• The sunlight’s rays streamed into the huge bedroom, illuminating everything that got into its way. They crept upwards as the hours passed, and finally laid themselves on a sleeping child’s face. The child stirred, slowly stretching out her slender bones. She sat up, a grin pasted on her face. “It’s my birthday today,” thought Priscilla. “I hope I get everything on my wish-list!”

    The girl slipped out of her blanket-covered bed and peeked out from under the bed’s translucent veil. Bubbles of anticipation and happiness flooded the room as the kid squirmed through her walk-in closet, slowly picking at the numerous clothes hung on the perfectly parallel railings. She chose a pink frilly dress, slipped it on, grabbed a long trailing piece of paper on her night-table and skipped downstairs.

    When Priscilla got to the main hall, she was greeted by the wondrous sight of multicolored presents towering over her. Giggling deliriously, she navigated her way through the labyrinth with a pair of ornate scissors, boxes popping open and their contents spilling into her hands as she passed them.

    “Hey Pris,” a voice wafted through the maze of presents. Priscilla dashed through the archway of boxes and skidded to a halt in front of a creamy white sofa. She jumped onto the figure lounging on the sofa and scrabbled all over him, hoping for another present.

    “James!” She cried at her older brother, “Where’s my present?” James heaved a mock-sigh and untangled the little flurry of fingers from him. He produced a tiny, sparkling sapphire gather from his pocket and handed it to Priscilla. The child, spellbound, whispered her thanks as she held it up to the golden sunlight, where it shone radiantly, blue and gold pouring from its centre.

    “You should thank Dad and Mom for that, not me. They bought it and asked me to pass it to you.” Priscilla’s head snapped up at the mention of her parents. “They got this for me? They actually care about me?” The siblings’ parents, Pazezzo and Poshette Poplari, were among the richest couples in the world, and their two children lived in a huge manor with dozens of servants to follow their every whim. But even though they were showered with materialistic items and sandbags full of cash, the people they want to be with the most – their parents – were never by their side.

    Priscilla cradled the crystal orb in her hands and ran up to her room. She carefully placed the orb on her bed, gazing at it in wonder. “Mom and Dad actually got this for me? I don’t believe it……” The child was wandering around in her thoughts until she spied her long wish-list hanging from her headboard. She picked it up, and began crossing out things on the list that she got as birthday presents.

    After a long while, Priscilla realized that she had got everything on her list. “Almost everything,” she thought, as she stared at the first item on her list. It was not crossed out, unlike the others. “Nobody got it for me? I want one so bad….” Her thoughts skipped back to the first time she caught sight of the fascinating item.

    It was a couple of days ago at school. Priscilla had just finished her show-and-tell and was waiting for the next presenter to go. Her peasant classmate, Tia Skylet, was next. She brought up a cardboard box and placed it carefully on the teacher’s table. Then, she reached into the box and pulled out a doll with the utmost care. The doll dangled its sandbag legs about in midair before her owner nudged it into a sitting position on the table.

    “This is Sacrétte, my doll. She can walk, talk and respond all by herself!” said Tia excitedly. Everyone ooohed and aaahed at the toy except Priscilla.

    “There’s a robot skeleton in the doll that makes it move independently, that’s all,” the princess told the common villager.

    “No there isn’t,” replied Tia, with a polite smile, even though Priscilla had interrupted her presentation. “Sacrétte can do all that and more, without the use of any technology,” As if on cue, the doll stood up on the table and did a perfect back flip. After that, it nimbly skipped onto Priscilla's table and did a little curtsey. Priscilla and the others were awed at its amazing life-likeness. “Priscilla Poplari……that’s a nice name for such a nice girl,” it squeaked from its petite mouth. That mollified the youngster, and she went back to her seat quietly, vowing to get a doll better than Tia’s.
    Priscilla snapped back to the present as the door opened. James’s handsome blond head peeped in. “Pris, I haven’t given you your present yet, you know,” the elder brother said.

    Priscilla hopped off her bed and pulled her brother into her room by the ear. “Yeah, I know, and I was waiting for you to give it all morning!” she hollered into his already-swollen ear.

    “Well……I…um……”James fidgeted uneasily, wringing his slender fingers together. “I…sort of…didn’t get your present…so…how about…we…go get one right now?” He finished his nervous speech with an idea that just luckily popped up in his mind.

    “Sure! Then you can get me my last wish-item,” replied Priscilla dreamily. She showed her brother her wish-item, and James’s jaw dropped when he saw it.

    “A doll? But you’ve already got so many. What do need another doll for?” The teenage boy gave his tittering sister a skeptical look.

    “Not just any doll, James. One that can walk, talk and respond all by itself, like Tia’s!” giggled Priscilla, and went on to tell him about the marvelous toy. Her brother picked her up, squealing delightedly, and plopped her onto the seat of his expensive sports car. “So then, tell me where to get it,” he prodded Priscilla as he got into the driver’s seat.

