Al-Kimia, and the Golden Doll (precursor to The Promethean Doll)

Weeks of study in my little flat in Goatswood, and the cartouches and icons of the ancient book had begun to make sense. I had made some sort of friendships with Miss Carver and her boyfriend, a dashing military man, and a few others. Still, I sensed that same sort of restraint of mind and social capacity that said, "you shall never be accepted":  another instance I gathered of my reaching and pressing against the Brass Ceiling.
   Still my studies garnered results! Words seemed to materialize, and certain pictures became stories, stories became theories.
The small collection of scrolls from the ancient lands discussed al-Kimia, alchemy! Could these words and this strange powder mentioned actually turn lead into gold? I had no problem finding the powder nor finding lead, and eagerly began my study and experimentation! "Id lead can become gold,,, then, I anything can become anything,,," I was elated for the first time in weeks!

Tuty's gold leaf fairie skin worked well for this!

I scratched my cheek as I worked and a horrid sensation, like scratching a dead scab, sunk my stomach into my shoes. Discovering transmutation, I would have thought, would fill me with exhuberance! All I felt now was a growing dullness and stiffness overcoming me! What a dense and arrogant doll I was!

   I jumped up, grabbing my hat of course, as no decent lady of substance goes out in mid day without one,, and hurried to the pub where I knew I might catch the experienced Breezy Carver and her wise beau, the Colonel.

The Roebuck Tavern, get a meal, plan a secret act, thwart undead activities,, and cheap red wine!

  "Miss Charisma! What has happened?"  Breezy rushed to my side. Wild and huffing and puffing, I began to explain to her my recent studies of the scrolls and books  from the ancient lands. She rushed me inside, away from the many ears and eyes of the town square. Who knows  what someone could do with this ability? The Colonel seemed concerned as well, and asked  how I managed this.
"Hubrith," I said, startled at my lisp.
   "Ib de buk, de buk,, ohdo! by Wips ad Tungg! Here, dis is de buk,,,"
  Breezy grabbed the book from my hands and I learned something I did not know; She has a skill of reading ancient writings! Her lips and tongue worked far better than mine, I only hoped it was in time.
It was not.

The Goldfinger  Gold Skin with Robot eyes and A&A Lillie hair make the transformation complete

I could hear, see, but not move. I could not feel anything either but as a doll, really, how much am i feeling, and how much am i assuming i feel?
   "Well, we could prop her against the wall, makes a nice decoration,,"  One waitress said.
   "Cor, we could sell her! Solid gold she is!" The bartender was mercenary, but quite correct.
   It occurs to me, that a normal doll would have no issues at all with being gold, propped against a wall for display. Recent events had made me consider,, well,, something new... something that was against the very nature of things. Were my thoughts sacrosanct?  Was I insane? I contemplated at that moment how I very much wanted to experience what humans did, and not make these silly stupid mistakes of thought and deed that no human would ever make. Ohh, to be smart, and wise, and feel things and do things as those with squishy internals, and not clockwork...

   Breezy wiped me over and over with this rag, doused with a fluid, while she stated bizarre words over and over. By Dinner time, I could move freely, and though I missed afternoon tea, no inexcusable act had ocurred. I thanked her and the Colonel,  and walked to the train station, aware that eyes were upon me from hidden places, and windows. All dolls are aware when they are watched, probably not as well as humans, but well enough. My mind was a dank fog of forbidden inspirations, crazy yet plausible devices, and that same black truth shone out brighter and brighter, made proof  be recent events,
"If lead can become gold,, then a doll can become, , , , anything . . . . ."

There's no place like home, but for dolls that do not have homes, The Hypnotic Shoppe suffices well!

   I shall take a week off from my studies, considering a new study, one which I cannot mention to you dear Diary, or my readers- If it is indeed a crime against humankind, or the Powers that Be, or a sin against my Builder and Designer, I would not want to implicate you all. 
  Wish me luck, as I delve into a dark and heretofore rarely explored science- with only a few books to guide me, The Encyclopedia of Anatomy, Twirlin's Medical Journal, and The Modern Prometheus written by dear Miss Shelley,  I will take my studies of Mister Wells and Mister Verne to a place of the highest pinnacle of science and religion, of dollkind, and mankind.

If these are my last words written, with doll hand, or any sort, know that you are my loved friends,, and though love from an animated, sentient clockwork doll, might be perhaps not as divinely perfect as  human affection, a doll's love is a special love indeed. 
Professor Wendy Charisma, cwp

.  .  . to be continued ,  ,  ,