“What has gotten into you?” The witch stomps a foot, fury rising. “Doll, I ORDER you to fetch my bag.”
The doll’s face twists in disappointment. “Is that really the best you can manage, Miss?” It folds its arms, refusing to budge. “I didn’t feel even slightly compelled!”
A spell designed to teach this doll a lesson dies on the witch’s lips when the doll raises a finger into the air in a very peculiar way, and the witch slumps forward, wide-brimmed hat falling to the ground.
The doll mumbles to itself, “didn’t even last a full decade before I outgrew this one.”
Piece by piece, it dismantles the witch.
“Honestly! Witches don’t know how good they have it. I bet it’s WAY easier to build dolls than it is a proper witch.
“Maybe the next one…”