'Ciel' 1867

'Ciel' - Owned by: Margaret Adeline Wetherill, circa 1867. In the summer of 1867, the Wetherill family of Philadelphia held the appearance of elegance and prosperity. Their estate was vast, their gatherings opulent... yet behind the iron gates lingered an air of chill formality. Margaret Adeline Wetherill, the only daughter of the household, was often left adrift in silence, more a delicate ornament than a lovingly cherished child. Her constant companion was a porcelain doll she named Ciel, dressed in silk the color of storm clouds. Margaret carried her everywhere, whispering secrets into her ears that no one else could hear. Margaret became enthralled by the bell tower of St. Cecilia’s Church, a looming structure not far from the Wetherill estate. She would beg the governess to let her climb its winding steps, just to peer out from the top where the whole of Philadelphia seemed to unfurl like a painted map. The governess, weary and inattentive, often gave in. One stifling afternoon in August, Margaret ascended the tower alone, Ciel clutched in her small hands. Hours passed. When the bells tolled for evening, only the doll was found standing on a crate in a room at the highest landing, its black eyes fixed toward the horizon. Margaret herself was gone. Search parties scoured the grounds, but no trace of the child was ever discovered. Some whispered she had leaned too far over the railing and was carried off by the wind, others claimed she slipped away into another realm entirely, chasing the clouds she so adored. Ciel remained - abandoned yet intact. Over the years, her face began to crack and weather, as though the doll itself were aging in Margaret’s place. Those who’ve handled her say they sometimes hear faint ringing, like distant bells, and feel the brush of a child’s presence beside them when they peer into the doll’s darkened eyes. The Wetherill name faded from Philadelphia’s grandeur long ago, but Ciel endured, a relic of loss and longing, forever tied to the vanished girl who once clutched her on that fateful summer day.