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My anger flares. “What is going on? Why am I here and why am I dressed like this!” I fluff up, my long dark hair curving around my body.
He ignites his cigar and puffs on it softly. “I’m going to be real with you, I was a little skeptical on how this would work, but I’m convinced,” he agrees, licking his lip. “Do you know what this is, Little Doll?”
I take another look around the room. “No.”
He smirks, and when he does, the gold front teeth flash. “Well, since you have no patience…”
I suck in a deep breath. “Patience?”
“Ah, you have heard of us.” He leans forward again until his elbows are resting on his knees. “Tell me, what have they said about us?”
“Just that you’re disgusting.” I sneer and instantly regret it. “How did I get here?”
He leans back, sighing. “Nope. You’re not ready. You need more time.” He stands, swiping the dust off his suit.
“Wait!” I say, desperate for him to not leave me here without any answers. “Not ready for what?”
He glares at me, his lip curled. “The truth.” I watch as his back disappears through the front door and that same melody plays over and over again.
I sit back, and then lay down, desperate to find a comfortable position that will allow the shackles to not bite into me.
“Fuck,” I curse, squeezing my eyes closed.
The light flashes out, and then, slowly, I watch as pink comes to life in the middle of the dollhouse. It casts off shadows for the windowsills and ornaments inside.
The bedroom door opens and a girl walks in. She’s in a red pleated dress and thigh-high boots. Her hair is blonde, and braided into two fish braids that fall down both shoulders.
She leans down in front of me, placing a tray on the ground. “Eat.”
I glare up at her. She’s so close that I can see the flecks in her eyes. I can’t make out the color from this angle. “Not hungry.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Eat.”
Then she stands, swipes her dress, and almost robotically walks back out of the room. I don’t eat. I shove it away and curl into a ball, hoping that I will wake up and this will all be some bad, messed up dream.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I’m sinking into the soft cushions of the sofa.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
My chest is heavy, my eyes closed.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I can’t feel anything. It’s black. All so black. Dark. Like death.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Saskia Dragavei, come forward.”
I jolt awake, my eyes popping open, as realism takes hold once again.
This time I’m not alone. The same girl from earlier sits in the rocking chair opposite me, her feet pushing up from the ground to the tune of the song.
“Please stop that fucking song.”
“Hmmm?” she asks, tilting her head. This time her hair is out of the braid and has been ironed dead straight. Her makeup is thick, with nothing around her eyes and foundation over her eyebrows, hiding the color. She seems strange, but I don’t know if she looks it or whether she has been doused in so much makeup and fakeness that it has stripped her from looking human.
“The song,” I repeat, squeezing my eyes closed. “Turn it off.”
She stops rocking. I still at the way her face changes and her eyes look through me. She looks crazy, that’s what she looks like. As if she should have been in the movie Sucker Punch.
She leans forward, watching me. Only she doesn’t look at me the way a human would look at another. Her strange eyes look as though I’m a boring object that is not worthy of her time.
She leans farther, and that’s when I see the flash of her eyes.
They’re purple. The softest, mellow violet eyes. On a normal day, I’d tell her how much I loved them, but the girl is creepy as fuck and I’m not here for it. Her hair is silver, borderline grey on the ends and her roots dark. She’s confusing.
I inch back, my skin crawling when she comes too close, but she only falls from the rocking chair and shuffles closer to me.
Closer.
And closer.
Until the tip of her index finger is pressed against my bottom lip.
I stop breathing out of fear. This girl reeks of death, if death was a perfume that Tom Ford concocted.
Slowly, I watch as her mouth spreads wide and a smile flashes across her face, displaying her clean white teeth. The diamond on her front side tooth distracts me briefly from the fact that I have a maniac touching me.
I shiver.
She licks the top of her lip. “You’re so preettaayy.” The way the letters wrap around her tongue is confusing, muffled and incorrect. Maybe she has a stutter? I didn’t want to insult her.
She giggles, standing back to her feet and bouncing toward the dollhouse. She looks young. Very young. Too young. She begins scraping the dollhouse across the floor, bringing it closer to me.
