I love old dolls. I really do. As long as they don’t smell like throw-up and have a long crack running from their glassy eye down to their toothy grin.
One day as I was sorting through an old box in the attic, I found a dollhouse family that I had played with many years ago. Time hadn’t been gentle, and now the long-ago cherished dolls sported slightly tattered clothes and resembled tiny zombies.
And thus a story was born….
MIGHTIER THAN A SWORD 