Theóphilus Malum was a maker of dolls and a taker of falls.
He did each in equal measure
and was quite adept at both.
He’d been slighted and spited so many times that he had grown accustomed to it.
His natural state was unnatural hate:
He hated with such a fury, such a fervor, that it affected every aspect of his life,
even his work.
Especially his work.
He made dolls for the people who wronged him,
fashioning them with the finest cloth and porcelain he could get his hands on.
Forged in the fiery furnace of his burning resentments,
his dolls were of an exceptional and unrivaled quality.
Read the rest of this entry