The little doll was visibly struggling—arms hugging knees, rocking back and forth in the corner—and her witch had a full day ahead.
She leaned over, kissed the top of her head, and whispered comforting words as she deftly twisted and popped the doll’s head off her shoulders.
Into the witch’s spacious bag the doll’s head went. Inside was dark. Outside sounds were muffled and hard to hear.
It brought comfort to stay all day by her witch’s side, and each time a hand slipped into the bag to retrieve something, it first patted her head reassuringly.