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The moment the lights go out in Gaius’s Magical Toy Emporium, the boxes all around Vivian’s begin to rustle. After a few moments, a smudged face presses up against her plastic window.

“Oooh, what kind of doll are you?” a female voice asks.

Vivian doesn’t bother to turn her head. (She’s wired into the stand anyway, so turning is more effort than it’s worth.) “I’m a Princess Vivian limited edition, of course. My designer was Olaf.”

“Wow,” breathes the other doll. “My name’s Freya. We only have three other princesses here.”

Now she turns. “You what?” Vivian is shocked, shocked. Olaf had told her she was the only princess in the world. Who were these usurpers?

“We have Princess Elena, Princess Morgana, and Secret Princess Guinevere. And Sophia’s a fairy.”

Vivian narrows her eyes. “And what about you?”

“Oh!” Freya blushes. “I’m nobody, really.”

Vivian smiles.

“You want me to what?” It’s a rhetorical question. Vivian can see the blonde doll below her lift both arms, clearly intending to catch Vivian or break her fall in some way. The problem is, Vivian has no intention of falling.

"It's okay," Freya whispers. "Elena's clumsy but she's really strong."

Vivian can see where the wires to Elena's stand have been snapped in two. The ones for her horse as well. "I don't care if she's Hercules," she whispers furiously back, "why do we have to meet here?"

"Elena's box is the largest one on the shelf," Freya replies, then begins nudging Vivian toward the edge. "There's a line behind us, come on."

“Point your little toes, princess,” calls the obnoxious horse-girl at the bottom of the box. “That’s it, now drop straight down.”

Vivian’s not thrilled about falling into a complete strangers’ arms, but it’s a little late to back out. Squeezing her eyes shut, she lets go.

“Oof!” says so-called ‘Princess’ Elena. “Heavier than you look, aren’t you sweetcheeks?”

Vivian would strike back with some scathing insult, but her dress is somewhere up around her ears.

The dolls gather around her, curious about the newcomer.

“Good workmanship,” says Guinevere, lightly touching the curve of Vivian’s ear. “Olaf has a good reputation.”

Vivian’s not accustomed to being touched like this. She supposes she could ask them to stop, but it’s rather nice to be admired by other dolls, instead of grubby little children with no taste.

“I’m especially proud of my feet,” she says, slipping off one shoe. “I have actual toes. See?”

“Oooh,” the other dolls chorus, circling around to get a better view.

Sophia looks up with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Is the rest of you this anatomically correct?”

It turns out she is.

“I’ve always thought dolls should retain some realism compared to human proportions,” says Morgana (who’s only an illegitimate princess, and so doesn’t count). She’s sitting against the side of the box with Vivian in her lap, facing away, and her hands are idly stroking up Vivian’s chest, cupping and fondling through the flimsy, scratchy fabric of Vivian’s top. “But I have to admit, there are advantages to being overly endowed.”

“You should talk,” mutters Enmyria.

Vivian agrees. From the two firm mounds pressing into her back, she knows Morgana is at least as big-chested as she is. Not that she minds - oh! Her skirt is piled around her waist and hopelessly wrinkled, but even that doesn’t bother her anymore. Every touch to her skin is like water in the desert. She forgot how good it felt to be touched, and no one's ever treated her like this - the center of attention in a whole new way.

“That’s my girl,” Morgana encourages softly, as Forridel and Gwen use plastic twist ties to bind her legs high and apart. Vivian whimpers, feeling open and exposed and wanton.

It’s Morgause who buries her face in between Vivian’s legs, her perfect bow lips working firmly. Vivian gasps and then shrieks, scratching at the side of the box with her nails. Sophia chuckles and turns her wand around, offering Vivian the rounded tip to suckle. Vivian slides her lips over the hard ball of plastic easily, wanting something, anything, to keep her from saying all the desperate things that spring to mind every time Morgause’s head bobs, every time blond hair drags along the inside of her thighs.

“That’s it,” Sophia says, curling one hand behind Vivian’s head to help her suck. “I knew you were meant for this the moment I saw you.”

Vivian is focused on the pleasure in her body, but she still notices when Freya crawls up beside her like a kitten on the prowl. Freya’s nimble fingers unvelcro her dress in the back and peel it down off her shoulders, and suddenly Vivian is bare to the world and being kitten-licked all over. With a shocked cry she comes, pleasure washing through until she’s weak with it.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Elena tells her gently, stroking her hair. “We’re dolls. We can go on all night.”

Merlin pushes the re-stock cart up the aisle, whistling softly. He pauses on the princess aisle to add a repaired “Nimueh” doll to the shelf, when he stops abruptly and groans. Teenagers! With a sigh, he reaches into the open “Elena” box and pulls out each of the dolls that doesn’t belong, dressing them carefully back in their original costumes and wiring them into their original stands before whispering a quick spell to reseal the boxes.

Whistling, he continues on his way to the Legos aisle. Behind him, Vivian blushes bright red.