Disclaimer - Don't own the lost boys

The china, smooth, pieces remained upon the ground, the doll lying broken with it, letting all who cast it a glance, her eyes that seemed to follow them wherever they went, see how she was. They were always blank, unblinking, but somewhere in them, darkness lay.

She was the doll, the beautiful porcelain doll with thick brown curls and eyes that held no emotion, that cast nothing, and showed nothing. But those who looked sensed something in the blank eyes, as saw into them, as if they really did belong to a doll themselves. Nothing. When she stood at the concernt, smile shining like a light, those eyes still remained still, no speck of anything blooming from them. With bracelets on her wrists and rings upon her toes, she moved as if gliding across the ground, and their eyes moved to her, yet she never spared them a glance. Her outside appearance, the creamy, marble, face, was that of a doll, showing and expressing nothing, but though the dolls eyes remained still and dead, they almost seemed to stare at people, though they never did. They called to people, giving them a small glance that everything wasn't as it seemed, that she wasn't just still and rigid, that there was something lurking within, but like the doll, the doll she was, her lips never moved, and she never let them in on her secret.

A doll couldn't speak. A doll felt nothing, showed nothing, and became nothing, but a dolls eyes seemed to look at you wherever you went, still blank, but almost debating, thinking, and observing. Like the doll, she was beautiful, but within a monster lay dormant, waiting for it's time to jump up and show what she really looked like. What was behind her smile, her blank, shark like, eyes? Was she just a beautiful innocence of youth, a girl who had a striking resemblance to a doll, who had a circle of mystery around her, who said everything was okay, but it wasn't?

No, inside she was breaking. This sometimes filled her eyes, never staying long, never being around for more than a flash. Never letting them truly see. The doll came back, eyes back dead and still as stone. Did they know this pretty, innocent girl, this broken doll, was know doll, but a monster?

They all thought she was something from a dream, or a fairytale book, the sort who would lure in the prince with her beauty and mystery. None knew she was a broken doll, not just a doll, but broken, and none knew what lay behind her stone dead eyes, what really was behind the smile, the grace, the innocence, and the mystery.

He stopped, and unlike the others who looked, spared a glance at her, but unnerved, moved away, he bent down, picking up the pieces, trying to mend her together. And as he tried to fix her back up, he was sure she could be a rag doll as well. He managed to fix her arm up, but it kept smashing again. If she were a doll, then it would have been trickier to piece her back, but a rag doll was more simple to stitch together, though she seemed to want to stay broken, like she deserved it. The rag doll vanished and turned to china, breaking again and again.

It was his fault she was the broken doll on the floor, but he never regretted his decision, and he wasn't sorry.

Would she smile tonight? he thought as he watched her when she strode down the boardwalk. But then he looked away, because he knew china dolls didn't smile, and nothing came into their eyes. He had turned her into a doll, he had treated her as one, and the doll she remained.

He fixed her up, only to have her breaking again. She smiled, but it was like cracked glass, never reaching her eyes. And he knew it wouldn't. How could it? Her eyes were dead, they belonged to a doll. Nothing else.

She smiled, she danced, she laughed, but it was never genuinely real. It didn't hold delight, happiness, and enjoyment. It held misery, exhaustion, and it was clear to see, behind her pretty dead eyes, behind the doll she was, that she was breaking. They saw as well, but never enough to take it in. They were blind, but he wasn't.

As well as the doll, she never cried. Not once. And though she never, he almost wanted her to. Though he wasn't sorry, he wanted her to cry, to say something to him, to blame him, hate him even. He'd deserve it; he'd deserve her hate and anger, but angry she wasn't, and hateful for him she wasn't. But she hated them, hated David, hated, and hated, and hated. It was Paul though, he was the one she should have her hate for, not David. But Star didn't agree.

Yes, Paul found her, yes Paul brought her back to their home, and although his intention weren't to kill her, changing her wasn't at that step either. Not then. David liked. Trophy! It screamed in his controlling, selfish mind, and flicking Paul aside as if he were a chess piece, he passed the bottle to her, smirk intact, eyes luring, getting her mesmerised. David may have given her the drink to immortality, the curse to being a monster, but it was Paul who watched on in silence, Paul who brought her back to the cave, and though his intentions weren't for her to be what they were, sister screamed in his mind the minute her lips touched the bottle. Somewhere inside, before then, when he had come across her at the beach.

And he rejoiced, he sang, and kissed her on the cheek, teasingly pulling on her hair, and twirling her around in her hazy, drunken, state. She laughed in delight, she smiled, the brown of her eyes all brightly lit up and happy, but then all too soon it crushed like a beetle being stomped on upon the floor. They showed her what she was as they killed those people, and slowly, so slowly, the smile left her face. She moved away from Paul, and all happiness and trust left. It never came back after that night. After then she became a doll. There was never any crying, even when she found out what they were, what she was a step from becoming, but that real smile was never shown again, nor the light in her eyes, or the laughter like small bells tinkling against each other. She laughed almost as she were in pain, her eyes turned to stone, and her smile was like a crack down a window. The doll she became, dead, broken, but rigid.

Why did she have to break, and crack, and fear, and hurt? Stupid sister. Didn't she want to spend a lifetime with him, with all the fun they could have together? He wanted her, he really wanted a sister, and no one else seemed to fit, only Star. Star who was battered inside, Star who liked, but didn't want to stay with him. Star who wanted to escape, who hated the night, yearned for the light, and wanted out. Away from monster brother, away from blood, death, and carnage, into the world of smiles, family...Star would have given up what they gave her just to go back to being a runaway, to be starving, dirty, cold, and alone again. Alone was better than a monster.

Star liked Paul. Despite everything he had done, she still liked, and he had helped in his own kind, twisted, way. Paul had taken her from the streets, picked her from out of all the homeless, and named her sister. The monster had wanted her, and she loved him in a way, but a monster for him she could never be.

Paul hated, hated how she was, and Star liked remaining a doll. It just got a little better fighting and never giving into what he wanted. Brother or no brother, like or not, a monster was something she couldn't be for him.

But he remained smiling, kissing, and teasing, inside, angry, and then hopeful she would changer her mind, that the doll would disappear and Star would come back. Unlike the last, Sasha, he wasn't going to get rid of her anytime soon, nor without a fight. His sister!

But not a monster for him.

Nights went, weeks passed, he looked, and the doll still stared back from the shelf, eyes blank, face set straight dead, as if she were dead herself.