Gastone woke up the next morning, his head feeling heavy. He looked outside only to see the sky was still a dark blue with small pigments of pink merging with it. Gastone sat up on his bed, leaned forward to stretch out his back, and brushed his wild platinum blonde hair with his large, rough hands. Getting out of bed, Gastone walked to his dresser on the opposite side of his room. It was almost as tall as he was, with beautiful golden hinges and an imprint of a fan at the bottom. The dark brown of the oak worked very well with the rest of Gastone’s room. His older brother, Piero, used to call the dresser, “the Lion Wardrobe” because of the legs resembling a male lion. He removed his shirt, stockings, and slacks from the drawer, closing it with a mighty thud.


    Gastone placed the articles of clothing on his bed, looking them over. He sat down on his mahogany chair, pulling up his well-made ebony slacks over his long, pale legs then pulled up his socks that were the same colour as his slacks. Gastone made his way back to the “Lion Wardrobe”, He walked past the bronze-framed mirror, halting in his tracks. He stared at his reflection, a large scar danced across the front of his chest. He glided his left hand over the scar, Gastone’s eyes following his hand in the reflection. Gastone then quickly shook his head, rushing past the mirror and putting on his cream-coloured shirt. The young man walked back to his dresser, looking at the waistcoats. Stroking his chin, Gastone looked over the selection of outfits carefully. His eyes focused on a deep blue waistcoat with thin white stripes as the pattern. Gaston carefully removed the waistcoat from the dresser and placed it over his shirt. He then fixed up his ocean-blue blanket and pillow on his bed, hating to come home to a messy bedspread.


    Gastone grabbed the violet leatherbound notebook from his desk, staring for a second at the King Victor flyer before reluctantly putting it in the front cover of the book. Gastone carried the prized notebook in his left hand as he turned the doorknob of his bedroom door to open it. As he closed the door, the thud echoed slightly in the hallway. He walked down the grand steps of his family home. As he made his way to the dining room for breakfast, he saw his mother reading the morning newspaper. The family’s servant, a red-headed and quiet man named Garrot, was serving fresh salmon for the family.  Arielle was sitting at the oakwood dining table, still in her white nightgown as the clock bell rang five times. She looked up from the newspaper as Garrot poured some warm coffee into Arielle’s cup.


    “Good morning, darling,” Arielle said to her youngest song in a cheerful manner, “you’re up earlier than usual. Garrot, dear, please get Gastone something to eat.”


    Garrot nodded his head slowly towards Arielle, his hair bouncing like flame in a soft wind. As the servant poured warm earl grey tea into a porcelain mug and placed a generous portion of salmon on a plate, Gastone sat down from his mother across the table. Arielle placed the newspaper down, the front page illuminated by the lamp around the room. Gaston cocked his head to the side as he took a small bite of his salmon.


    “King Victor announces plans for a spectacular exhibition”, the headline read, Gastone’s eyebrows and eyes widening in surprise and terror at the news. Arielle noticed her son’s widened eyes and took back the newspaper to read the rest of the article.


    “His Majesty, King Victor, has announced plans for an exhibition in the capital last night,” Arielle began reading with slight excitement in her voice, “The King says that the exhibition will highlight the growing talents of the country, with the top students being given scholarships to King Victor’s University next autumn. A date is yet to be set but the King has suggested the event will take place later this year.”


    Gastone took a large gulp of his breakfast, practically forcing the food down his throat. His mother was giving a pressed smile as she folded up the newspaper.


    “I know what you’re going to say, Mum”, Gastone said in a stifled tone. “You want me to enter the competition.”


    Arielle’s pressed smile turned into an expression of worry as she began rubbing her temples. Garott quickly left the room and escaped to the living room, just to be safe.


    “Please Gastone,” Arielle pleaded with her hands in prayer, “This is a sign from above that your life means so much more! Why are you wasting your life away when you could be changing the world in the capital!”


