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“His first thought – what felt like his first thought ever, it formed so slowly in his brain – was that she looked like a doll. Just like a doll. Her eyes were large and bright and feline; her hair was chestnut, brushed to a hardwood shine, parted sharply and flowing to her thighs; her lips were cupid’s-bow-cute; her head was tilted to one side on a long, long neck. She had skin that had never seen sunlight, and wore no expression at all. He noticed her. And she noticed, and kept on noticing, him. Stanley looked down for a third and longer time. It wasn’t polite to stare. Not at girls. Or anyone. But especially not girls. Not even girls who looked like perfect porcelain dolls.” — Amelia Mangan
His first thought – what felt like his first thought ever, it formed so slowly in his brain – was that she looked like a doll. Just like a doll. Her eyes were large and bright and feline; her hair
was chestnut, brushed to a hardwood shine, parted sharply and flowing to her thighs; her lips were cupid’s-bow-cute; her head was tilted to one side on a long, long neck. She had skin that had never seen sunlight, and wore no expression at all.
He noticed her. And she noticed, and kept on noticing, him.
Stanley looked down for a third and longer time. It wasn’t polite to stare. Not at girls. Or anyone. But especially not girls. Not even girls who looked like perfect porcelain dolls.