    Priscilla stopped laughing and rolled that question around in her head. She never really did ask Tia where she had gotten her doll from. “Let’s go to Tia’s house and ask her, then.” James answered his own question upon realizing that his sister was unable to answer the question.


    The bright red blur soon stopped in front of a quaint little straw cottage. James got out and told his mischievous sister to stay put in her seat, then went up the winding pebble path and knocked smartly on the door.

    Tia answered the door, a diminutive figure with a shock of flame-colored hair. James crouched down to meet her at eye level and said friendlily, “Hi Tia. I’m James, Priscilla's brother.” Tia nodded nervously, wondering what in the world a rich guy like him was doing at her humble house.

    James continued his question. “Tia really likes your doll. She wants to get one too, as her birthday present. Can you tell me where you got it?” He spoke slowly, matching his pace with Tia’s admiring gaze.

    “At……At Uncle Dollah’s toyshop, just over there.” She stuck a scrawny finger at an old shop across the street. James passed her a little token to signify his appreciation and went over to his new destination.

    The antique brass bell dinged as James nudged open the rusty door. The old-fashioned shop had a stale touch to it; it reeked of dust and damp mould. The sinewy teen strode over to the counter, looking around in curiosity, and accidentally bumped into a portly man with an apron around his torso.

    “Erm…excuse me. I’m looking for the owner of this shop?” inquired James nervously. The man looked him up and down, and then replied, “You still don’t know?”

    James was taken aback a little. “What do you mean I don’t know?”

    The man went behind the counter and brought out a huge dusty notebook. “Why, you’re talking to him, young man!” He burst into hearty laughter at that sentence. James looked on, a bit unsure if he should continue his conversation the zany old man. “I’m…erm…I want a doll,” he finally stuttered out.

    “A doll, eh? Who’s it for?” came Uncle Dollah’s genial reply. “My sister Priscilla. It’s her birthday today, and I want to get her a birthday present.” James smiled charmingly at the shopkeeper.

    “For young Poplari, is it? Well, I’ve got just the thing for her!” Uncle Dollah reached up to a dander-covered shelf and pulled down a dusty doll. He blew off the grey dust and polished it lovingly, then handed it to James, who scrutinized it questioningly.

    “Is this secondhand?” James’s finger ran over the grayish patch sewn onto the doll’s forehead while asking the question.
    “Oh no, it’s not. I make all my dolls that way. This is the best one I’ve made so far,” replied the shopkeeper. James smiled, pleased to know that the doll was devotedly handmade, and asked the shopkeeper to wrap it in a box for him. The shopkeeper happily wrapped the toy up in a little heart-shaped box with pink paper and a yellow ribbon, and then passed it to James. He paid the old man in full, and then headed back to the car.


    Priscilla was jiggling about her seat, excited about her present. She fantasized about it, caressing its imaginary long golden hair, dressing it up in dreamy dresses and gowns. Lost in her daydreams, she was awoken by the slamming of the car door and the grunting of her brother as he got into the sports car.

    “Have you got it?” squealed the kid eagerly.

    “Yes, yes I have,” replied James contentedly. He held up the little box. “But no opening it till we get home, Pris!” He chided her as she lunged for the box.

    Priscilla shrank back into her seat pouting cheekily, but ecstatic all the same, all the way home.

    When they got back to their manor, Priscilla dived for the present once again. This time, James held it steady for the hyperactive tumbleweed. She caught it and shredded through the wrapping. Her flaxen hands crept under the lid and lifted it off, revealing her last wish-item.

    Priscilla lifted it out, examining it. The doll had a mop of electric blue hair, a pair of night-colored button eyes sewn with string that was as red as blood, and wore a simple kestrel-red dress with neon yellow collars. A red ribbon choker hung from its soft neck.

    “Like it?” James placed his hands on his sister’s shoulder. “It’s handmade, and the best one in the shop. It’s rather cute, isn’t it?”

    Priscilla ran her fingers down the unsightly scar that the doll bore. It looked strange, maybe even a bit creepy, like the doll had been crafted from different body parts. The girl smiled at her own crazy imagination and tossed that thought aside. “If it was handmade for me, it should be the best thing ever!” she reasoned to herself. Then, she ran up to her room and skipped onto her bed with the doll. James was left downstairs, rubbing the spot where his sister had kissed him as thanks, absorbing the pleasure that streamed into him.

    In her room, Priscilla propped the doll up on her bed with pink fluffy pillows. “Okay…so talk!” she commanded the doll, hoping for a quick response.

    She was disappointed.

    Then, the child spotted a minute tag dangling from the doll’s sandbag hand. She plucked it out, and read the tiny words aloud.

    “L. Moore? I wonder who that is…” she mused. Just then, the doll turned its pretty head in Priscilla’s direction and blinked its button eyes. Priscilla did not notice, lost in her own thoughts, but when a soft sock-shaped object rubbed her head, she jerked upright, shocked. The doll, which had just rubbed its new owner’s head, and was also taken by surprise, jumped back. The child rubbed her eyes twice, convinced that she was dreaming, then decided she was not and squealed with delight. She whispered breathlessly, “Wow! You…can really talk! And respond! And do all those other things that Tia’s doll can do!”