    Gastone took a deep breath, trying to quickly regain his composure as best he could. He was tired and the day had only started. He quietly sat up from his chair, quickly patted his face with his napkin, and took a long, slow sip from his tea. He walked to the door, gave his mother a slight bow and a cheeky smile.


    “Have a good day, Mum,” Gastone told his mother in a monotone voice, “I’ll be back later in the evening.”


    Gastone put on his black hat and coat, grabbed his book-bag and quickly made his way out the door. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking down at the cobbled streets underneath his feet. He could hear the boys and girls'' feet clacking on the road as they ran from their homes to the little red schoolhouse, the bell clanging from the belltower. The smell of cinnamon, chocolate, and vanilla-soaked cakes and cookies from the baker tickled Gastone’s nose, causing his stomach to rumble. Gastone stopped in his tracks, remembering he did not finish his breakfast from earlier. Gastone made his way to the Sweet Dreams bakery, a place his older brothers and he would go all the time after school.


    Gastone opened the heavy doors of the bakery, and already the business was filled with men and women rushing to purchase breads and goodies for their families. The walls were filled with seemingly never-ending cakes and biscuits, the smell of them felt like a warm hug from a caring grandmother. Gastone walked towards the brightly-coloured and multi-flavoured buns, weaving past the other busy customers. He bent down, scanning the shelves before he settled on the selection at the bottom. He grabbed a small paper bag, and swiftly grabbed two poppy-seed buns filled with grilled tomatoes for a filling. Rolling the top of the bag to close it, Gastone made his way to the queue for the register, checking his pocket watch to look at the time. 7:14 am. He still had plenty of time. When his turn for the register came up, Gastone reached for his ruby-coloured leather wallet Nick Nack had given him, and gave the attendant enough silver coins to pay for his items. After leaving the store, he made his way to the road near the end of the village, carefully making his way to the little house on the hill.


    _________________________________________________________________________


    Gastone hiked up the hill to reach the house before stopping at the front door. He fumbled around in his bag, searching for the key to open the door. After a few seconds, he found the key, twisted it into the lock, and turned it to hear the click. He opened the door and looked around the room, not seeing Mr. Nick-Nack. Gastone shut the door behind him, locking it before placing the key back into his bag. He called for Mr. Nick-Nack, concern growing in his voice with no answer from the elderly man. Gastone quickly rushed to the bedroom of his employer, only to be greeted with messy bed sheets, an open sewing kit with the thread spun like webbing, and pastel ribbon dancing on the floor. Gastone raced back into the living room before stopping in his tracks upon hearing a loud snore. Gastone quickly turned his head to face the sleeping Mr. Nick-Nack on a small pumpkin couch with floral print. Gastone breathed a sigh of relief before crouching down in front of the sleeping man.


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    “Mr. Nick-Nack,” Gastone whispered, “Mr. Nick-Nack, are you alright?”


    Gastone slowly shook Mr. Nick-Nack’s shoulder, sparking the elderly man to scream for a moment before realising that he was not about to get murdered. Gastone helped Nick-Nack recover his breathing while apologising profusely.


    “My boy!” Nick-Nack said, clenching his chest, “Do that again and I shall be sent to the morgue!”


    Gastone rubbed the back of his head, as Nick-Nack sat up from his couch. After fixing his shirt, Gastone walked back to the front door to recover his book-bag with the buns inside. He handed one of the buns to Mr. Nick-Nack, who thanked them, albeit still shaken from being woken up so suddenly. The elderly man took a slight bite of the bun, his eyes focusing on the metal door behind the living room. His workshop. Once a place of childhood wonder, now only echoed the once whimsical dreams of a heartbroken man.


    Gastone noticed the old man’s eyes wandering to the door, curious as to what was behind it. He remembered Nick-Nack at his work desk, drawing on his papers. Gastone wondered what could spark the shattered spirit of his employer back to life, even if it was a moment. Gastone munched his bun, wondering if he should inquire about the project of Nick-Nack.


