Indomitable

f i f t y - s e v e n

Rows upon rows of dolls filled the many shelves in a dimly lit room, each propped up with care and precision. Large dolls with string for hair and stuffed bellies peered straight ahead through lifeless, beady black eyes. They looked on over the excessively purple room. Small dolls with pale, porcelain faces and small, red-lipped pouts seemed so lifelike with the detail put into the marble of their eyes and the expression of their faces. Organized by collection, the multitude of dolls sat propped up on their shelves throughout the room, motionless and silent as the dead.

For they were lifeless.

Sheer lavender curtains were pulled closed over the windows, allowing only a soft glow of light to penetrate into the room. Shadows took over the rest like hungry hyenas closing in on the remains of a rotting carcass.

Beside a small bed sat a young toddler, perhaps three years of age. Long locks of thick, strawberry blonde hair tumbled down her back, and a beautiful lace dress complete with far too many bows and ribbons fanned out around her on the plush lavender carpet.

Dolls were splayed out around her, laying on the floor motionlessly.

The girl picked one up and held it before her eyes, staring intensely into the porcelain doll's blue marble eyes. She tapped the doll on the head with a short, slender finger. The head swayed to the side, before hanging there limply. The girl's eyes welled up in tears, blurring her vision. She began shaking the doll, as if that would suddenly bring it to life.

"Say something!" she cried suddenly, her voice full of anguish and hurt. "You never say anything!"

Tossing the doll aside, she spun around and directed a glare at every doll around her. They hardly noticed.

Frustrated, the little girl clenched her tiny fists together. Her pouted bottom lip began trembling. "No one likes me."

Grabbing a stuffed monkey off her bed, the one with the soft fur, the child pulled it right to her chest and curled up in a ball on the floor, crying softly to herself.

A few hours later, the door of the little girl's room creaked open ever so slowly. A young servant in a tailored suit entered with a tray of food. The slices of French toast were cut in triangles and the crust had been removed, just as the child liked. Bits of her freshly-picked strawberries and melons were cut into little stars and together arranged into one big smiley face. A tart and some small cakes dusted with powdered sugar accompanied the fruit and french toast.

"Miss Remi?" the young man said softly. His voice was bold against the silence of the room.

The little girl began to slowly stir. She uncurled herself and turned to peer at the man bringing her food. Her eyes were red and puffy and tears stained the length of her pale cheeks. "Hello," she whispered softly, blinking up at him through long, thick lashes.

"I've brought your breakfast, little one," the servant smiled, setting the tray down on the polished, wooden desk. He turned back to her with parted lips, but stopped short when he finally noticed that Remi had been crying.

He started towards her with light steps, careful not to startle the child. Crouching down next to her, the young man frowned sadly. "What's wrong, little master? You look so sad."

Little Remi pursed her bottom lip and looked up at the servant man. She stood up and wobbled forward on short, chubby legs until she was right in front of the man. Reaching up and placing her tiny hands on his cheeks, she began to cry again. "I want dolls that talk to me! None of my dolls talk to me. I don't like them anymore."