The girl shielded the light with her body, trembling in the cold like the flame she watched before her. It's dim light cast eerie shadows over the walls and floorboards. Darkness slid in from every hole, threatening to put out her fire. But she persisted, willing the flame to live with her mind until it grew bright. 

She grinned, her face lighting up like the candle in her hands. She had done it. Her father had always doubted her, but she had done it. Dangerous? She wasn't dangerous. She rose to her feet, but the floorboards protested, creaking loudly beneath her toes. She winced at the sound of a groan from her father. She froze, awaiting his angry voice. 

It never came; he was still fast asleep. She exhaled shakily, then regained herself and continued her journey to the door. It creaked noisily as she opened it, a single sound breaking the pristine silence of the night. She looked back, seeing the dark silhouette of her father, unmoving. She hesitated before her bare feet stepped through the door. She carried on, not bothering to shut it.

Fires burn faster through open doors.

As she entered the second room, she held the candle high. Hundreds of tiny glass and plastic eyes immediately transformed into a bright orange mirrors. pairs and pairs of them, all watching her. The girl shuddered. The dolls seemed to know what she was about to do. They knew the terrible crime she was about to commit.

She kept walking, never taking her eyes off the dolls. They mocked her fear as she crept on her toes towards the case. Dolls were everywhere. They hung from the ceiling and sat on every horizontal surface in the room. Boxes full of arms and legs lay in organized rows. Draws filled with tools and sharp objects for making the dolls were at the other end of the room. Her eyes landed on her doll, which sat intact on the table. Her favorite one. Well- her only one. Although her father made them, he refused to waste what could be sold for good money on his daughter. This was the one doll her father allowed her to play with.

Taking it in her free hand, the girl opened the front door and exited the house, standing outside in her gown. Her doll watched the house with empty, black eyes identical to the girl's. Her lace hem flowed like a white liquid in the night's cool breeze.

She bent down and gently held the tip of the candle against a mound of hay that sat in a pile outside the house. They used it for stuffing the cloth dolls. She watched as the minuscule light reached out it's yellow hands, grasping the hay, before devouring it. She stepped back, her eyes focused on the hay as the fire grew.

It engulfed the dry straw mound in seconds, growing like a starving creature. The fire gradually made it's way to the wooden house- only a few feet away. The curtains would be burning soon, and the thatched roof would set alight quickly.

The girl smiled again.

Her father would pay. Pay for all the times he had mistreated her; for all the times he had beaten her. All the times he had punished mother. Mother. The word bought sorrow to her mind, and tears to her eyes. He had sent her away like a dog. A tool to be disposed of. But although her mother had been sent away, she herself had been forced to stay. Her father needed the girl to make the dolls. Smaller fingers made better products... She hated him. And now he would suffer the consequence. The fire grew, reflecting in her insane, wide, black eyes. 

Abruptly, an alarmed cry sounded from one of the neighboring houses. The girl's head snapped towards the sound. Someone had already spotted the fire.

She turned and ran without hesitation through the dark streets, racing through the village. She clutched her doll to her chest and sprinted through the grim darkness. She heard more shouting somewhere but didn't bother to stop. Her bare feet pounded again and again on the cobblestone beneath her until the hard stone turned to dirt. She ran until she could not breathe; until the growing chaos behind her quietened. Exhausted, she stopped and doubled over to breathe for a few seconds, her hands resting on her knees. As she turned to look back, she could not help but release another smile. The sight was amazing.

A beacon of red light rose up to the night sky, burning like a living hell and chasing all the darkness away. The girl watched, her dry lips parting and spreading into a grin. He was dead. The words were like music to her ears. Gone forever.