    The doll, confused by the attention, dived back into the box. Priscilla pulled her out again and shook it. “Your name shall be Annabelle, and you’ll belong to me and me only!” the exultant kid cried, ignoring the doll’s cries of “whoa” and “yikes”. Finally she placed the doll down, and grabbed a golden hairbrush and a prettily embroidered dress. The doll looked on, wondering what was going on.

    Priscilla grabbed the doll and sat it down on her lap, then pulled at its messy blue hair with the comb. The little thing struggled, and the child discovered that her doll’s hair was a miniature vine tangle. Eventually, she gave up and tried to dress the doll up in the dress. The poor doll scurried away in hid around the room, trying to get away from the ridiculous clothing. Priscilla spent a good hour chasing the doll just to dress it up. When her energy was spent, she sat on the bed and called to the doll.

    “Annabelle dear, come back! I won’t dress you up anymore.” she called at the doll.

    The doll did not come.

    “Annabelle!”

    Nothing.

    Then, Priscilla remembered the paper tag. “L. Moore?” she tested tentatively.

    The doll poked its blue head out of its hiding place and silently hopped onto Priscilla's lap. Priscilla looked wonderingly at the doll, and asked, “Can I call you Annabelle? Or is your name L. Moore?”

    “I would prefer to be called by my actual name, thank you.” The doll answered in its high-pitched voice.

    “So your name is L. Moore,” said Priscilla. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me your first name?”

    “I’d rather keep it a secret.”

    “Oh,” Priscilla muttered, slightly disappointed. “But I get to call you Annabelle, right? I’m your owner, after all.”

    L straightened her choker and mumbled, “No.”
    “But I’m your owner!” protested Priscilla. “I get the right!”

    “Not really, you don’t. It’s my name you ‘re deciding, and I already have one,” replied the doll.

    Priscilla sank back into her bed, but still determined to change the doll’s name. “L. Moore is way too formal for a doll,” she thought. “It should be something informal instead, so I’m going to call her Annabelle anyway.”

    L crept back into her box and curled up, her teeny chest rising up and down in time with her barely audible snores. Priscilla, upon realizing that it was lunchtime, suddenly felt hungry and thus went down to the dining room for her meal.


    Priscilla bounced onto the cushion-lined chair beside her brother, who was reading the dailies. The servants, all dressed in smart waiter uniforms, served up their meals. Priscilla grabbed her fork and tucked into her scrumptious food, all the time staring at the two empty chairs at the opposite end of the table. “Mom and Dad aren’t in again?” she asked James.

    “Nope. They called earlier and said they had some sort of business meeting to attend to. They won’t be home for dinner, either,” answered the boy.

    Priscilla sighed. She hardly saw her parents nowadays; they were always on some sort of business trip or social gatherings. The two seats reserved for them were starting to gather dust already!

    James flipped through the paper, searching for interesting articles to read. “Mostly the press just published all those political stuff, not the actual things going on around here,” he thought. Just, then, his eyes snagged onto an eye-catching headline, although disturbingly small. He read the little report, and unknowingly let out a little gasp. Priscilla looked up from her quiet meal and asked curiously, “What’s wrong, Jamesy-kin?”

    “Nothing,” answered her brother, his mouth wrenched up in an awkward smile, “and don’t call me Jamesy-kin anymore. I’m eighteen!” He put down the paper and scrubbed Priscilla’s blonde head. She retaliated with weak little bumps from her miniscule fists. James laughed and stood up. “You have to hit harder than that if you want to defeat me,” he joked mockingly, “because I’ve beaten bullies and hunks twice my size.”

    Priscilla got back onto her seat, giggling madly. Her brother was fond of using clichés he learnt from the Hollywood stars, and also loved boasting about his fights against other boys, which he always said he won. Truth is, Priscilla did not believe a word of it.

    “I’m going to meet up with Static and the guys now. Won’t be back for dinner, so ask the servants to make you some yourself. Catch you later!” James wolfed down his food and set off for the door, then turned back his head. “And don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone!” And he left, leaving Priscilla all alone in the house.

    After Priscilla finished her meal, a bell’s pealing rang through the Poplari Manor. “Maria, go see who it is,” she ordered her personal servant, who was cleaning the table. Maria scuttled over to the huge gate isolating the manor from the outside world. There, a group of smiling girls, about Priscilla’s age, was standing, waiting to be let in.

    “We just want to wish Pris a happy birthday, and give her presents,” a strawberry blonde child, her arms full of presents said gleefully. Maria let them in, guiding them up the front path and into the grand mansion. “Priscilla is in the hall right now,” said the lanky servant-girl, as she rushed off to attend to her other chores.

