Day 1.
Peter set it on the mantle, above the fireplace. It had a lovely set of frills and lace lining its clothing, shielding its face in a mysteriously exotic veil. He loved it.

Day 2.
Peter’s son came over with him for the Saturday. Time for a visit, a break from the boy’s mother. Later in the day, he helped him set up his sleeping bag in the living room. Peter would sleep there with him, on the couch. But his son said no.
“I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?”
“That.” A small finger directed towards the doll.
Peter still liked it.

Day 3.
Peter’s son was picked up in the morning by his mother. Peter looked regretfully at the boy holding his mom’s hand, and shut the door. He turned. The doll stared. Mocked. He didn’t like it as much.

Day 4.
A clicking came from the living room as Peter was eating lunch. He looked. The doll. He hated it.

Day 5.
Laughter. Laughter. Cackling laughter. Peter held the porcelain figure above the live flame. Release the fingers…drop…DO IT.

...Peter.