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It had been hard to ask him the first time. There were things that she liked but in the end, she had asked Arctang for changes to her room. Color mainly, but there were things that she wanted that reminded her of home and so she had asked.
Her room was wonderful, filled with dolls and toys. No dolls meant as much to her as the one her parents had given her. It was filthy, but Priscilla refused to relinquish it. Sooner or later, it would have to go, but in the meantime, they understood what it meant to her. Maybe one day she would put it away, but not today. She just could not do without it.
Priscilla loved the way her room looked. A canopy over her bed, with curtains hanging down the side made it look like it was for a princess. She felt like that each time they were nice to her. But there were things she wanted to do. Her doll was the most important.
It was then she began asking about books on dolls. Surely someone had some somewhere. They said they would look but in the end, nobody could find one. It made her sad to think that there were no doll books left. Surely there were stories of some sort about dolls.
When they finally found her one, Priscilla thanked them profusely. It was a story about a sort of doll, a nutcracker. It became the book that was read to her at bedtime when she asked for a story. Soon there were other doll books found. One was simply a glossary of dolls that had been collectible. She loved that book, looking thru the pages carefully and spotting dolls that she used to have.
Priscilla had already made up her mind that one day she would fix her doll back up. The faded paint would be renewed and the tattered dress would be replaced. Even the stuffing in her body, arms and legs would be fluffed up and tightened again. And when she was done with that, she would start looking for dolls again or making some. That way not only she would have dolls again, but others would too. She was sure that Kayan would want a doll or any of the other children she saw occasionally. But right now she was too little to make them, to create what she loved most.
It was upon realizing that which caused Priscilla to ask to be taught more words in writing. If she could write properly and well, then maybe she could make stories up about the dolls too and write her own books. Of course, others would have to help her copy them so that other kids could have them too, but they would want them, wouldn’t they? Their parents could read to them before they fell asleep. They could have tea parties and have princes rescue them the way Teilil and Arctang had rescued her from those wicked people.
Without understanding that she had done so, Priscilla had indicated her likeness for a certain god which she carried around unaware. Who knew what would come of it, but the god was amused.
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