I miss Ophelia, and the others, but lately I have been thinking specially of Ophelia. She has possibly the strongest personality of my dolls. She is what I make her in a sense, tragic and death-like, but what makes her so real is her tolerance to the persona I give her, and her additional true personality, which is considerably more free-spirited, even wild. Really an opposite to the other. It comes out in the photographs I take of her, which never have turned out perfectly. The last set particularly exemplified this. She was far easier swinging on the barbed wire fence than wilting tragically against the post.
Cassandra stood poised at her vanity mirror. Her long hair, which spilled past her waist, was twisted in one hand, and in the other was a pair of jeweled scissors.
As she lifted the scissors to cut, a larger hand wrapped around hers. Cassandra withdrew with a cry. "Kell! I didn't see you come in." He took the scissors away. "I take it you got the job." "I did," she said crisply. "Return my scissors to me." "Not if you intend to cut off your hair. What do you mean by this nonsense?" "I can't have long hair in the laboratory. It might catch fire or something." "Look there." He guided her to the window. Below them lay the scattered remains of a centuries-old city park. The benches were near invisible due to growth, while the pond had extended far beyond its original boundaries. Ducks floated serenely on its surface. "We played as children. Do you remember how you prized your hair?" Cassandra laughed a little drily. "Of course. I insisted all my powers as princess lay in my hair. I was haughty. unworthy of the friendship of you and your sister." ...