Rachel stared at her ruined doll, miserable. As a young child, she had played with Lissie every day. Her parents had given her other toys, of course, but she had always loved her Lissie the best. Her face wet with tears, she scooped up the broken toy, feeling vulnerable and alone. Glassy-eyed and pale, the doll lay there in her arms, her tragic face cracked now, and with harsh, jerky movements, Rachel wiped away her tears. If Mommy was here, she would get mad and say Rachel was weak for crying, that no man would ever want such an emotional girl…she would get more toys, wouldn’t she? Of course…Rachel knew that, but nothing could truly replace her friend. She was weak…so weak…so unlovable…

Suddenly, in a fit of rage, Rachel hurtled Lissie across the room with the kind of shriek one hears on a battlefield and watched her doll smash apart. A deranged giggle escaped her lips. They would pay for what they had done to Lissie, they would all pay…They were going to be sorry…just like they broke Lissie, she would break them…

Grabbing the kitchen knife, Rachel ran her finger along the edge and smiled at the pain, the sheer power she now possessed coursing through her veins, and donning a maniacal grin and a blood red dress just like Lissie’s, Rachel…no, Lissie…strode out the door, ready to play…