Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 91 - Dollies

Paisley

Willow is obviously in heaven. I don't think I've ever seen a person coo and sigh over old crap as much as she's been doing since we walked into Miss Phoebe's Antiques and Retro shop.

Personally, I find the place too cluttered and over-full with... stuff... all kinds of stuff. Being here with Willow is sort of interesting, though. She keeps on pointing at old tables and cabinets and lamp shades, calling them by names that turn them into tables and cabinets and lamp shades with... uhm... names.

I'm not hating this.

What I am hating is the shitty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't want to be home because I don't want to see Asher, not after everything that happened last night. Austin pretty much ignored and dodged me at the town hall today. I'm really glad we weren't required to perform together at all... that would've been awkward. I feel a little bad about how he got treated last night, but at least he got some chocolates out of it, so... all good... I guess.

Now that the stress of the evaluation is over and I didn't face plant or mess up too much, I just want to go home and be with Ashy. We've been separated and not on speaking terms for too long now. It's been... many hours... probably more than a day. I hate it!

And I want to be with Tanner. I can tell that there's more going on than just a few scrapes from falling with his bike and I know he is not going to tell me about it. I did not like the look on his face when I saw him this morning, something was eating at him. I know not to make a fuss, not to ask, not to let on that I'm freaking the hell out inside, but it's too hard. Not being home is better, because I don't have to pretend, but I think I've seen enough moth-eaten silk fans and bonnets for one day now.

"Hey, Alice, do you think we can..."

I stop talking, not sure what I'm witnessing now. Willow is staring at a very creepy doll. It could probably be described as pretty, with its large crystal-like eyes, rosy lips, and skin that looks almost human. The doll is wearing a cheeky expression on her too-realistic face and the aura of sassiness is nicely rounded off by a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Her body is hidden in a frilly, lacy, pink empire-cut dress, with a long ribbon at the back.

Really beautiful by all standards.

The creep factor comes in when I look at that too-realistic face of hers. It's like looking at a miniature person. She doesn't have an evil vibe like Annabelle in the horror doll movies, it's just... dunno... I think she's about to say something. I don't like it when dolls say stuff... not by their own initiative. 

Miss Amy, it says on the very pricy price tag displayed on a small easel at her feet.

Willow is crying!

"Hey, Alice, did you get dust in your eye?" I ask hopeful, feeling a little freaked out now, but no such luck. Maybe the doll bit her!

"This is Miss Amy," she says as if that is supposed to matter to me somehow.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Amy," I say, feeling like an idiot and Willow turns her eyes on me, frowning as if I'm the one who's lost her mind. For the record, I'm not the one standing here with tears running down my cheeks gazing at a porcelain doll as if she's my long-lost sister.

"I had Miss Molly," she says and now I'm actively rolling my eyes.

"You do know it's a doll, right?" I glance at the doll, and for a second I wonder if I'm wrong, perhaps it really is a miniature person, a person about the height of one and a half Barbies.

"Yes, they're made by Caroline Prickle," Willow explains and it means absolutely nothing to me. "She uses a technique passed down through the generations in her family. They never make more than three samples of each of their dolls. Miss Prickle's dolls' faces are hand-made from bisque porcelain, they are not mass-produced. Each doll comes with a back story. Miss Molly and Miss Amy are sisters."