There was a time when I was happy. I used to be the center of a special girl’s world. I belonged to a seven year old child named Greta. I was given to her as a present for her seventh birthday by her grandfather, who commissioned my maker to create me. When Greta first laid eyes on me, after tearing the wrapping from my box, her wide eyes were filled with awe and wonder. I knew that we would be best friends. For one reason or another, Greta’s mother never cared much for me. Once I was taken home, after my debut at her grandfather’s house, Greta’s mother whisked me away and planted me in a display case, telling Greta that I “was not for playing.”
Greta’s father, however, promptly took me out of the case and back to my owner, explaining that his father wanted Greta to enjoy me, much to her mother’s dismay. To compromise, her parents agreed that I should remain in my display box when I was not being played with, which wasn’t all that often.
Her mother took great pleasure in keeping me away from Greta at every opportunity. My owner would take me out of my display box. She would brush my hair, ever so gently. Change my clothes. Change them again. Her favorite outfits for me were the ballerina ones.
We used to have so much fun! Greta would carry me around everywhere — the breakfast table, the park where she’d show me off to all of her friends who glowed with envy, to Church on Sundays, to the dinner table, back to her room where she was told to do her homework but had me doing pirouettes instead, and finally, to bed, where in her dreams, we danced together. When she went off to school, her mother would pick me up off of her bed, give me a contemptuous look before banishing me once more to the display case. Every weekday, I counted down the hours until Greta’s return, so I could be free once more and enjoy our time together.
Her mother increasingly became annoyed when Greta would retrieve me from the display case. Her eyes would narrow from behind the cup of tea she sipped from as Greta’s eager hands wrapped themselves around my middle and crushed me against her chest in a relieved hug.
“Why don’t you go outside and play with your friends — and leave the doll in here!” she’d yell after her daughter. One day, Greta finally did what her mother requested, and I was placed back into the display case by my owner. Her mother stared at me from across the room with a smug look on her face.
As the years went on, her mother’s wish came true. I was being played with less and less. I could not understand it. The sparkle that was once in Greta’s eyes were now gone. I had been replaced by ‘real’ friends whom she talked to about boys, clothes and other girls. I could not understand what I had done. Was she upset with me? I thought that she loved me. The final kick was when she referred to me as ‘a dumb doll my grandfather gave me as a child’ when one of her friends teased her about my presence in her room.
As she’s grown older and bored with me, I fear that I will be in this display case for the rest of my life, reliving the good times when someone still loved me.
The Opium Fashion Agency will be having another production of their popular Opium Tales series tomorrow (January 3, 2010) at 5:00PM SLT. The theme of this production is Babes In Toyland (follow this link to the location). The clothes featured in this post will be part of the show. Participating stores include: The Black Canary, Silver Rose Designs, Dollhouse, Bare Rose and Draconic Kiss.
-Dresses: (pics#1-3) Silver Rose Designs, (pics#4 & 5) Draconic Kiss and (pic#6) Bare Rose.
-Skin: Pink Fuel
-Jewelry: (pics#1-3) Lolapop! (formerly Otaku Designs) and (pics#4 & 5) Violet Voltaire
-Poses used: *V*Poses, Pretzel*Poses, Slash Me Poses, Snooky’s
-Photos taken at the Opium Fashion Agency’s stage for the Babes In Toyland show.