Unraveling (short fantasy)

In a world of strings there is a story I know.

Trixy was a simple doll, who liked simple things. She was woven together with a rich ball of yarn, threaded with values; threaded with love and care. But her brother Mischief, he was a troublesome thing. Neglected by his forbearers, but fat with ego. He was made of material from a dusty drawer; a very old and forgotten drawer. Petulant and querulous, he was as rotten as the yarn that forged him, stuffed with hatred, and hemmed by impetuous hands. Hard times would draw him apart. Trixy tried to keep him together. She wrapped him up, and she closed his wounds. But no matter how hard she worked, Mischief would pull apart again and again. After some time, Trixy left him. He needed too much, and she could give no more. All of the needles and yarn in the world would not satisfy. But Trixy was convinced that her brother was fine. He was just how he was, and that should not be her problem. 

He came undone. And Trixy could only watch in despair. His strings spilled out, and he caught others in the tangle of his mess. He pulled them along and they went with him subserviently. He ripped the fabric of their kingdom and drank their souls. Trixy couldn’t bear to look at what he became, and so she turned away. She went about her days blissfully ignorant to the disaster closing in around her. Mischief rolled and rolled and grew and grew. Before long, all the dolls in all the world were trapped in his web of loathing and grasping indignation. The bad yarn, from the old, dusty drawer, forgotten long ago had strung up everything they once loved as Mischief continued to unravel. Soon there was nowhere Trixy could go to pretend that her brother was just how he was and that was his problem. Soon she was caught too, stuck in an impossible knot no one could ever undo.