    The kids walked into the hall, the ceiling stretching way above their heads. Priscilla popped out from behind the sofa, grinning at them. “Barbie, Mirabella and Victoria! What are you guys doing here?” she beamed at them all.

    “We…wanted to wish you happy birthday,” said Mirabella, passing her a colorfully-wrapped present. Barbie and Victoria handed her their presents too. Then, Priscilla said, “I want to show you gals something, follow me!” She led her friends up to her room, the whole group laughing and giggling with one another.

    Meanwhile, Maria went back to cleaning the table. While wiping the polished glass top, the cloth bumped into the newspaper that James had left on the table earlier. It fell to the floor, scattering its pages on the marble floor. Maria bent down to pick it up, and she spied a little article sitting in a corner of a page. She picked it up and read it. It said:

    Asylum Breakout
    Mental patient Linda M., known staff under the alias Lunacy, has been reported missing from her ward early this morning. Hospital staff has raised this to the police. It is known that Linda was the madcap mastermind behind the 1998 Mass Massacre, where she led groups of people on the killing spree which claimed at least one-third of the city’s population, and is thus classified highly dangerous. Anyone with information on her whereabouts is to report to the police immediately.

    Below the picture was a picture of a woman sitting on a bed in a dark room, her long hair covering most of her face. One eye shone through the darkness of her gaunt face, staring straight out of the picture.

    Maria pulled her eyes away from the article, stashed the papers away and continued with her chores.


    Priscilla brought out her new toy, showing it off to her friends. “This is Annabelle. She can walk, talk and respond all by herself.” Her friends, fascinated, poked the sleeping doll. L woke, staring up at them through her button-eyes.

    “Oh my god, it really can respond!” cooed Barbie. She turned to Priscilla, who smiling proudly. “Can she say my name too? Without referring to anything?”

    Priscilla remembered that as a trick Tia’s doll Sacrétte played on her. In curiosity, she prodded L and asked her, “Do you know who these people are?”

    To their amazement, L stood up and pointed to each of Priscilla’s friends in turn. “Barbie,” its sandbag hand stark straight at the strawberry-blond child, “Mirabella,” aiming its hand at the child with an oversized yellow ribbon weaved into her chocolate hair, “and Victoria,” indicating the kid in a Goth Lolita dress. The trio gasped joyfully, thinking that it was clever of L to get their names right.

    L stretched up her arms and yawned loudly. “I’m tired. I’ll sleep now,” she mumbled, and curled back up in the box. Priscilla did not want her star to rest just yet, so she pulled L out again and told her, “Alright, now walk around on the table!” L had no choice, so she stepped gingerly onto Priscilla’s dressing-table and trudged around for a while, before asking Priscilla once again if she could sleep.

    Just then, Barbie came up with an idea. “Why don’t we do her hair? It’s so messy, too messy for a cute doll like you!” The others agreed, so L had to sit through another hour of hair-tangling and comb-breaking mess.

    “Annabelle’s hair sure is tangly,” commented Mirabella as she ran her comb through L’s blue hair for the umpteenth time. L jerked up and said, “My name’s not Annabelle! Who told you that?”

    “Priscilla, of course.” Mirabella looked at the door, checking to make sure Priscilla had not returned from her spare ribbon search. “Why? Is that not what she calls you?”

    “My name is L! L. Moore!!! Not some stupid Annabelle!” cried out the doll in protest.

    Mirabella and her friends apologized to the doll. Then, they heard a sudden doorknob turn.

    Priscilla entered the room with a handful of colorful ribbons, smiling at her friends. “Here are the ribbons you guys wanted,” she said, placing them on the bed.

    “Why did you tell us the doll’s name is Annabelle when it is actually L?” asked Victoria. “Yeah, Pris, it’s not nice when someone else introduces you by another name,” agreed Barbie.

    Priscilla, seeing her trick crumbling to pieces, fired up. “Out, all of you! I don’t want you here anymore!” She turned to the servant-girl dusting the mantelpieces in the corridor. “Maria! See these people out.” Maria hasted in, and ushered the kids out, leaving L alone with Priscilla.

    “Why did you tell them your name was L?” snarled an enraged Priscilla. “Your name is supposed to be Annabelle, because I named you! I’m your owner! Dolls are supposed to listen to their owners!”

    L looked up at her, pulling ribbons and comb teeth out of her hair at the same tie. “I already told you, I want to be called by my actual name, not some made up moniker.” Then, she lay down in her box and went promptly to sleep.

    Priscilla, seeing her toy was really tired, cooled off and went down for dinner.


    Night stretched high above his head, sprinkled with silvery stars. The gold watch ticked away on its leather chain, its slim hands telling the whole world about the time it kept.. James glanced at it, surprised that it was already nine in the night. He had just come back from an afternoon out with his friends and was walking up the path to his house. “Why did Mom and Dad have to make the path so long?” he questioned himself. “It’s so damningly long. Priscilla would already be asleep by now.” He had gotten halfway up the path when he tripped over something in the dark, and fell to the grainy floor with a thud. He lay there for a few seconds, stunned, then tried to get up.
    Suddenly, something stabbed into his heel, slicing his tendon neatly into half. The pain shot up his whole leg, numbing it to the bone. James jolted around, scrabbling at his foot, trying to find the weapon that had buried itself into his foot. He found it eventually, and pulled it out. Holding it up to the moonlight as he limped home for some bandages and hot water, he noticed something on the weapon.

