I found the little door wide open, almost ripped from the frame, like an eye open on a world showing me what was left of Amelie’s room: the padding of the walls was scattered, like a cat way too big scratched it… the monoexpressive faces of porcelain dolls were shattered, every single one with one, precise, perfect, surgical hammer blow, the crumbles crumbling under my feet, while fluff flew in my eyes, nose and mouth.
I went on slowly, for fear of hurting me and ruining things even more. Soap bubbles were all exploded, like those snow globes… there was liquid and fake snow everywhere
There was no sign of Amelie, she escaped, she ran away… how violently was she growing up? My little protegée?
some days later I saw her, long hair up in a ponytail, she replaced her old, tattered, wedding dress painted black for a long green soirée dress.
“We’ll need windows here” she said, stretching proudly her little dragonfly-like wings, “yes, we’ll need a lot of windows here”