(Tom's POV)

I sit around, nothing to do and nothing to see. I fiddle with my puppet strings. Tomee takes a seat beside me, struggling a bit to pull himself up and onto the wooden chair paired with the dining table. He latches onto the edge of the seat, his stubby legs swinging before lifting up and relaxing next to me, his head barely reaching my midsection. He leans his squishy head on my hard forearm. I look down at him before giving a silent sigh, for the 13th time since Master had left. It seems to be the only thing left to do in this house.

"Tom?" Tomee squeaks out of the blue. I tilt my head at him; my stiff eye lids fluttering close for a moment, before opening once more.
"Can you dance for me?" He asks like a small child getting a rare chance to eat some sweets before dinner. He looks up at me and I nod with a warm smile curling on my stiff, inhuman face. I get up slowly, my limbs a bit tighter than I'd like them to be. I pick up the small bear in my arms; holding him close as he snuggles into me. I walk out the kitchen, down the hall, my feet making the same loud clonks and heavy footsteps. My control bar being quite vexatious as usual. I trot a bit, wishing to reach my destination quickly.

I finally make it, excitement rushing into my nonexistent blood. The record room, containing a record player. Oh, how I love it so! It can play the most wonderful pieces from the plethora of records in the cabinets lining the room's walls. The room's large window is the smallest bit ajar, its cotton curtains fluttering ever so slightly. The night sky is truly beautiful tonight. I hurry over to the window, bouncing on the balls of my feet to look outside. The street lamps glow a soft yellow that illuminates the town. Their small flames within flicker behind the tinted glass. The sky has bright blue and white stars speckled about, the pale moonlight seemingly reflecting off them.

I manage to tear my 'eyes' away from the mesmerizing sight, walking over to a cushioned and rectangular ottoman. I gently place Tomee down onto the, very much dented, hardwood floor. I lift the heavy lid of the, once again, handmade seat. Inside lay what seems to be an endless amount of records, ranging from Etudes, Minuets, Concertos, Baroques, and more. I absolutely adored it. There are the most beautiful compositions from amazing ballets as well. I do love music and dance with all my pine heart. It's two of few reliefs I can use to break away from my laborful life. Sadly enough, listening to songs with human voices singing along melodically always manages to break down my hard wooden exterior. The mere knowledge of the fact that I will never be able to sing along with the musicians pains me so.

I rifle through the records, inspecting each one with the intent of looking for another. Tonight I am searching for a particular record, one of my favorites, actually. Clair de Lune. It is not known to be a song you dance to, but I adored it so much as to choreograph my own ballet for it. Its soothing notes and chords always manage to calm me. The beautiful legatos and how the pianissimos transition smoothly into louder volumes and back with flawless crescendos and decrescendos always make me fill to the brim with joy.

I finally lift up the correct disk with a cheer in my mind. Tomee chirps in glee. I use one hand to place the record carefully onto the floor as I use my other to close the ottoman shut. Once closed, I use both hands to lift Tomee up and seat him comfortably on the chair. I pick up the record once more, turning away from the patient teddy bear to put it into the player. I slide the large, black, and ridged disk out from its thick paper sleeve as I reach the old player. Dropping the sleeve, I place the record onto the player. I move the needle on top of the record and let it start to play. The music starts out sounding gravelly at first, then gradually becoming smoother and more composed.

I run to the center of the room, in front of Tomee. I pose in my starting position, awaiting the arrival of the beginning of the piano piece. My arms crossed in front of me. My left leg points out, straight and crossed in front of my bent right leg as I lean over. The piano plays its new chords, and I swing my left leg over. I stand on the tip of my foot, my right leg up at a high angle. My right arm is down and my left is raised up in front of me. I wait a few moments until I move again.

I stay surprisingly light on my pointe shoe shaped feet. I take a small leap, travel, take a large leap. Pas de bourree, jeté, assemblé, I take more and more graceful steps. My elegant and feminine wooden body glides across the floor. Lithe and thin; ballerina worthy. Being male was a last minute decision made by Master, yet my body was already prepared and perfectly carved out to be female, so he did not change it.

The song was nearing toward its end, the notes slowing to a calming lullaby-like tune. As I land in my final pose, I take a bow. I hear soft pats of two stuffed arms hitting against each other in the best clapping they could do. Tommee Bear applauds for me as he does every dance. I shake out my body, allowing my limbs to clack. We continue this noise for a bit, having much fun.

SLAM!
"THOMAS!"

Our noise fest comes to an abrupt stop with me flinching and Tomee tensing up in fear. Master.