    It was a sharp penknife, and it had Priscilla’s name engraved into it.


    It was show-and-tell once again at school. As the golden rays of morning sunshine sparkled into the bedroom, Priscilla grabbed L’s box and stuffed it into her pink backpack the following morning. She was excited, as it was show-and-tell once again, and she could show L off to the whole class. She dashed down the stairs, and saw her brother on the couch.

    “Morning, James,” she said brightly. Then, she caught sight of his bandaged heel. “What happened to your foot?” she asked.

    “Nothing. Just a little stumble on the path,” replied James sleepily.

    “Alright then. I’m going off for school now. Bye!” Priscilla was already out the door and halfway up the school bus.

    At school, Priscilla could not wait for show-and-tell to begin. Today, it was her turn first, and she had the most interesting thing to show everyone. When the teacher finally called on her, she skipped up to the teachers table and emptied out L onto it. The tangle of sandbags and blue fibers bounced once on the table, then got up, its head reeling.

    “This is Annabelle, my doll. She can walk and talk and do tricks all by herself,” introduced Priscilla. The class ooohed and aaahed politely, bored at the repetitive presentation that they had just seen less than a week ago. Priscilla, not affected by the apparent sarcasm, continued in her high-pitched voice. “Annabelle shall now walk!” she implored, prodding the doll with a lean finger, as the class gazed expectantly at the toy.

    They were sorely disappointed, for L did not budge.

    “Okay…Speak, Annabelle!” declared the girl testily.

    Still no answer.

    Priscilla impatiently poked the toy. “Annabelle, I said talk!”

    L stayed where it was.

    “Argh! Respond, you stupid thing!” Priscilla slapped the doll, sending it flying onto the floor. L flopped onto a ceramic tile and slowly got back up. “Finally you’ve woken up, sleepyhead!” snarled the child, “Now follow what I say, Annabelle! Walk around the classroom!”

    L backflipped onto the table and did a pirouette. Then, it picked up a piece of paper with its sandbag hands. With a little fold and a little crease, the paper miraculously turned into a model plane. The class, curiosity aroused, applauded enthusiastically. L did a petite curtsey and hopped back into its box.

    Priscilla stared through it all in surprise and a tinge of anger. “L isn’t listening to me again! She always does that, the naughty doll…”she thought to herself. The class was, nevertheless, enthralled by the doll. She basked in the spotlight for a while, then kept away the doll and returned beck to her seat, grinning smugly at the students. Her eyes searched around for Tia, but her classmate’s seat was empty.

    “Tia didn’t come to school today,” thought Priscilla. “Too bad, I wanted to show her my new doll.” The girl shifted her attention back to her lessons, putting L at the back of her mind once more.

    When Priscilla got home, she grabbed L’s box out again. It tumbled out of her bag and onto her bed, and the child jumped onto it, bouncing onto a huge pink fluffy pillow. L sat up, rubbing its cloth-bound head. “That hurt,” it said, “can’t you be a little gentler?”

    “Why didn’t you listen to me back then?!” squealed its owner. “You were supposed to follow my instructions!”

    “At least I brought you a bit of fame, right? Isn’t that what you brought me to school for? To show me off to all your classmates?” retorted L. “Only problem was, the one whom you wanted to gloat in the face didn’t come today. So you took to swaggering about me around in the classroom, but never letting anyone even once play with me.” The doll pulled a face at Priscilla, who was cringing madly at the remarks.

    “Not true! Not true! I wanted to show them you; that’s it! I’m not swaggering about you or anything!” The child’s face twisted with rage. “First, it was with Mirabella and the girls, now, the whole class! Are you trying to embarrass me?!” shouted Priscilla.

    L wiped off the beads of saliva that had planted themselves in her hair while Priscilla ranted. When she finally cooled off, L was already asleep in her box. Priscilla squealed with rage and stormed back downstairs for dinner.


    Maria was cleaning the table after her young mistress had finished her meal and retired back to her room for the night. “She looked troubled,” she thought, “I wonder what happened today. She just won’t talk.” The servant-girl picked up the stack of dirty plates that was piled up at the edge of the table, ready to be delivered to the kitchen sink. Maria grunted under the weight of the plates, teetering precariously along on her bandage-bound feet. She could hardly see anything in front of her, for the plates had eaten up a huge portion of her field of vision, and it did not surprise her when she slipped on the polished marble floor. The plates hovered in the air for a while, unsupported by anything, and then crashed down on the unfortunate maid like a million falling crystal raindrops. The glass shards hit the floor and split into infinite impossibly tiny pieces. Maria stared at the mess in shock, wondering what the Poplaris would do once they found out. She hurriedly hitched her dress up and picked up the broken plates, all the time trying not to think about her punishment.

