At only seven years of age she had used kitchen tongs expertly to dip the openings of the heads, from a row of disturbed dolls, into boiling water – pulling them out when melted to her satisfaction. Her mother watched Pippa sneak her loot back into her safety zone and stretch the small heads onto big doll bodies with a surgeon-like precision, creating freaky little plastic beings. She’s more disturbed than the doctor said, her mother thought, closing the door on the psychopathic wunderkind alchemist, locking her back into the closet. This will surely ruin my dinner party tonight. It was a spooky sight, but not to Pippa. To her it made sense. She wanted to disfigure, to destroy. She hated dolls. They reminded her of adults…

© kym darkly

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