The slight smile on her moist, succulent, half-open lips made my temples throb for a moment. So did her grip on my forearm. ‘That’s positively or...asmic,’ she muttered, opening the car door and stepping out when the piece had stopped. ‘I didn’t know you were a fan of classical,’ I said. Apparently, she and her sister were both devoted to the musical arts. ‘It was my minor in college. I played the violin. Just never performed much,’ she answered. Armed with our lunch, we descended the path down. She had a certain image in mind, though she had no idea where she had gotten it from. She only had a few more stitches to make and then she would be done with her creation. When she had finished her doll she looked it over. It was a man in very regal clothes, clothes befitting someone with a high stature. His short black hair made his blue button eyes stand out amongst his face. Somehow, even though she had given him a smile, he seemed…unhappy. Not sad, just unfulfilled. ‘My little doll, it. More

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