her bright, hard no, afraid her voice will break. she leans into the wood, biting her lip, withdrawing into a cluster of trees. she hasn’t done enough to fulfill her hopes. she means to keep her distance.
but i cut out a doll for her, a girl says, without scissors. the doll could be a substitute for her. the girls take the doll and caress it; they comb its hair and clinically observe the weight of ink in a doll made of paper. a girl says, she has flaws, touching the doll’s knee, folding the paper so that the doll can walk. a paper doll made flexible, capable of moving. i mean to have this monster chronicled, a girl says, watching the doll follow after her into the forest.
a girl plucks another doll from a sheet and lets it fall.