Inside the shack, the hollow bodies of ornate dolls filled every corner. Where their eyes would normally be, instead were large black holes. They varied greatly. On a small corner of a workbench was a clockwork butterfly with wings that actually beat. Against a wall was an incredibly realistic wooden doll of a fae princess in a dress made of colorful flowers and foliage, with fluffy ears like a doe's and a short black nose to match. Her long slender legs ending in hooves. Each doll was so real that it was not hard to imagine that they had their own lives beyond being in this shack. The shack was like a museum of every living thing that was or could be.
Among the dolls was a real girl who looked nineteen years of age. Next to them she fit quite nicely. It wasn't until she had been moving for some time that you could tell she was flesh and blood, otherwise she seemed to be just another masterpiece littering what space was left in crowded shack. A neutral expression shown on her face through draping long straight white hair. Her skin was delicate and as white as the snow shining through the window, Her gesture and hands were graceful and frail. When she moved, she seem to glide rather than walk and her touch was gentle, but precise.
Sewn along her back and into her skin with a crimson red thread was the front side of a doll that seemed to mirror her own likeness. So that when she turned her back it seemed as though a doll version of herself more crude than the others had replaced her. Its expression featured the same hollow black eyes but the mouth curled up into a slight grin and bright red color covered its lips and painted a soft blush on its cheeks. Their upper arms were sewn together, but puppet's arms branched out on their own at the elbow until their forearms were completely separate except for small red threads that ran between them. This continued until the waist, when a purple skirt ran down past her feet, obscuring the bottom half of her body entirely.
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As the girl worked on one doll, the other girl (the doll side) worked on another. Together like this, they worked year after year, hour after hour, creating one doll after the next. Outside, the same blizzard that had flurried for hundreds (or possibly thousands) of years kept her solitary company. Ages had slowly blended together for the girl in this place. She wondered sometimes if she deserved to be here, but didn't care to reach an answer. Even so, there were days when she could forget her sentence and sit quietly next to the window admiring the snow.
In her small world, there was one treasure. At this moment it sat upright looking out of the only window. The doll of a seventeen year old girl gazed emptily out of hollow eyes into the snow and darkness. With short jet-black hair and a tattoo of a two-headed snake wound around her bicep. The doll's expression was a very slight and warm smile. Even with empty eyes, when it looked out, far into the distance, the girl felt as though the doll could see something she couldn't. On nights like these, that were especially cold lonely, she looked at the doll often.
As she worked, the girl's eyelids became heavy and soon began to close on their own. Taking the doll with the short black hair from the window, she climbed into bed and had a dream about someone she knew long ago.