, it was important, but he couldn't face going into that room again. He needed time to collect himself.
Awakening inside the Hunter's Dream always came with a sense of relief. There was always an odd feeling about this place, and though it felt real he knew deep down that this was a new place, a different place disconnected from the world he fought, killed and died within. The shadow of the workshop ever loomed before him in the moonlight, a safe haven yet always sinister.
He breathed out a long sigh, placing the Threaded Cane back into its holster around his waist. It only ever gleamed and shined when he was here, and he enjoyed taking a second to admire its construction each time. Whenever he would leave the Dream, it would inevitable end up soaked in blood and viscera. He thought he'd be used to it by now.
He looked up and began walking up the stairs to the workshop. He hadn't seen the other two inhabitants of the dream yet; they might be inside, if they weren't morosely talking to themselves amongst the weeds and gravestones littered around the courtyard of the workshop.
"Good Hunter," came the voice of the plain Doll, a little more urgent than he'd expected. She usually remained quiet until he came to her to talk; she was very passive and shy in his presence, even after all this time. She alone possessed the power to give him strength, a power which had become essential in his journey, and each time she did, he felt closer to her. It was almost as if she had gazed inside his very soul, and knew his every thought, the way she touched him as he felt unseen forces coursing through his veins. She once told the Hunter that she loved him. He thought that was what she said, anyway.
She was stood by the fireplace, alone. There was something akin to apprehension in her porcelain features today - or was he imagining it? He wasn't sure if she could make expressions. She was beautiful, no doubt; behind the joints and the layered dress was the approximation of a lithe, slender young woman. She reminded him of someone. Was she designed to be this beautiful? Gehrman had built her, had he not?
"Where is Gehrman?" the Hunter asked, stepping close to the Doll and gently laying a gloved hand on her shoulder. She lay a cold hand on his and glanced up at his steely features, the eyes barely visible between his tricorn hat and face covering. He hadn't intended to appear intimidating, but the life of a hunter demanded a certain aesthetic.
"Dear Hunter," she continued, ignoring his question for now as she moved his hand from her shoulder, "we have a visitor."
A visitor?
Who else came to this place? Was it another hunter? Surely Gehrman would...
"Gehrman, where is he?" he demanded again, this time grabbing the doll by the shoulders and leaning into her face. Her eyes,as always, were blank. They never showed fear. As she gazed back at him, another voice spoke; soft and feminine, but sounding younger than that of the Doll.
"The old man is not here" said the small figure walking up the stairs into the open doors of the workshop. Her face was covered by the wide brim of a huge, pointed hat. All the Hunter could see were four...
four?...
blue hands protruding from sumptuous robes, held in a contemplative prayer position.
The Hunter reached under his coat and placed a hand on the protruding grip of the cane at his belt. A finger gently caressed the trigger mechanism; two more steps and she would be close enough for the barbed whip, three steps would give him enough time to transform the weapon before she could attack him. His muscles tensed as his other hand slowly moved towards the handle of the huge blunderbuss strapped to his back. The intruder took one step forwards.
"There will be no need for that" she said, as one blue skinned hand pointed towards him. It was like she had read his mind, it had been less than a fraction of a second since his instincts had kicked in. He closed his grip, only to find no cane handle there. His other hand flailed pointlessly behind him as he realised the blunderbuss was also gone. Glancing around he saw them on the workbench, neatly arranged as if they had always been there.
How?
"I was once called a witch by many from my world," she continued as she took another small step forward, as if there had never been nor ever would be a threat to her progress. Her confidence scared the Hunter more than her witchcraft did. Every step she took closer to them made his heartbeat rise.
"Now I am all things. But in recent times, I hast taken to one role in particular."
She now stood side by side with the Doll, holding hands with her. The Hunter hadn't even seen the doll walk over to her side, so transfixed was he by the power of this woman he had never met before. After Amelia, after Eileen, after Maria, he had vowed never to underestimate a woman again.
Especially
a confident one.
Looking at their linked hands, he saw gaps and joints in the intruder's blue hands that echoed the Doll's own artificial anatomy. This person, this powerful witch...was also a Doll? This could mean so many things. For now, he just stared and waited for whatever was going to happen. This was not his situation to control.
"Dost thou crave control, Hunter of Beasts?" she said, lifting her head and smiling directly at him. Her eyes contained the depth and wonder of the stars, like an infinite galaxy swirling within a blue-black abyss. He couldn't move from the awe of her countenance, and continued to stare back rigidly. The witch giggled.
"Thou canst refer to me as Ranni," she continued, as if her last question was a jest intended to make him uncomfortable, "I am now simply The Granter of Wishes. Tell me, Warrior of Yharnam...what is it thou wish most?"
