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Doll. An affectionate pet name sometimes given from mothers to daughters, symbolizing how beautiful they thought their precious little darlings were. Meant to be used fondly, to describe beauty and daintiness. Has anyone really thought about what it meant?
This is a standard rule for all girls, to be beautiful. Something to be stared at. The most special dolls were never even touched, only gawked at through a glass screen. Desired by all, but oh so delicate. Their ceramic faces never coming into contact with anything, always smiling, never bothered. Six didn’t fit the standard anymore.
At one time, her mother called her a doll, too. She dressed her in fine dresses, gave her beautiful, intricate hairdos, and loved her. She ensured that Six was always well-fed and took care of her, like any good mother would do. That was before the darkness shrouded her mind on the worst day of their lives.
The Lady’s life before was so perfect with her lovely family. Her supportive husband, her precious little doll. It all shattered when she found the suspended pair of legs, hanging.
On that day, her mind became clouded with an ancient, undeniable evil. An evil that has been afflicting all minds since humanity began, since the first loss. Trauma.
It hit her where she was hurting. It poured doubt into her mind, spewing horrible lies about her sweet, eight-year-old baby:
She doesn’t appreciate you.
Her beauty will outshine you.
She’ll leave you too if you don’t act now.
No one will ever love you again if you keep her.
She must be destroyed.
She tried to fight it, truly she did. But it was SO tempting, so enticing, so comforting that she agreed. The shadows welcomed her, promised her a warmth she lost when her husband kicked the chair out from under himself. So, she succumbed.
And this is where our story begins, with a nine-year-old girl who had to grow up much too fast. Such a far cry from the perfect little doll. Her once luscious hair was now choppy and covered in grime, hidden underneath a neon yellow hood. The regal, gorgeous dresses she was so lovingly given were replaced with a ratty raincoat that provided no warmth. She was no longer delicate either, Hell no. Those days were behind her.
Now, as she awoke from her suitcase, the cold set into her bare legs. The hunger that passed through her body seemed foreign, but Six knew she’d adjust quickly. She’d learn to take of herself, to survive on her own wits.
No one would help her, she knew that. She’d been cast aside by her mom, who else could possibly care for her now if her own mother had forsaken her? She knew she wasn’t beautiful, and she could learn to survive on her own.
After all, who wanted to care for a broken doll?