Sarabeth lies in the attic, her plastic face in that everlasting smile, her eyes unable to close despite the many years that have past. Her blue satin dress, now wrinkled and dusty, is the same dress that she has worn throughout all eternity. She stares listlessly at the inside of the cardboard box she is confined to, unmoving. Her blond hair is still in those impeccable waves, just the way it has always been.

She remembers Miranda, and the day she was given to her.

The wrapping on the box is torn off, revealing a white box. The girl lifts the lid, stares down with wonder and awe. “For me? A doll?” She cries, lifting Sarabeth out of the box, holding her tightly as only a young girl can.

Miranda still lives in the house below her, although she is now much older. Miranda is now a teenager, with friends to hang out with; school to attend. She has long since forgotten the doll in the attic, stored carefully away. She doesn’t need Sarabeth anymore.

Miranda grows older, but Sarabeth remains forever young.