The Dollmaker

XIII.

Vincent sat on the floor by his mother's bed, his back against the side. A book was in his hands and he was trying to read, but he was too anxious to focus. His mother was still awake, so he leaned his neck to look up at her. 

"Miss Annabelle has had quite the rough life there..." he said thoughtfully. "I really wish I could help her..."

There was silence again. Silence was expected, but he always hoped that maybe one day, he'd hear something out of those small, frail lips. Nothing seemed to amazed her though.

"Her parents died when she was younger and her older brother raised her. He beat her a lot because he couldn't cope with it. He never got punished for hurting her, and I hate it. She's such a kind woman..."

Vincent looked at the copy of Romeo and Juliet in his lap, and sighed. Love was sad, but it could also be beautiful. He thumbed through the pages as he talked, not realizing he had lost his spot. 

"I have to tell her, Mother," he said sadly, hanging his head. "It's been so long since I've talked to anybody. I really learned to care for her. I don't want to lie to her. I have to show her you. She wanted to meet you yesterday, but I was scared. I was so scared, Mother. I thought that maybe if she seen you in your condition, she'd run away..."

Vincent sighed and hung his head. He didn't know what to say anymore.

"Next time I see her, I'll tell her. I'll tell her everything. "

Vincent turned around and knelt on his knees. The doll lay before him, tucked into the blankets ever so gently, her round eyes staring into his soul. He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek before bidding her goodnight.