Anymore

 The little girl knelt at her dollhouse. The house was vast and full of ornate trappings that would be rather expensive if they were real. As it was, the parquet floors were just plywood fashioned and stained. Every now and again it would snag on a sleeve or hem of a doll’s dress and threaten to come undone. It was a simple enough fix but nothing a little patting down wouldn’t mend just as well. 

She poked at the holes in her stockings wondering for a moment if their presence would bring the lashings. Grandmother had quite a temper and her fingers were not meant for mending holes made by careless children.

She told herself one day she would have a house like this. She remembered her mother once told her it was designed off family property from centuries ago. What it must have been like to live then, she mused. She bet their grans didn’t beat them with switches. She got into a more comfortable position and watched her rooms carefully. The dust danced in sunbeams coming through the windows to the east. The hour was nearly here.

Slowly the delicate comforters jostled as the dolls stretched and smiled at the sun peaking through their curtains. They rubbed their plastic faces, changed their clothes, and set their hair to face another day. They made their way to the kitchens and started cooking the plastic roast sending the most wonderful scents up to the little girl. She watched the dolls silently, wishing and wondering if they knew how she watched them, fascinated as they poured over the same newspaper and swept up the same mess that seemed to manifest each day. Her mother had asked her if she wanted more dolls. The house was certainly big enough to support multiple families. The little girl had always declined. She had a feeling these dolls would not be excited to share their household.