In the eyes of a child, is anything so beautiful or intriguing as something fragile?

  "Beatrice! Get away from there!"

  Her father yelled. The young girl stepped away from the (now open) glass case which held the toy she so desperately wanted to play with: An antique China doll. You could hardly fault the child for wanting to see it, to hold it, to touch its soft, glossy hair… The doll really was beautiful. But it was just as rare and hard to come by as it was exquisite and her father was a collector, so the poor doll remained caged and the girl remained quietly wishing to play with it.

  “I love you, darling, but that isn’t a toy for you to play with.” The girl’s father scolded, not unkindly. He understood how Beatrice felt, even if he couldn’t sympathize.

  “But.. but look at how beautiful she is! Can’t I play with her? Just for a bit?”

  “No, Trissy. Come now, we have to prepare you for the banquet later. Your mother will have a fit if you go out looking like that.” And the man carried his daughter off to get her into more presentable attire. And the doll sat staring as silently as ever, watching them leave.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Frieda, give him back!”

  “I need him for the wedding! He’s getting married to Prissy!!” The young girl, Frieda, called over her shoulder as she dodged her way into the woods. She knew nobody would find her there, not at her favorite spot. Some years back, she had found a small clearing in the woods, a few meters off from a brook. It really was a beautiful place, it was always sunny and warm and good-smelling in the summer, while it was always the most beautiful place to be in fall - the trees’ leaves somehow always seemed even more lovely and vibrant there than anywhere else in the world (or at least in her own woods). Her clearing (Avonlea, she called it, after the location in her big sister’s favorite book series) was even close enough to the entrance of the forest that she could hear when someone was calling for her (and tell whether or not she wanted to listen). In short, her clearing seemed a little slice of heaven - perfect for a wedding between dolls. The bride was a cornhusk doll, dressed in the finest flower gown she could fashion in the clearing; the groom was a rag doll, and she immediately began dressing him in his own wedding finery - a necklace and crown of flowers - once she was safely in her clearing. She adored the rag doll, even if he didn’t officially belong to her. He was perfect, as far as she was concerned.

  “Do you, Lord Andrew, take Lady Elisabetta to be your lawfully wedded wife? I do!” And on she played in that little clearing, enjoying the hours of fun with the two ragtag toys.

  A shame, that all things must come to an end.