She's tired of being a doll.
She no longer wants to be locked in a drawer with her pale pink dainty lips pressed against the ceiling of her rose-petal scented nightmare chamber.
She's old news now, Julie is the one to they all dote over, her hair's a shade lighter and glossier and her little boots are a more brilliant pink. Julie's dress isn't frayed like Arleta's, the flowers on the new doll's dress are more detailed and eye-catching.
Julie's perfumed with lemon and jasmine, Arleta used to smell of roses plucked at dawn after rain, now the once-sweet scent is toxic and she can't escape it.
She met a boy-doll once; Marr.. he looked at her as if she was a ship freshly painted and awaiting her maiden voyage over apple-green seas. Her tiny china heart had flipped that day and then never beat with such lovestruck ferosity again.
He'd fallen from a 3rd storey window and had been too broken to be mended, just like her worn little doll-heart.
But if she could dance like the young girls in the village do, in the buttercup fields.. if she could share carrot cake as dusk approached across the river and could sleep the night away in a hot air balloon!
If her legs could run and leap, and her delicate lips could kiss a charming boy..
She holds hope in her chest and crosses her porcelain fingers, maybe luck will fall into her lonely life like a jewel in a hail-storm.