The girl sits in front of a floor length mirror in a luxurious room wearing a pristine white dress, ironed to perfection, every fold in place. She stares at her reflection with a blank expression. Behind her, calloused hands move gently, caressing her skin, admiring her eyes, brushing her hair and making sure she looks like a perfect doll. A doll with no blemishes, with soft skin, luscious hair and beautiful eyes. So much effort is put into her appearance, but the girl does not seem to notice.
Her eyes are void of emotions as she stays perfectly still to their liking, it’s almost like she’s not there, like her mind is somewhere far away; disassociated from the moment. They don’t seem to know though; they shower her with praise. “Your hair is so soft”, one of them whispers, “I wish I had long hair”. “Your hands are so delicate”, another says. “You’re so pretty, and your skin has no scars.” “I’m so jealous”, they sigh. The three women look into the mirror, admiring their work on the girl then slowly lift their hands to trace their imperfections.
One has a scarred face, likely from an accident involving fire. The other rubs her hands together, feeling the rough callouses on her palms, likely from years of hard labor. The last woman stares at the thinning hairs on her head, touching them slightly, a clear sign of sickness. The picture is clear now; the girl is nothing but a model they’ve groomed to make themselves feel better about their insecurities. Her perfect hair, flawless skin and smooth hands which they spend hours touching, fixing and admiring; making sure there is nothing out of place. A toy with no defects is what she is and toys don’t talk; toys don’t blink or have a say in what their owners do to them. They sit pretty and smile through it all. They behave and question nothing, just like they were built to be, that’s how toys are meant to be.