I couldn't stop.
I had to continue what I was doing, it was in my blood so there was no way from hiding from it. Damn my fathers heritage, and damn that red book! My best friend was a scalpel or a nicely cleaned chainsaw. I had been used to the killing, and taking. I always took what I found most pretty. Eyes, face, or body. I have tried so many times to quit my addiction, but Maria constantly urges me to move forward, and continue my dads doing. But why? My father obviously hadn't cared for her, so why would she want something that reminds her of someone so cruel?
I'm seventeen now, I've been in this business for about six years now, after having a year with Maria teaching me how to do things like this precisely.
I have about three dolls in my room, one in the living room and two in the courtyard. I'm ashamed. I've even diagnosed myself with insomnia because of all the voices I hear at night, coming from those porcelain shells. They hate me, they keep telling me I hardly knew them, asking questions and sobbing. I cry with them sometimes. I can't help but cry and cry. Sometimes, I think of my mother, and the few over at the mansion, burning along with the curse. I miss some of them the more I think about it.
I never think of my dad. He attempted to turn his own daughter into a doll. But then again, I think... Maybe he was trying to help me and this issue we both endured. Maybe he just wanted to stop the continuation of our generations hiding creatures in drawers and killing people to make beauty out of them.
My mind spins when I think like that though. It hurts even worse to think of all the Forgotten that had counted on me at the mansion. I promised to the Blonde Youth that I would never forget about the most forgotten. So I never leave my patients in pain or without knowing their names at least.
Either way, my addiction grows with each kill I do. My birthday is coming up in less than a week. Maybe I'll mature out of this stage, may mother guide me.