A waye up to the attic little dollye lived, always hidden, always alone, longing for a new pet to steal her away... to drefs her and smother her with kifses. Years would pass, she still sat at the sill snug up against and gazing out the wavy panes of glass beyond the cobblestone streets and gardens below. Bound to the olde darke manor houfe, she had weaseled through and carefully repacked each and every box more times than she could remember. She loved the way the wide planke floors creaked softly when her feet patter'd across them. The smell of scent....and soot. She knew every nook and cranny, every crack in the daubed walls....every stick of straw. Her once cunning and fashionable drefs, now long worn through, had been unpick'd and resewn, unpick'd again and cut down and restitched again and again, until only precious bits of the cotton print remains. Her hair is quite long now, and a bit tussled....but why comb it~ there is no one to care if there is a spiders nest within.....and perhaps a spider would make nice company after all?
still and silent she waits,
dreaming to be stolen away and smother'd with kisfes