He was a broken boy—battered, shattered, and bruised; purple and blue. Alone in his thoughts, he wondered how his own mother could love him not, yet the need was strong and his heart was young; desperate, anyone would do.

Alone, in the aperture, she sat. Watching, waiting, and willing, she sat. As each onlooker passed her by, a single tear fell against her fictile cheeks. Pointed fingers and a few fake smiles dissipated dreams, holding hope far away. Then came a day when the broken boy, now a troubled man, looked her way. They gazed through the glazing pane, deadlocked only for a moment. Her glass eyes bred feelings he had not felt before. Penetrating his soul, he entered the store. Riding in the front seat of his car, buckled in so as not to fall, the stray poppet felt like a star.

The room was special, as if it had been made for her alone. Like he knew she was coming all along. He chattered on, jabbering and blabbering, but in her cotton-filled mind, he felt like home. The walls were pink and the flooring was askew; there were no windows to look out of, something she would need to get used to. A canopy bed filled the space, making it much more comfortable than her old place. Master brushed her hair and washed her face, tying ropes to both arms and feet. Many times, he would ask her to dance. Pulling the ropes in a hypnotic trance. There were candle-light dinners and new dresses; followed by gentle kisses. Pleasing him became her obsession.

That is, until the clouds rolled in; black as night. Lightning surged in his eyes; his voice echoed like the thunder crashing outside. Rain beat down on the ramshackle roof as he threw poor Poppet to the ground. "Those eyes, those eyes!" He screamed while gouging them out; glass pierced his fingers, shredding them to the bone. Blood streamed down her face as he continued the assault. Rosy cheeks that once brought him pleasure now bring him pain. Chocolate-colored hair that he once adored forced him to remember and those eyes—those were his mother's eyes—bore right through him just as hers did; once upon a time.

And when it was over and the madness drained from his senses, there lay Poppet—shattered, scattered, and devastated. She could no longer see the tears he cried as he stitched her together. The taste of his blood was still fresh on her lips. He abandoned her in the corner, tying one of her ropes around his neck.