Page 16 of Wicked Flavors

“Don’t,” she commanded it, blood spilling down her chin.

The spider froze but Gwendolyn highly doubted it was because it was listening to her. If she could recall anything from science class—a subject she hadn’t touched in almost twenty years—the spider was more scared of her than she was of it. Those beady eyes were more likely trying to figure out the best way to escape from her.

They stared at one another for a long moment before Gwendolyn slowly reached for the paper towel. If she covered the spider before it could leap, maybe it would prevent it from jumping. Her fingers pinched the corner of the paper towel and as quickly as she could, slapped it onto the spot the spider had been. A soft crunch met her ears.

“Oh, no,” Gwendolyn winced.

Her flattened hand shifted and Gwendolyn could feel the hardened body of the spider beneath it. The realization that her attempt at catch and release had resulted in death sent a pang of guilt in her. She didn’t like spiders, but she didn’t believe in killing them, either. But there was little she could do to save the insect now.

Steeling her stomach, Gwendolyn slowly removed the paper towel. She was prepared to deal with the remains of a spider, guts and all. However, when Gwendolyn looked, there was no trace of it. In its place were the fragmented pieces of the pink-tinted sunglasses that came with theMiss Maddie Moxie Doll.

“How—”

Gwendolyn flipped the paper towel over, searching for blood or any piece of the spider she had definitely killed a moment before. But there was no sign that there had even been a spider at all. Just the small impression of where the doll’s sunglasses had torn into the paper towel when it snapped in half. Her stupor was interrupted by the soft plop of blood, rapidly spreading across the paper pulp.

That was right, her lip was bleeding still.

Awkwardly, Gwendolyn pressed the paper towel to her mouth. She stared at the tiny remains of the doll’s sunglasses long after her lip had stopped bleeding.

7

Embarrassed

Gwendolyn

Gwendolyn wasn’t sure what to make of what she had seen.

After the incident with the hallucinatory spider, Gwendolyn had promptly tossed a TV dinner into the microwave. She blamed the whole thing on blood loss and low sugar. But the unnerving feeling didn’t go away as she scooped lukewarm, soggy potatoes into her mouth with dried out turkey. Gwendolyn spent the entire meal arguing with herself if the spider had been real until her mood soured more.

Confusion, doubt, and annoyance rarely gave way to creativity, yet Gwendolyn tried anyway. She finished examining the doll after dinner and was relieved that it was more or less in pristine condition. It smelled mostly like plastic, but the subtle hint of old basement clung to some of the hair fibers. She would have to fix that once she actually started customizing.

Gwendolyn gathered the doll and all her things, and left her kitchen. The studio was cramped, but Gwendolyn had still managed to split her full bed and office space equally. Behind the divider shelf, facing the sliding glass door, was her work station. A simple, long desk also split into three separate parts. Sculpting, painting, and sewing respectively.

On the office side of her shelf divider were all of Gwendolyn’s dolls, which she greeted, but with less of her usual enthusiasm. Every doll she had created in the last ten years—that she hadn’t traded or sold—were neatly displayed on every shelf. All of them vibrant and loud, with distinct personalities built into their aesthetic appearance. Every doll held a story, and each story was a small moment in Gwendolyn’s life. A history she could follow along like a diary.

“We’ll introduce you once you tell me who you want to be,” Gwendolyn said to the doll as she sat at her workstation.

The chair was worn down, and it creaked whenever Gwendolyn moved, but all her money usually went to bills or dolls. Though, if she really wanted to, Gwendolyn supposed she could sell one of her dolls to cover the cost of a new chair. But still, she really couldn’t part with them. They were too precious to her.

“Okay, let’s see what we can do here,” she murmured as she pulled out her sketch pad.

Gwendolyn put colored pencil to page and started the standard skeleton of the doll.Miss Moxie’swere unique, but there were a few through lines with all their dolls. A head much too big for their bodies, and tiny necks, wrists, and ankles. They also tended to be a little fuller around the hips. When the base started taking shape, Gwendolynlightly sketched over it with an easy erase pencil as ideas pushed at her.

A ski bunny?

Spoiled heiress Madison Montgomery travels to the Aspens to escape her troubled love life, only to find love in the mysterious Kandy, a ski instructor,Gwendolyn thought as she glanced at the doll on her shelf.

Kandy was a dark-haired doll in a slicked lavender ski suit with a fluffy hood. Gwendolyn had made her when she was in her late twenties. Back when Gwendolyn had wanted to travel.

“Too hot for so many layers,” Gwendolyn mumbled as she lightly erased the starter design.

Adorable housewife, Lily Warren, cooks, cleans, and does laundry for her loving husband—

The 1950’s style gown she had started to sketch was quickly erased.

Too cliche. You have to create something that impresses him, remember?

The thought made Gwendolyn’s stomach turn. She had to see him in less than a week’s timeandimpress his irritating face. His irritating, frustratingly handsome face. Gwendolyn flushed. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure, which was even morefrustrating.

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