HIS BROKEN PLAYTHING
With nothing else to focus on, she started making these dolls.
I remember the way she smiled every time she finished painting one. She would show them to me every time I visited, and no matter how tired she looked, she’d beam like she had just done something amazing. Alec used to think they were creepy, and Mia didn’t really think much of them. But to me, they were beautiful, fragile little things. And oddly, there was this strange excitement that built inside me every time I touched them, the urge to want to break them. It didn’t make sense at that time but it was there. That feeling stayed with me until she passed away, and we ran.
Bab Populer