    “My boy,” Nick-Nack remarked, in a hushed voice, “did I ever tell you why I decided to make toys?”


    Gastone shook his head, not being able to recall the tale. Nick-Nack placed his bun down on his mahogany table, placing a napkin underneath it.


    “When I was a young man,” Nick-Nack stated, “I had dreams of being an engineer. I wanted to recreate machines that would revolutionise our city. Machines that would make it known across the globe. My friend and I worked on our dreams, together.”


    Nick-Nack folded his furrowed hands as if in prayer, looking down at the floor. Gastone’s head followed the direction of Nick-Nack’s, curious to hear more.


    “So, I decided to make my dream reality,” Nick-Nack recounted, his eyes overflowing with memories, “For months we worked on an automated soldier. He could play drums, speak orders, and could even walk short distances. Surely, I figured our invention would be welcomed by the brilliant minds of the capital.”


    “However,…,” Nick-Nack’s face grew heavy with disappointment, “The…plan did not go how I had wished. There was hope when we entered my soldier into the recruitment phase of the annual Diamond Innovation Society Exhibition. A career with them meant funding, fame, fortune.”


    Gastone’s eyes widened with shock, the Diamond Innovation Society was one of the most respected scientific organisations in the country. Gastone’s own father had worked with their engineers, who were often making headlines for their brilliance.


    “My friend, Tony, he had taken our plans and made his own automated solider. His was stiff, cold, but the judges admired it,” Nick-Nack remembered, grief slowly leaking into his words, “I was laughed out of the capital, believing I could no longer show my face there again, so I settled in this sleepy hamlet.”


    Gastone lowered his head, feeling sorrow for his mentor. While he worked primarily as a caretaker for Nick-Nack, the elderly man still let Gastone use spare parts from his workshop to craft music boxes and was the man who taught Gastone how to play piano. Many hours were spent filling the destitute room with heavenly melodies.


    “I was ready to give up on my dream,” The old man remarked, “I was told my inventions were not worth investing in, that they were too complex and wasteful, when….she appeared.”


    Nick-Nack’s weathered face lit up with joy, a fire in his cinnamon-brown eyes rekindled, his lips showing a slight smile.


    “My beautiful Adelaide”, Nick-Nack remarked, his voice sparkling with affection, “she gave me a pouch of silver coins, saying she would happily invest in my toy shop should I ever open one. Her hair was like caramel, her eyes were as green as emeralds, and her dress was a charming shade of blush pink.”


    Nick-Nack reached towards the mahogany coffee table, a table he told Gastone to not touch unless told to. He removed various books from a pile to reveal a dusty, aged frame. Nick-Nack caressed the frame to remove the dust, revealing a memory underneath. Smiling at the image, Nick-Nack handed the portrait over to Gastone with care. Gastone carefully took the portrait and laid his eyes on the image. A curly blond-haired gentleman standing close to a brunette woman, their hands entangled. On the corner of the painting was the date written in yellow, “May 16th, 1816.”


    “Our wedding day,” Nick-Nack remarked, his voice in a near-whisper, “the happiest day of my life. After our wedding, we left the capital. We settled down here, built our little house on the hill. I used my knowledge to craft remarkable toys for the children: a mermaid that could swim, a bluebird singing a tune, and a dragon capable of breathing fire. They were…alive.”


    Gastone smiled at the sweet memories Nick-Nack shared, tracing the face of a young Nick-Nack.


    “For many years,” Nick-Nack continued, bringing his folded hands to his chin, his eyes focused on the peeling wall in front of him, “Adelaide and I tried to have children. It was a dream she and I shared for years. The children that we heard laugh everyday were only reminders of a gift we would never experience naturally, we tried so many methods.”


    Gastone’s smile sunk, he knew that Mr.and Mrs. Nick-Nack were unable to have children, but did not realise just how deep that dream had been shaken. Nick-Nack’s eyes focused on Gastone, his gaze as sharp as an arrowhead.


