• I sit. I stay. I stand.

    These are the daily rituals I must abide by in order to maintain balance.

    My dress and pinnafore are clean, along with my shoes.

    And the sign says, "Come to the Dollhouse, children."

    And they all oblige because they, like most, remain olbivious to the subtle clues and hidden ques.

    Of course, these are indeed things the children should not know. I know by now every single sentence Father may say if questioned upon priorities and private secrets.

    His answer will always be a tremoring 'no'.

    Just like how the dust collects upon myself.

    Like the pink fading upon my wares.

    And the seething glare that horrid man shall be sent every passing.

    I bid him, till death.