Before there are men, there are dolls.

They’ve arranged themselves about her room as if in a panel or council of judges. Their eyes peer from their porcelain sockets. She’s more afraid of the dolls than she is of the men, though both eyes her critically, irreverently, unapologetically.

Even if it were possible for her to leave the house, the dolls would stay. The men will be momentary. The dolls are interminable.

This is the first thing they tell her.

At night, she pokes her nose from the blanket that her grandmother has given her. She dreams of mutiny, of insurrection. She dreams of destabilizing the dolls from their domineering post. The blanket is strawberry — soft, but inadequate.

The dolls are unimpressed. Creature comforts are second-banana, the tallest says.

The girl hears this telepathically, of course.

The youngest doll laughs at the girl, who pulls the blanket further up to her head. Only the tuft of her hair peaks out, knottier than the curls of the panel. The girl thinks this is her advantage. The girl does not envy their snowy coils.

This is the girl’s advantage.

The tallest consults with the youngest, determines what to do with the trembling, timorous girl. Although they’ve decided that she is unfit, they do not know what to do with the bulk of her body. She is too heavy for the shelf, but she cannot stay in the bed.

This is the condition of girlhood. The dolls know this unquestionably.

The girl cannot see the dolls, though she can feel their eyes shift imperceptibly in their hollow. Only their hair moves by the veneer of the fan.

The eldest doll does not like to share space with the girl, who she regards as subordinate. The girl is lesser in rank, despite her large size. The eldest consults with the tallest, who consults with the youngest. They determine that the girl must jump ship or walk plank.

The girl will receive her exile unfalteringly. The dolls will resume their uninhabited stare.

When the girl clutches her blanket, she considers new mutiny. The mirror, the dresser, the nightstand, the bat. Only the bedroom will witness the annihilation, she thinks.

The dolls knows otherwise.