Witch and combat doll that’ve taken so much of each other on that it’s difficult to tell them apart now. She first have her doll her blood and its infused magicks on the battlefield to keep its core turning.
The doll gave a hand after its witch lost it behind enemy lines. The witch gave an eye after her doll took a stay shot through its. So on and so on, through the years, through countless battles and wars.
And then one day there were no more wars to fight, no more rival witches to duel in the skies. Just a simple, quiet life in a village far away from the cities they had once patrolled. A life they could only dream of back then.
The doll always found it humorous, going to town with its witch and seeing the reactions of the village folk. By now its witch’s body had nearly as much titanium in it as bone, countless patches of once-burned skin replaced with smooth ceramics and metal plating.
A flustered shopkeep looked the two over one time, finally bagging their groceries and asking if they’d ever bring their witch in. Once upon a time that would have annoyed the witch; now, she just laughed.
Mixing magicks and bodies had left the two bonded in ways that no other witch & doll could quite compare. Any witch could feel her dolls thoughts if they wanted: she always could, and it always could hers. Sometimes, they couldn’t tell who’s was who’s; in time, they didn’t care.