In the whole spectra of Doll Posting and such, I do consider myself to be a witch, a tired, and old crone. Truly almost of the like of Mad Madame Mim, for those who remember old Disney Movies.
My cauldron is a cast iron pan, my potions teas and coffees. My dolls? Beloved treasures as broken as I. I was considering as I brewed my latte this morning. Thinking of things in those terms. The dolls would whisper 'Miss is brewing her bitter potion of the white spot!' There usually winds up being a pure white spot of milk foam amidst the sea of brown.
I would imagine they have little stories about how the steam wand froths the milk with the souls of Miss' enemies! Any road, it was just a series of thoughts that amused this old Witch.
Mad Madame Meminisse indeed.
Time to bake the bikkies for the dolls while they stim in their sleep and placidly breath in, then breathe out soft awawawawawas.
