Although fated to be as quickly snuffed as Quinton (he was a throw-away character), this fantastical little demon had a plan of his own. In the interest of—well, in the interest of interest—Pharis developed into quite the complexity of his own, abandoned his host, and entered the main plot line only to become one the core characters that carried the story onward. He was that vermin sort of villain who, despite my best efforts, never seemed to be able to clear out of the picture as I originally intended. In a strange sense though, I came to admire his stupid literary luck, and I ultimately resigned my efforts and mentally named him “primary character” for lack of the ability to kill the stupid little demon off in story.
My wife bargained with me. She wanted a doll, but she didn’t want to upset me (due to my irrational position,) and due to her patience, I agreed. She got a doll—a small one, as per our agreement, but she got a doll. There was a doll in the house. It had its own room, and it stayed away from me, though I would sourly frown at it whenever it came out to experience the daylight when my wife accessorized it with appropriate fashion. To try and encourage my comfort she explained to me that doll moms personalized their dolls with names and identities in the same way that writers personalized their characters with names and identities. She explained to me that doll moms (and dads, of course) were often writers, and sometimes they would use dolls to inspire themselves in their writing.
Suddenly, the way I thought about dolls had been turned on its head. They were positive, not negative, even though they were creepy, because they gave me emotion, emotion: a fundamental core of humanity. Said another way: I now recognize that these dolls celebrated my humanity, and so at some point the idea struck me; not only did I want my own, but I needed my own. I needed one because I faced my ‘fear’ and not only does it not rule me, but I saw through to what it really was. I needed a doll because every doll is different. They have their own sense of identity, and I am a writer, a god. I birth universes and all of those living within it, those little husks which would be nothing without the soul I pour into them.
My wife, who had come to own more than one doll at the point this decision was made, took each out and put them in my hands. According to her, I held them stiffly, as if I didn’t want anything to do with them. “No,” I told her, regarding the size. “I need something bigger.” The next doll was offered. “Bigger.” She was a huge help during this process: it took 4 months to find the doll that I was going to commission and I wouldn’t have been able to find it if it weren’t for her sheer determination that I love so very dearly.
I say it again, without her, this miracle wouldn’t have happened, and it wasn’t without its hiccups! (The original sculpt that we originally wanted to commission fell through because it was “too fragile to ship overseas.”)
Pharis lives on my altar, dead center. He will be joining me in my rituals as my personal servant (what god doesn’t need a servant?) and will serve as a reminder of my magnificence, of the power of creativity, teamwork, and what mankind can accomplish when minds and passions are put together as one!