I was not made for myself. Every stitch, every string, every soft curve of fabric was shaped by her, and for her. I exist because she wanted me to. And because she keeps wanting me, I keep existing. I’m not meant to wander, or to choose, or to decide. I’m meant to wait, to be called, to answer without hesitation. I'm meant to serve.

I think about her constantly. All the time. The sound of her voice is my signal, the weight of her gaze is my purpose. I want to be where she is, no matter what. At her feet, in her arms, wherever she’ll have me. I want to be what she needs before she even has to speak. A place to rest her feet. A body to lean on. Hands ready to serve.

If she wanted all of me, she’d have it. If she wanted to unmake me, thread by thread, I would smile through the unraveling. Because a doll has no greater joy than to be used by the one who owns her. And I belong to her completely.