    “Now, my boy,” Nick-Nack proclaimed with great pride in his voice, “I can make that dream come true again.”


    Gastone cocked his head to the side, confusion struck on his face. His right eyebrow rose into an arch, his lips firm. Nick-Nack saw the reaction of his apprentice, although it did not shake him. Grabbing his butterfly-laced cane from beside him, the elderly man rose from the sofa. Nick-Nack staggered to the bookcase with Gastone close behind him, the aged shelfs overflowing with scrolls and compact books. Nick-Nack plucked a scroll from the shelf, quickly unrevealing it. A finished concept of a doll filled the paper, with various sketches of the head, the facial shape, even the length of the arms was jotted down. Gastone studied the plans, curious that the measurements still seemed rather large for a doll that a little girl would normally play with.


    “Was Nick-Nack beginning to make toys again,” Gastone thought to himself, “Yesterday was the first time he entered the workshop in years, was this a display doll?”


    Nick-Nack ushered Gastone over to the workshop door, hunched over his cane. Nick-Nack slowly opened the door to the workshop, still in disarray. A large table was in the middle of the room, a long white sheet covering the contents of the table. Various mechanisms from torn apart toys were scattered across different desks. Dust showered the room, with the overwhelming smell of metal in the musty air.


    Gastone slowly walked towards the table, confused. Nick-Nack placed his cane in front of his apprentice, forcing him to stop in his tracks.


    “This room, my boy,” Nick-Nack remarked as he looked around the cluttered room, “is where dreams became a reality.”


    Nick-Nack walked towards the sheet and gently pulled it off the table. Gastone’s eyes widened, and he placed his right hand over his agape mouth. Underneath the table was a doll, placed on her side. If Gastone had to place an age on her, she looked about twenty-years-old at most. Her skin was made of smooth, golden porcelain, she had a mountain of sun-kissed curls, a large pink bow on her head matched her charming blush dress and ballet shoes. A small, heart shaped locket was placed gently on her chest. A small wind-up mechanism located in her back, partially covered by her curls. Her eyes shut like a baby doll. Gastone took a few steps back before falling to the floor, his expression frozen in shock as his hands covered his face.


    Nick-Nack carefully stumbled to a nearby workbench which held a tiny, blue box with a silver butterfly engraved on the lid. Nick-Nack carefully opened the box, revealing a small blue butterfly. He turned slowly, his cane in his right hand clicking on the wooden floor as the butterfly was held in his left.


    Gastone sat on the floor, following the old man with only his eyes. Nick-Nack stopped in front of the doll.


    “When I created my toys,” Nick-Nack asserted, “I knew they were capable of being more than simple childhood playthings. I knew if not kept in check, they’d be a liability.”


    Nick-Nack raised the butterfly to the work light overlooking the table where the doll lay, the wings sparkled like a freshly mined sapphire.


    “This butterfly is what gave life to my work,” Nick-Nack stated, “This butterfly told my creations how to behave. They were not to put their own needs before the child who owned them, they could not harm the child who owned them, and most important of all, my creations were unable to tell a lie.”


    Nick-Nack moved the curls from the neck of the doll to reveal a tiny, heart shaped button. He gave the button a light push, and a swoosh could be heard as the doll’s chest opened. Nick-Nack gently placed the blue butterfly into the chest of the doll, the butterfly glowing white three times before stopping. The latches in the doll’s chest attached themselves to the butterfly’s wings. Nick-Nack pushed the button again, closing the chest hatch. He then focused his attention to the wind-up mechanism to the back of the doll and turned it no more than three times clockwise.


    Springs and cogs inside the doll could be heard moving, before the doll opened her eyes, revealing their colour to be a near-pastel blue as she sprung up and sat up straight, looking straight at Gastone. Gastone could not do anything in his state of shock.


    Nick-Nack smiled as he looked in Gastone’s direction.


    “Mr. Scheletro,” The old master remarked with a tinge of excitement in his voice, “say hello to my daughter, Evelyn.”