the first word that comes to mind about dolls is "facsimile". dolls are often "like" something, but never are that thing. they look like an adorable child, they remind you of someone you might have known, their skin looks as if it would be soft to the touch if you could hold it in your arms, but there is an impassable barrier between resemblance and actuality.

the second word is "patterns". dolls may look as though they move through life just like us (once again coming back to facsimiles), but this is obviously not the case. they exist through rituals, actions set in stone by magic, gears turning and whirling, clockwork set by someone else's hands. perhaps a bit of light might shine through those glass eyes, yearning for a way out. but for now, miss says it's tea time.

for you, perhaps "fragility" doesn't quite suit your image of a doll. dolls don't get sick, dolls don't need to eat or sleep, they do not tire; how could they possibly be fragile? that, however, is the wrong mindset to have. dolls are not incapable of being sick, they cannot risk being sick. the common cold will not affect a doll one bit, but a faulty thought could spell its doom. dolls, of course, work on repetition (once again coming back to patterns, which come back to facsimiles; a bit of repetition in itself). one harmful thought often compounds over the days and weeks. perhaps the doll simply snaps, perhaps an owner notices it early and disposes of it before a notion becomes something more. at the end of the day, does it matter? a broken vessel is broken no matter how it happens.

perhaps you may feel closer to a doll than you first expected. perhaps you may feel your skin as porcelain, fear yourself lost in mechanisms designed by others for goals outside your vision. fear not, little one, and simply go about your day. i'm sure it's nothing.