From an Olde Story for the Faerie Queene

In the town of Edie, out beyond the River Humber on University Street, lies Beppo’s Emporium of Toys and Other Sundry Goodnesses. Within, quite high up on the backmost shelf, amongst the riff raff (or what constitutes riff raff, toy-wise) sat Patchwork, one of the Great Beppo’s first (and hence most imperfect) creations. He was built from straw and dog fur, snail shells and rusty nails, basically a cobbling together of refuse Beppo had found lying around the building when he’d first taken possession, back before the war.

Patchwork spent days at first, and now what seemed years, whiling away his time drinking peppermint extract and playing a number of rather complex card games with the denizens of the Uppermost/Backmost Shelf. His life a blur of toffee fights and unfinished chocolate paintings. Until one day in a lonely and grey March, when Beppo ambled in, trembling with anticipation, a large white box cradled under his pudgy arm. He carefully pushed aside the toys in the front window, making room for his new creation at the focal point of the display. Beppo set the box down on the floor and delicately lifted back the lid. To Patch, who had taken a break from a rather lengthy argument about whether or not Christmas elves could actually speak English, it seemed as if the entire shop lit up with a bright white light, and he found he had to steady himself against the wet bar to keep his balance.

Beppo reached inside the box and pulled forth his masterpiece, his eyes glistening with pride and delight. “Behold my children, The Little Princess!” The room was filled with the smalls gasps of the toys, and little Shigeta, mad Ronin of Emori, fell off his stand and broke his leg in two places. The toys were in awe.

And Patchwork? He was in love, his heart a fire, like the sparks that flew from Beppo’s tin fire engines, or the caps that little boys run their jack knives down. His spindly shell fingers found his chest and clasped it above his heart. “What pain is this?” he thought. “Might I die of it?” And so he took a sharp piece of sucking candy and laid his breast open, removing his engorged heart and setting it down upon a bar stool. Later that night when all was quiet and long after the toys were abed, a hungry cricket stole in and ate it.