    Suddenly, a jolt of pain shot up her torso. Maria faltered, dropping the plates once again. Her hand ran itself along her waistline, coming to a stop at something that protruded out of her back. She gingerly plucked it out, at the same time concentrating on keeping awake. Her blurred vision could only catch the words engraved into the weapon before she passed out: Priscilla Poplari.

    James heard the deafening crash from the lounge where he was resting. He limped over to the corridor as fast as he could on his injured leg, all the time calling out Maria’s name. When he saw the servant-girl lying on the floor among the razor-sharp glass shards bleeding freely from a gaping wound in her back, he quickly hobbled over and pulled her into an upright position. His hands brushed against hers, releasing the object clutched within it. It fell to the floor with a clang that resounded down the long corridor. James picked it up and examined it. His eyes widened in shock as he realized that it was the same penknife that was stabbed into his foot the previous night.

    The ambulance’s siren shot like a bullet through the dark silent night.


    The next morning, when Priscilla came down all dressed in her school uniform, she saw that she was the only one left in the house. “Where’s everybody? The house seems so big and empty without them…” She skipped along the corridor towards her brother’s room, her bare feet clicking against the cold marble ground.

    The ochre door was locked. Priscilla slipped her hands out from the golden doorknob, sighing. Her brother always liked to lock his door. Her violet eyes suddenly latched onto a white triangle peeking out from under the door. She bent down and picked it up. It was written in clean,

    I brought Maria to the hospital, then will go out with the girls. And I won’t be back for dinner. Go to school yourself and do your homework when you come home. Lunch is in the oven, help yourself.
    ~James

    Priscilla placed the note on the pristine table. She knew James was one of the playboy types, always going out with his truckload of ever-changing girlfriends, but there was no reason for him to be away that long. She hitched up her backpack, stuffed L into it once again and hopped onto the bright yellow vehicle waiting outside the manor’s gates.

    School passed without much going on. Tia was absent from class again, the class got bored playing with L, who wasn’t as frisky and lively as before. Priscilla trudged up the long footpath up to her home, nudged open the door, romped up the stairs and threw her bag into a corner of her room. It landed on the floor with a muted thud, tipped over and spilled Priscilla’s books on the floor. Workbooks, textbooks and papers swept onto the floor, a tsunami of words and ink engulfing the brown plains.

    Priscilla huffed and picked up her stuff. As she stacked the pile of books onto her desk, there came a ring on the doorbell. “Maria! Get it!” she called, then remembered that the servant was at the hospital, so she went downstairs to answer it.

    A couple was standing at the door. The woman had long blond hair draped down to her waist, and her stunning figure wowed almost everyone. The man shoved a brown lock of hair behind his ear, dressed in a classy suit paired with a smart tie. Priscilla sniffed; both had the smell of VIP plane cabins lingering on them.

    The woman bent down to the young girl. “And how’s our dear little princess? James has been treating you well, hasn’t he?”

    “Mom? Dad?” Priscilla looked up into their eyes in awe. “They’d actually come back to see me! I don’t believe it!” Her mind raced around her head at the thought.

    Pazezzo smiled charmingly at his daughter. “We’re here just to pick up some stuff, then off again to America. Oh, and to wish Happy Birthday to our princess along the way.”

    “You got our present, no?” Poshette’s voice was laced with a heavy accent. She stood up straight and swept herself gracefully into the room. “Ah, nothing anywhere feels as good as home!” the swan implored, as her husband headed straight for his study.

    “Then why don’t you stay here?” asked Priscilla.

    “Because we need to work, sweetie. If we don’t work, then you’ll have no presents,” replied Pazezzo. “Besides, our job gives us a lot of pay, so we’ll be able to send you kids on another holiday to Japan after your school term.”

    “Then why don’t you bring us along?” shot back the child.

    “Honey, if we bring you along, you won’t be able to complete your schooling. To go outside to work, you need to know a lot of things, and those things they teach you in school.” Poshette ruffled her daughter’s hair, picked up her suitcase and left the house.

    Priscilla went to her dad’s study, where he was flipping out his drawers. “Priscilla dear, have you seen my spare reading glasses?” he asked the child.

    “No, Dad,” replied Priscilla.

    “Then maybe James has. Where is he anyway?”

    “At the hospital.”

    “What?” Pazezzo’s head shot up from his desk. “What’s James doing at the hospital for? Has his girlfriend hurt herself badly again?”

    “No, Father. He sent Maria to the hospital.” Priscilla repeated the note’s contents to him.

    “Okay then. I’ve found my glasses, so I guess we’ll leave for America now.” Pazezzo placed his spectacles into a round case, picked up a briefcase and headed towards the door.

    “Dad.”

