Apples and other sweet things (like blood)

Children and dolls

As soon as I wake up, I frown and then smile. To be fair, I love these bedsheets, and I like them more than mine, but I suddenly remember the white-haired boy and his brother.

I get up immediately. I must have underestimated him because he's there, right next to my bed, looking at me while I quiver at his sight.

A sharp smile surpasses his face. He doesn't even look interested in me giving him the middle finger. I let my hands down, and he yawns.

"Good morning, Miss Fox. How did you sleep last night?"

I ignore his question. I know he doesn't even want an answer. I roll my eyes and yawn, too.

"Why don't you answer your own questions? I'm sure you saw how I slept in the last five minutes."

He smirks, and he waits for me to fully get out of my bed, then he leaves. I smile. He might not be the nicest, but he is one of the finest. I look outside the window. I have a boyfriend, though, but I don't know if I'll ever get to see him again.

I blink as fast as I can; I must be dreaming, but, in front of me, three towers are rising. It looks like a fairy tale. Between me and the black towers, there's a silver tower. I have never seen something like this before. And, surprisingly, some things start popping out of the ground.

Flowers. Gigant flowers. And, inside the flowers, boys and girls my age. I squeak. Maybe my door isn't locked. I have to get a better view. Only, now, kids are getting dropped by some gigantic birds on the other side.

I must stay inside and have a heart attack. Trust me, I have to. I can't just go there. But it looks like they are coming for me.

Before they could even reach the entrance, I heard someone coming in. I turn around, waiting to see Rafal.

"I think I was pretty clear. I do not want you around..."

But it isn't Rafal. I think I know her. She came to Maximilian's Curiosities, Whimsies & Other Oddities once. I remember it like it was yesterday. A carriage stopped in front of our door, and a short, blonde man came in. He said he's looking for a doll for his daughters, and I happily showed him our collection.

I can't just pick one, he said, taking a last puff of his cigarette before throwing it on our shop's floor. I might have to call for some help.

And, then, she came in. His daughter. And she and her sister screamed like some bratty children, and they left because they said my dolls were hideous.

I cried myself to sleep that night; I always found them beautiful in their own way. From their broken porcelain fingers to their carefully painted lips and eyelids, once made to be some girl's best friend, now all they did was take the space on a shelf. If I could, I would take them for myself, but my father wouldn't let me.

"Scarlett, am I right?" I ask when she closes the door behind her, her nightgown swiping the floor as I smirk. Her daddy isn't here to protect her from me anymore.