The Luna's Groom
she screams, her voice piping and furious.
A boy walks into the room—Tobias. He looks exactly like the boy at the well, only older here, maybe seven. He doesn’t try to take the doll. Instead, he calmly lies down on the floor beside the bed, crossing his ankles, and stares up at the embroidered canopy.
“You can keep her then,” he says, his tone oddly mature. “I heard that a doll like that turns into a full colony of hair lice at night. They’ll nest in your hair and eat your scalp.”
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