She is a liar, a story teller, a traveller of the roads between time and reality. Her key opens doors to the past and to the almost was, and nearly is. Worlds in worlds.Earth but not our Earth. Doors and keys and twisting realities.
Her smile is sweet but wickedness and sorrow linger in her eyes. Her fingers twitch and she is ready to open another door. She is here one minute and gone on an adventure the next.
She collects clocks, and keys and funny little objects that each reality has discarded. Junk or trash, antiques or vintage. She travels the past and only she knows the things she will treasure most. She meets people and smiles that sweet sorrowful smile. She pours another cup of tea, lights another candle and plans another adventure, dreams of opening another door and sidestepping the world that is for one that isn't quite the same. Worlds within worlds and she has the key to slip between them all.
She is a girl with a key to worlds beyond our own. A little rusty key found in a puddle reflecting a perfect twinned sun sky that never was on this Earth. She takes the name of towns and cities, days and months, places she has been and we will never go. Where monsters roam, and magic lives and things aren't quite the way they are here. Today she is Miss Helena March. Yesterday she called herself Alene. She works in coffee shops, in diners, and in book shops. Small places. Unnoticed. A collection of name tags with the names of places she has been. Cities and towns. Universes and realities.
..............................................................................................................................................................
Miss Helena March was made for my very good friend Jaci. I finished the doll while we were away in the states. I could never quite pin down a name for Helena but I knew it had to be a city name and I was very nearly Roanoke or Alexandria, it could quite possibly be, the doll wouldn't tell me for certain, nor would she share her key with me. I left the doll unstained or grunged up and told Jaci she was free to stain her with coffee or tea if she wished a more aged look. I dare not make a mess of my parents kitchen like I do mine when I stain dolls at home.
I have a few more dolls that I have been woefully neglectful in finding stories for but hopefully I shall attempt to fix that in the next few weeks. Like that poor steampunk Red Riding Hood that only has half a story written (the rest is in notes honest). If I can get the stories written I can list the dolls in my little etsy shop. Red really wants a new home to explore and she is pestering me to finish her tale and get her listed. Who am I to argue with dolls? Don't answer that!
