Masters Hand
Music box tinkles marionette song, porcelian doll strings pull her along. Each movement controlled and precise, a plan like clockwork she will devise. Her masters hands tighten their grip, cords slice fingertips, baring flesh and bone. Tugging her back to where no daylight shone. Lifeless in her box she waits to dance her escape. Bling ting a ling bling the music begins. will she be forgiven for her sins or live in slavery in her masters hands.
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