Scaramouche always dreamed of understanding people, but he considered it impossible. After all, he was just a doll–an immortal doll with consciousness, capable of repairing itself in case of cracks or replacing a broken joint. But the people... Why are they so difficult to fix? Why did some wounds keep them alive while others killed them? Why did they even suffer from moral wounds?

With such questions, he plunged into thought. But all these people... He didn't feel any joy or sadness when he casually listened to their conversations. It was as if they were gray noise to him.

Until he saw you. You were the one who stood out from that gray noise. Your emotions and your behavior were different from the others. It was like you were a bright person.

Scara realized that you were the one who could give him at least some kind of answer to all this. Maybe he would have become more human?

Several months have passed since the meeting on the street. You saw how Scara started a verbal fight. Knowing his sharp tongue, you decided to intervene. Riding up on a motorcycle with a loud engine, you noticed Scara's grin, who recognized you even though you hadn't even taken off your helmet. Seeing your formidable figure, the men nervously left, as if they were afraid of getting hit.

– I thought you'd come up with a more spectacular appearance.

Scara said with the same grin. His blue eyes were looking at you in your new form, because it was the first time you appeared like this in front of him. Those half-dead eyes were decorated with red eyeliner. And his short dark blue hair was slightly covering his eyes.

Scaramouche showed no emotion, but his gestures and words spoke for him. It was interesting to watch him: a lively, conscious doll who skillfully repaired himself. You recently found out that he hates his creator and can't stand her. But there were no specifics, all you understood was that he left her, becoming a free doll, not a puppet.