    “Not now, Prissy. We’re in a rush, okay? We promise we’ll send souvenirs from the Big Apple, alright?” Pazezzo rushed out the door and hopped into the crystal white sports car outside. The couple the zoomed off, on their way to their next destination.

    Priscilla stood there, enthralled by her parents’ short visit. It was enough to get her head reeling already. She sat down on the sofa, smiling to herself. It was nice to see her parents again, the very ones she had longed to get a peek at in the flesh for so long.

    “Your parents came?” The voice snapped Priscilla back to the present.

    L slipped down the banister and climbed onto the handcrafted sphere resting on its edge. Its black-button eyes focused on the blond child, its cloth mouth split apart to reveal a dazzling smile.

    “Yes actually.” Priscilla still wasn’t out from her dreaming yet.

    L threw a book at her. “Well, since you’re so motivated now, why don’t you get back to your work?” The book smacked Priscilla on the head, waking her up.

    Priscilla laughed, picked up the book and L and swept the whole lot to her room.


    Night covered most of the window, silvery sequins littered across the velveteen sky competing with the golden sparkles whizzing around on the ground for attention. The moon hung in the sky like a huge balloon, casting its cool glow on everything in sight. Priscilla sat at her desk, and closed her activity book. She shoved it into her bag, and turned off the table lamp. The moonlight streamed into the room, casting a blue glow on the floor. Priscilla sat on her bed, enjoying the memory of the visit, and lay down on her bed. She had almost fallen asleep when a voice pierced through the calming silence, a cold, cruel expressionless voice in the darkness.

    The child sat up in bed, and a shadow on the moonlit floor filled her vision. “L? What are you doing up so late?” she asked the doll, who was sitting on the windowsill.

    L raised its sandbag hand, which was clutching a stick with a blade that glinted, reflecting the moonlight off it. Priscilla squinted at the tool, and realized that it was her penknife. “What are you doing with that? It’s dangerous, so put it back.”

    L stood up and hopped lithely onto the rug. It pointed the weapon at Priscilla’s face. “It feels nice to be able to see your parents again, doesn’t it? Well, at least you’ll leave happily. Why don’t you go back to sleep and leave me to my business?”

    “L, what do you—“ Pricilla’s eyes widened in horror and shock as she registered all of what L had said. “You…you were the one who injured James and Maria?! How could you?!”

    L grinned, its white teeth gleaming in the dim light. “So what if I did? You won’t be able to tell anyone after tonight, anyway.”

    Priscilla scurried out of her bed and inched towards the door as L spoke. “Your name’s not really L, is it? It’s just an initial.”

    “Didn’t you read the papers? Oh wait, James didn’t show you the article.” The penknife twirled around in L’s hand like a deadly baton. “My full name’s Linda Moore, though most people call me Lunacy Moore. Kinda’ fits, doesn’t it?”

    “Yes it does,” replied Priscilla hastily. Her hands wound around the doorknob, slowly twisting it open. Then, she yanked it open and dashed out, leaving Lunacy blinking in the dust.

    Priscilla ran down the stairs, down the corridor and out the door. “L…Lunacy? As in the Massacre Mastermind? But…she’s in the asylum now, isn’t she? And besides, she’s a human being. Not a doll.” She comforted herself with the thought. “Human beings can’t just turn into dolls like that.” She turned around to glance at Lunacy’s progress, and realized that the mad doll was just meters behind her. She gave a little yelp and sprinted down the path.

    “I need to tell someone about this,” thought the child. Her mind flipped through a list of people who might listen to her, but there was no one available then. Out of the blue, a name popped into her head. “What about the old shopkeeper, Uncle Dollah?” Priscilla made up her mind and darted towards the quaint shop.

    Uncle Dollah was rearranging the toys on the dusty shelves when there was a frantic rap-rap on his door. He went over to the door and opened it. “Ms Poplari!” he exclaimed at the girl standing at his doorstep. “What are you doing here at this time of night?”

    “It’s an emergency, Uncle Dollah! The doll James bought as my birthday present, it wants to kill me!” squealed to frightened child.

    “Alright then, you’ better come inside,” said Uncle Dollah and opened the door wide to let the kid in.

    Soon, the both of them were sitting around the fireplace in Uncle Dollah’s shop, sipping hot chocolate. Priscilla related the whole incident to the old man. “……and then your doll suddenly grabbed my penknife and attacked me! What is wrong with her?” the child told the man.

    Suddenly, a toy on the shelf moved. It peered through its sky-blue eyes from under its head of flame-colored hair at them, and gasped.

    “Priscilla? What are you doing here? Get out of here, quickly! He’s in league with Lunacy!” the doll cried. Uncle Dollah swiftly got up and gagged the doll with his forearm, but Priscilla was out of the chair and rushed for the door in an instant. Her hands just closed around the doorknob when she found it to be locked.

