Cemetery of Dolls

Her name was Doll for convenience's sake, but it was impossible not to notice the resemblance. She found herself staring at the rows of dolls on their respective shelves, watching their glassy eyes and stoic faces. She wondered if they had been modelled after real women, their features painted on them with such precision. Doll always wanted to reach out and hold one, to comfort it. Their lips hardly ever curled upright into smiles like normal porcelain dolls. They always had frowns that brought their beautiful faces into a tragic expression.

She was comfortable in her dress today. A flowy skirt that brushed against her ankles, and a long-sleeved white shirt. It wasn't often that her mother let her dress so humble, so she revelled in the kindness of these clothes. Even so, she watched as other girls walked outside, their faces smiling bright, and their walks gay, never a care in the world.

If she could have given anything to have that, she would have. The isolation wasn't the hard part any more. She found that time alone was comforting, reflective, and pleasant. But in social events, people noticed her, but never spoke to her as though she was one of them. Still, books provided a company she enjoyed, much the same as people. Haunting of Hill House sat on their coffee table, and she knew she only had a few pages left of the novella. Though, quick as her hand reached for the paperback, the side door opened and Doll stood up straight, hands behind her back.

Helen had an air to her that everyone described as, simply put, intimidating. Much like the blade of a well-loved axe, she was sharp and swift in the execution of her words and actions. Most people didn't expect Doll and her mother to be related in the slightest, though Doll found she shared little things. Their small nose, and pronounced cupid's bow, giving both of them a pouty set of pink lips. But it was true that, without deliberate observation, they were two opposite sides of completely separate coins. Where Doll's eyes were large and had a soft honey colour to them, Helen had deep pits of coal that churned beneath thin eyelids. Doll kept her hair long and blonde, braiding it to her behind most days, while Helen kept her own ginger locks in a short, tight bun.

She smiled, her hands filled with paper grocery bags that had all manner of things sticking out. "At ease, darling." Doll rushed to her mother's side, taking hold of one of the heavier looking bags. "You look like a deer caught in the headlights."

"Sorry," Doll began unpacking the brown paper sacks of their fruit and vegetables. Helen smiled, lighting up her cigarette as she set down the last of the bags. She touched her daughter's soft hand and kissed her cheek, the smell of sweet tobacco and pomegranate perfume thick in Doll's mind. She watched her mother enter the living room and splay out comfortably on the couch.

Doll filled the fridge until it brimmed with the new produce, before taking her place on the opposite love seat to her mother and continuing her reading. Helen watched her daughter, smiling at the youth of the girl as she stood up and snuggled next to her, closing the book. Now was a better time than never to let her know, she decided.

"I have a meeting with the head of the Cooper Bank today, Doll. I need to get you dressed." She pushed one of the stray flaxen strands behind the young lady's ear. Doll pouted, crossing her thin arms over her flat chest.

"Today was supposed to be a rest day." She whined. Helen patted her thigh and stood up.

"You had all week to rest, darling. Now, come upstairs and we can prepare. I'll make it worth your while, I promise." Doll looked up at her mother, knowing that it was an empty promise, at best, and a lie at worst. Never was she repaid for the act she put on, only thanked and shown the same courtesy her mother showed clients. She wondered if she could negotiate, much like her mother often did with her clientele. It would be a long-shot, but was at least worth a try.