- Vol. 05
- Chapter 02
This doll that you love is a silent child, an empty mute, faded and stale. She is clay-cold, chalk-pale, so rigid, she could SNAP.
White pools of painted tears, like moonslices, have dropped from the dark sky and rock at the brim as she holds back the spill and the fear. The light is out behind the vacant gaze of those baby blues.
Her brows are sparsely-feathered fledglings. Broken. Lame. But inside her smooth, flat chest, Mother Bird manically flaps. Trapped.
Her unblemished porcelain was fingertipped smooth to a blush, and lips brushed to invite apricot kisses.
UnscathedHer chin is dipped in deference.
Scratch her and she will not bleed. She is unflinching to the pinch of perversion. Her screams are stifled by blocked apertures. She understands death.
She is no slack-mouthed whore, cushioned and pliant. Compliant as you pose her stiff limbs and seize a lifeless embrace.
Just look at her face. She is a sad mannequin. Touched up. Stripped. So much missing.