Jaime was not a normal seven year old, playing with American Girl dolls. She wanted to build her own.
She sat in the basement, humming and singing, gluing together pieces of porcelain. The smashed toilet, vase, and home decor were spread around her as she glued together arms and legs with surprising craftsmanship. It was something she’d always wanted to do.
Jaime turned the face in her hands. It had the plain smile of a traditional doll, yet was sturdy enough to hide the horrified expression of the tied up woman. Her mother, the first doll, was powerless to stop her.