“Wait, I didn’t say you could go,” the woman said as Abby turned to leave, and not a moment later, the tingling, tickling thrill of her costume’s pullstring raced along her spine. Abby froze, turned just enough to see the mischievous smile on the woman. But with the string fully taught, she could barely think, let alone move or speak. “I’m not done playing with you yet.”

A titter of fear sparked inside Abby, though the lightheaded woman could hardly wonder why.

“You’re really controlled by this string, aren’t you?” the woman let go the ring, and it began to slowly wind back into Abby’s costume? Or was it her back? Either way, a smile burst on her face; there was something so good about being used.

“Mmhmm!” Abby said merrily, “the string makes me say whatever it wants me to say!” She felt happy, and she couldn’t help it, even as a part of her struggled to take one step back away from the woman.

“And you like when it’s pulled, don’t you?” The woman asked, her question coming a little quick, but easily beating the slow return of the string.

“It’s the best feeling in the world!” Abby said eagerly, wishing she could explain how the string made her entire body tingle in excitement, how it suppressed her worries, how it instilled her with a simple, mindless happiness.

“Good doll,” the woman whispered, stopping the pullstring just before it had fully returned. With a sharp, glorious, tug that pulled Abby back a step, she yanked on it again. Abby froze, basking in the pride of knowing she was a good doll. The woman held the string back, forcing Abby linger in that moment.

I’m a good doll. I’m a good doll. I’m a good doll. It echoed through her, and not just in her mind, but in her swelling chest, her happy smile, and other places, too.

“And, if I were to guess, you’ll do what you’re told, won’t you?” It was a question, but it was a command, too, somehow.

“That’s a great guess! How did you know?”

The woman deliberately ignored Abby’s question. “Curtsey to me and call me your Owner,” she said, her words firm and sharp.

Abby spun on one foot and gave a wobbly doll curtsey, somewhat awkward as if she really was plush beneath the cloth skin of her costume. “Happy to meet you, Owner!” She was acutely aware how her pullstring was away from her Owner, and that she could maybe escape. It was an odd thought, but she tensed her legs as if to prepare to walk backward, waiting for the string to let her. And then…

“Don’t move,” her Owner said. Abby’s eyes went wide as the pullstring’s plastic ring clicked against her back and came to a rest. She didn’t move. Not even a finger inside her mitten, just the steady rise and fall of her breath. Her Owner walked around Abby, circling her like a cat with its trapped mouse. Or a woman who had found a new favorite toy. She moved slowly, grinning in triumph, soaking in every bit of Abby’s cute, soft appearance. “My God, you are such a pretty little thing.”

Abby, locked as she was in her unmoving body, couldn’t react. She wanted to, though. Her Owner saw her as a thing; an object; if she stayed with her, she would be owned, controlled, and played with. And Abby’s inability to move proved her Owner right, even as she completed a second circle around the doll.

She was stuck, knowing that she had to do something, but knowing she was incapable of doing anything. Abby had to prove, somehow, to her Owner, that she was more than a doll, that she was a woman, a person. How could her Owner keep her when she was a…

“Good doll,” her owner said, right as she yanked Abby’s pullstring. It was just like last time, and her Owner held the string fully taught, not letting go; not letting Abby react or think. Instead, that phrase, that lovely, demeaning, adorable, humiliating phrase echoed and echoed and echoed in Abby’s mind until she thought she really did have cloth skin, a plush-filled body,  and sewn-in clothes.

Good doll. Good doll. Good doll…

Instead of letting Abby release, her Owner leaned in, her face nestled next to Abby’s. “Are you aware enough to know what’s happened to you? Do you still have a human mind underneath all this pink and plush?”

She let go the string and Abby was made to speak, “Yes!” She said, “I’m still here, and I know what you’re doing to me.”

Her Owner stopped the string as soon as Abby answered, and drew it back, sending cascades of tingling euphoria through the doll. “And you can’t stop me, can you?”

It was a question. It was a command. It was the truth. But Abby didn’t—couldn’t—speak until her Owner let go the string. “You’re right! I’m helpless to stop you!” Abby finally said when her Owner let her, her voice excitable despite what she was saying.

Abby wasn’t prepared for her Owner to laugh at her, at her plight, at her state. “Oh, you foolish girl, I bet you’re imagining a way to escape, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?” Came Abby’s high-pitched response.

This time her Owner did answer. “Because you’re not the first living doll I’ve claimed. All unique, one of a kind, foolish toys who got themselves stuck in boxes, or controlled by windup keys, or reprogrammed by AI. You’ll have so much fun in my collection, even as you quietly yearn for escape. But you can’t escape. Do you know why?” She released the string, letting Abby speak again.

“I’ve no idea, Owner!”

“Because you can’t escape what you are, and you…” her Owner said, tenderly kissing Abby’s pink rosy cheek, “…are a Good Doll.”