“We don’t have cute nicknames. You have a nickname, and it isn’t cute—” “What isn’t cute about dolls?” I interrupted, before he could even answer my other questions. “You’re a ragdoll, Willa Knight.” Now, he was smiling. And it wasn’t a nice smile. “Your head is filled with straw and you flop around like you have no actual bones. I should try breaking one of them, one of these sun-cycles, just to be sure that you have them.”
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