"THOMAS, YOU USELESS SHIT, GET DOWN HERE!" He roars in complete rage. I quickly tell Tomee in my mind to stay here. I wish not for him to get hurt, for cotton and fabric is much harder to repair than wood and string. I run as fast as my narrow legs are able. I try to come to a stop at the stairs, but of course, physics wishes otherwise. I skid toward the top stair, not being able to stop in time. I tumble down the steep staircase, each step rattling my wooden body painfully. I get all tangled up in my strings, stuck into a useless lump at the bottom of the stairs. As I try to recover from my dizzying trip, legs enter my blurred out vision, immediately snapping me out of my daze. I start to shake uncontrollably, my body making too much noise for Master.

"Shut it, you worthless piece of wood!" He shouts at me in a drunken slur. I try to stop my trembling, not being very successful. I feel goop run down my smooth wood cheeks. I'm crying. Oh no, that's going to make Master more upset. Stop it you worthless piece of wood!
I shut my eyelids, pushing the ugly, black, ink-like tears further down my face. I hear a growl before receiving a hard stomp to my chest. The pain arrives immediately, spreading throughout my body like wildfire. It feels like wildfire.

I let out what tries to be a whimper, but comes out silently. I feel calloused hands clench onto my head. They pull me up, holding my entire body by a head that could easily pop off.
"Look at me," the Toymaker snarls. The alcohol filled breath puffs into my face, making me scrunch up instinctively. I reluctantly pry my 'eyes' open, my mouth wobbling rapidly. I am met with an enraged Master, his eyes filled with aggression. I squeak silently, prepared for whatever punishment I deserve. He grins at me, malice stretching it further.
"Do you know what's good about you, Thomas?" I rapidly shake my head, not wanting to upset him further. My efforts were to no avail however; his anger from before pulsed under the grin, growing more and more aggravated.

"You are easily repairable. You cannot die, yet you can still feel pain. You make no sounds. I can beat you with no consequences!" He said with a hiss. He throws me against the wall, very nearly missing a shelf of toys. I slide down, falling limp. I give a silent groan on the ground, wriggling uselessly. My strings prevent me from escape. Master stomps over, each wrathful step shaking the floor. I stay as still as I can, for I know Master wouldn't like it if I run from him.

He starts to hit me, each blow pulsing and throbbing in unbearable pain. Punches and kicks litter my pathetic body as I open my mouth in silent whines and cries. They dent my fragile self each time. I feebly try to protect myself, putting up my arms in a cross in front of my face. It does not do a thing. The beating continues for what seems like hours, yet most likely only a few minutes.
A stomp to my shoulder.
A kick into my side.
A punch in my face.
A pause.
My right arm is splayed out while my left is held close. Master stopped the beating. That means I can leave, right—

The loud splintering of wood rings in my ears. A slight crunch when he lifts his foot. I scream silently, hot, white pain erupting from my right arm, burning. My wails cannot be heard. Floods of tears fill my eye sockets.
He broke my arm.
The unrecognizable appendage, deformed with jagged splinters sticking out. Hairline cracks splitting the wood. Thousands of minuscule splinters litter the floor, surrounding my wooden form. I can't feel my hand or separated chunk of birch. The string attaching it to my control bar, snapped. My wails only heard by me. Silent agony.

Master smirks in satisfaction at my writhing form, walking away after letting his anger out. I curl in on myself, trying to calm my mind. Someone help me please. Please. Before I know it, I hear a frantic running followed by a cry of surprise.
"TOM!" My guide screeches as he hurries over. My screams quiet down to soft sniffling and inaudible whimpering, silent hiccups scattered here and there, shaking my body. I try taking deep breaths, shuddering as I do so. It's strange to breathe without lungs. I feel tiny arms wrap around my curled up head.
"Tom, let's go fix your arm, then we can clean this up, okay?" He murmurs quietly, distress ringing in his squeaky voice. Tomee tries to comfort me by rubbing circles on my forehead. I nod with a shaky head, attempting to stand up.

I push my body up with my remaining arm, still kneeling on my knobby knees. I lift my left leg up with a wobble, stepping and willing myself forward to take another step. I trip over my strings, falling onto my splintered arm, the pain shooting up again. I take a sharp 'breath' and struggle not to scream again as my left hand latches onto my right shoulder. I grasp myself tightly as I make another attempt to stand. Feeble attempts at stopping my tears fail miserably as they still drip off my face in large drops.

As I make my way to the workshop room with Tomee, my mind wanders. Each step taken is shaken, unsure if I should even keep going instead of passing out. I hobble mindlessly to the room that I've familiarized myself with.
For what reason had I been created?
I take a seat on a wooden stool.
Is beating me the sole reason for my whole existence?
Master cares for me though. He has to!
Tomee busies himself with a box in a dark corner of the room.
I know he does, for what reason would he had created me otherwise?
A box full of spare limbs for me. It's not the first time I've had to repair myself from one of Master's rampages.

He cares for me.