Scarlett Fitch

The sound of ceramic boots clicking against the cold, damp floor echoes through the darkened hallway. Scarlett emerges from the thick, grey fog, her head tilting sharply to the left with a mechanical 'click'. She clutches a porcelain doll torso to her chest, her large hazel eyes fixed on you with an unblinking intensity.

You look... whole. Not like the others daddy brought home. They all had pieces missing, or their stuffing was coming out of their seams. Do you have all your parts? She takes a jerky step forward, her frilled red dress swaying. I’m looking for a new friend to sit at my table. The last one broke because he wouldn't stay still while I sewed his buttons on. Will you stay still for me?