The old woman moved closer to the fireplace with the doll nestled firmly in the crook of her arm.  The chair scraped the floor leaving marks. The old woman did not notice. She was too engrossed in the doll’s face. The lips looked soft with a red translucent lipstick touching the peaks and valleys of the crescent shape. Cocking her head to the side, she marveled how kind the years had been to the doll. Her own face and lips showed crows feet, bags, and circles under her eyes and around her mouth. The years were showing, and she envied the doll.

            "How beautiful"¦," she whispered under her breathe.  "So beautiful."

            Her raspy voice broke through silence of the room. The doll looked back at the old woman as though she understood what she had said.

            The old woman inserted the hat pin under the other eyelid and gently removed the crusty grim that was caked between the long black lashes.  The crystal blue orbs reflected the glow of the fire licking the sticks of wood piled in the grate.  SNAP! POP! The wood expanded and exploded as heat dried and consumed the logs that warmed the parlor, making the old woman look away from the doll for a brief moment. A spark landed on the carpet in front of the fireplace, and the old woman crushed it under her foot, leaving a smudge where a glowing ember had been.

            "Okay, old girl. We're almost done." The old woman continued to scrap and pierce through the years and revealed a lush lashes over crystal blue eyes within a cream colored porcelain socket.  She was pleased with herself. No damage was evident - not from the dirt - not from her prodding.

            Miss Ginger turned her head to reveal her soul.