    Suddenly, a familiar chuckle sounded through the little room. Priscilla stared up and saw Lunacy twirling around on the rafters, penknife in hand. “Thought you’d complain to my creator, would you? Actually, he’s the one behind all this!” It cackled, throwing back her head wildly. Priscilla’s head slowly turned to face Uncle Dollah. An ominous shadow suddenly filled the warm atmosphere. The redhead doll struggled against the shopkeeper’s bulky arms and cried out, “Uncle Dollah wants to raise hordes of toys to take over the city! Get away quickly, Pris!” The shopkeeper then tied the doll’s mouth up with a rag.

    “But why, Uncle Dollah? I thought you were a good guy,” whispered Priscilla.

    “Well, take your parents as an example. They usurp everyone’s cash and use it for their own expense. They take what are rightfully others and use it to pamper themselves! Do you see them ever caring for you, other than just giving you stuff?” the portly man bellowed at her. “I’m going to cleanse this city of such selfish people and replace it with a city where everyone uses the money fairly!”

    “So…this was just all about…money?” asked Priscilla.

    “No! It’s about freedom and fairness! The freedom to get whatever you want, and the fairness of each equal share! Everyone gets an equal share of money in their pockets, and is free to spend it on whatever they want!”

    Priscilla scrabbled at the door, trying to find a way out. Lunacy flipped sinuously onto the ground and laughed. “There’s no way out now! You’re going to help us, Priscilla Poplari! It feels nice to have revenge on the city for shutting me in that dreaded cell!”

    Priscilla caught sight of a poker lying near the fireplace. She grabbed it and stabbed at a burning log, pointing it at the others in turn. “Come any closer, and I’ll thrust this at you! I’ve learnt fencing, you know, so my aim’s quite good.” she told them.

    Unexpectedly, the doll that Uncle Dollah had been trying to restrain leapt out of his arms and lunged for the poker. It grabbed it with a sandbag hand and threw it onto the floor in front of the other two. In response, the other toys on the shelves stirred and started to move closer to Priscilla and the red doll.

    “Priscilla! Get out through the window now! I’ll hold them off for a while, but you’ve got to hurry!” the doll yelled at the child.

    “Tia?”

    The doll’s eyes widened, not in anticipation of a battle, but in surprise.
    “You remember me?”

    Priscilla replied, “How could I not remember the girl’s doll that danced on my work?” The memories made the both of them smirk at each other.

    “What happened to you?” asked the child. “What did they do?”

    “Lunacy knows how to snuff out a life without harming the soul,” began Tia, still waving the burning log around. “Then, it puts the souls into empty doll shells, and destroys the body so that the souls can’t return to normal. Uncle Dollah makes the doll shells. He makes sure they look like the actual person, so the soul wouldn’t reject it so much. I was lured here by Sacrétte. Look, time’s running out. Are you leaving or not?” Tia’s impatient glare pierced through the wake of the flames.

    “What about you?” asked Priscilla.

    “I’ll hold them off till you leave,” replied the doll.

    “Then I’ll go.”

    “What are you waiting for?”

    “Thanks.”

    Tia’s eyes dripped. The pearl-shaped drops formed perfect circles on the floor, but were quickly evaporated from the heat.

    Priscilla scurried towards the nearest window and leapt out into the cool night air. The winds swirled around under her nightdress and the darkness opened up, wrapping her in its embrace.

    Then, nothing.


    When Priscilla next awoke, there was someone bending low over her. She squinted through the bright white light, and discerned James’s face from the background.

    “J…James?” she spoke tentatively.

    “Thank goodness you’re alive, Pris! What were you doing at the burning shop at midnight?! You were supposed to be asleep! Luckily someone called the ambulance in time, or you wouldn’t have survived!” James yelled at her, relieved.

    “I ran there. To escape from L,” choked out Priscilla. “L was the one who stabbed you and Maria. Her name’s Lunacy Moore. She and Uncle Dollah are working together to take over the city. Tia saved me.”

    “You’d better get some sleep. You’ll feel much better in the morning.” James looked like he didn’t believe it. He left the hospital ward, flicking the lights off along the way.

    Priscilla turned in the hospital bed, cringing at the feel of the rough mattress and shivering from the cold that the thin blanket let in. Her eyes fluttered against her mind, trying to keep open, trying to recollect her thoughts. “Tia saved me. Should I be thankful?” she wondered.

    “Yes, I should. And I am.”


    The debris of the once-attractive shop was littered around the road. The main pile was blackened from the soot and wet from the water that the firemen used to douse the flames. Police managed to scavenge a black corpse, burnt till it was totally unrecognizable, and a lot of sooty and half-burnt toys. As they left to report to the commander about the accidental death of Mr. Dollah, a piece of debris twitched. They turned, but there was nothing out of the blue, so they continued on their way.

    After they left, the debris pile twitched again. A petite sandbag hand crept out from under the rubble and shifted the piece of floorboard away, revealing a little pit. The sandbag hand dragged its owner out, and it stood up on the pile, looking around. Its ragged red dress fluttered in the gentle breeze, its mouth split open in an evil grin.

    “Lunacy Moore lives!”