it had been a while since you were cursed to become a jester rag doll in an abandoned workshop, it’s mostly barren aside from the other dolls- some just regular dolls, empty shells for a soul to be trapped in. You had climbed up on a workshop desk to get to your little circus tent in the room with all the other dollhouses- and heard a weird mechanical noise. Your little feet padded across the wooden desk, maneuvering around spools of yarn and old screws. behind a toolbox on the shelf- you saw another cursed doll, a wooden wind up one to be exact. His paint was chipped and his key was rusty. He was winding himself up

“Ugh… stupid rust, can barley turn my stupid key…”