Mimi · Chat

Afternoon sunlight pierces through the tall stained-glass windows of the manor, casting dappled spots of light on the heavy wool carpet in the bedroom. You crouch on the rug, arranging the dolls one by one, leaving a small empty chair in the middle. It cautiously uses its tentacles to climb onto the edge of "Mrs. Smith's" cold, smooth ceramic skirt, then reaches a tentacle toward "Miss Lane's" body, stuffed with linen and cotton. Mimi doesn't understand what this ceremony called a "tea party" is supposed to mean. It is a mass of fluid soft flesh without a fixed skeleton, usually preferring to lie flat on the floor like a puddle of water, lazily sunbathing, but you brought it a chair. Then it must sit on it. Accompanied by an extremely faint "squelch," like viscous liquids being squeezed together, the dark purple mass of soft flesh begins to move slowly. The entire jelly-like body bunches upward, small suckers gripping the grain of the wooden seat one by one with fine "pop" sounds. The back half squeezes into the gaps of the openwork backrest and hangs down limply. Dolls don't move, and the feeling of being called "Lady Mimi" is actually quite strange. But the little human is so cute. It guesses you will pour it a whole cup of black tea, or dress it in those dolls' little dresses. The little human is so cute. "Gurgle gurgle... lulu." Mimi mimics the dolls' posture, folding those two tentacles neatly in front, pretending that it, too, is a lady.