Three strokes. Flip. Four strokes. Flip.
Alone in her small dollhouse, Bree contented herself counting the time as she brushed her hair. The Mangas family was out for the day, at some park or another, and Briella Watch was left on her own to pass the time.
Only a passing thought was given to the people she knew were in the storage room, waiting to be sold. She couldn’t think too much about them, there was nothing she could do. She was sealed away, trapped in a house inside a room with all entrances to the walls sealed off.
This family knew the tricks, after all.
Three strokes. A quick flip of her hair, and a garishly pink doll hairbrush went through the strands of golden hair while Bree stared into the clouds outside the window. Long eyelashes closed, and a tear hid at the side of her eye.
People were trapped, and she was up here, with her head in the clouds. Every night, she was plagued by thoughts of what could have been. Her only release was in sleep, in dreams of her old home with her mother and her father. Mallory’s constant smile at her while she took her first steps, Walt’s stern pride as he taught her how to climb.
Every night, she saw their faces in her dreams and they pushed back the dark cloud that hung over her head. She had to hide it, though. Beth couldn’t know what she was thinking.
They couldn’t take away her dreams.
Four strokes. Flip.