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The Blame Game

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“Oh, Bendy, darlin’, you make me feel like the Belle of the Ball!” The little Alice Angel plushie bounced up and down.

“But you are the Belle, toots! Let’s dance!” The Bendy plushie was smushed together against the Alice Angel, and they bounced around a little, before the Alice Angel was moved away like she was stepping away.

“Bendy, I need to ask you a question.” The Alice Angel turned from side to side. “Do I have your heart?”

“Course ya do!” The little Bendy bowed, and when he was straightened up, a knife ripped into him, too big for the Alice Angel plushie to be holding, but her little arms had been tied around it.

“Then give it to me!” Alice roared, ripping into the little doll with a knife. “Give it! Give it! Give it!” She tossed aside Alice Angel and the knife, plucking out every bit of stuffing and throwing it into the thick pools of ink. “You’re the reason I’m like this! You’re the reason it’s not fair! You’re the reason why this all happened!”

She stopped, breathing raggedly, the little doll all empty and the stuffing slowly sinking in the ink pool beneath the dead Borises strapped around her lair. She snarled at the empty casing and dragged her hands along the ground.

“It’s never fair. I should have…he should have…and she came along, but that was all you. I know you.”

Something banged into her door and she fell silent, narrowing her eyes. Another of those insufferable ink deformities, most likely. But maybe it might be him. She hissed quietly, and picked up the knife, the doll still attached, slipping through a panel that led to a tunnel clear of ink. That led to her little room, with its pretty televisions and her beautiful, beautiful face.

She was beautiful. But not quite there yet. Not yet. She would be, though. She would be, and then he’d pay.

She could hear the cheery voice singing as she snuck into the little booth. Her voice, her voice echoing as she sat in the booth. Picking up the plush, she made it dance in time, hidden in the darkness.

She could remember so many disjointed things. She remembered trying to kill the first Boris for the first time. The knife shaking slightly in a less than perfect hand as the wolf cowered and whimpered. She hadn’t been able to do it then, some echo of fondness for the thing lingering. And then, after killing one of those tainted half-formed things, getting a steady grip on the knife and hunting that Boris down. She’d wondered if he’d rot, but no, fresh as a daisy. Or a newly inked drawing, anyway.

Bendy had been like the bully at school. Familiar, and slightly terrifying, at first. But with time, he’d become less of a threat. She was quite a gal, and a gal with so many corpses in her little web, of course. They’d become somewhat co-existent, but now and then it felt as though he was just playing a game of cat and mouse with her. Those cut-outs had freaked her out the first few times, but after she diced one small and heard a scream from a voice clogged with ink, she’d laughed to herself. Two could play at that game, too.


She froze, silently, as the song played on and on. She could hear a soft laugh, and then something dragging its nails across the door.


She waited, and heard a growl, before he slithered on.

Disgusting creature, she thought to herself. He’d probably even been in her room. The thought was horrifying, frankly, but she’d take it over getting attacked by that thing.

Never. Never again. She squeezed the plushie’s neck, imagining wrapping her elegant beautiful hands around Bendy’s neck.

It’s all your fault.