Who's Sawree Now?

Dedication

I think I’ve gone as deep into depravity as I can thanks to you, my wonderful P.A. Crafty Minx. You pointed the way to the rabbit hole and I jumped down with both feet. I adore you hard!

Thank you Jordan Buchanan for all you do to be the other side of the Yin-Yang with Crafty and for keeping me in order. I’d be just doing audio books without you. No kidding! You are loved!

My other P.A., Trenta Java . . . I promise to give you someone who isn’t Raven Sterling next time! I owe you and even though it doesn’t seem like it, I love you!

Tough Cookie thank you so much for making this cover possible—it fits perfectly and you made it come alive. I am so grateful—much love to you!

Photo credit: Spinnaker555

Prologue

Unmasked

Tooth

Chess

Sweet Oblivion

Mask of Glass

Toast & Jam

Outside Looking In

Inside Looking Out

Baie de la Mort

Shocking

Heart of Glass

Black Butterfly Virus

Demônio

Toy Box

Tulips

Confession

Severed Ties

Cherries Jubilee

Zoo

Broken Doll

Apple Pie

Breathless

Gutless

Tarnished Gold

Shining Silver

B.B’s B.S. (Note)

Not sure how long I’ve been here. I must sleep and eat, but have no clue when I did it last. Maybe my imagination, but my skin feels clean, hair too . . . the clothing—the dresses—change like magic.

An illusion, it’s all fake.

She comes in . . . I remember her.

The lady sticks the drops in my eyes. I can actually taste them, and they’re disgusting. That’s when my eyes get glassy and the pupils grow huge. Sometimes the lady gives me pills or shots. Then I forget. What happened before or later isn’t even a hazy memory.

For some reason, I don’t forget her.

I don’t forget him.

How do you know you don’t forget? Maybe you just don’t remember that you forgot.

This place always smells like fresh baked cookies—it’s everywhere. It makes me nauseous. I’m nauseous now, but if I open my eyes, I won’t be able to avoid the rest.

I can’t.

Can’t.

Don’t open your eyes. It’s not the cookies. It’s the drug.

It’s all going to be there. I can’t escape and the visions won’t leave my mind. If I stay here—with my eyes closed—I’ll eventually puke from the smell.

Don’t open your eyes. Choke it back.

If I don’t keep them closed, I’ll have to face it and all of those . . . things. Wherever I turn, they’ll be there, looking at me.

I feel it rising in my throat.

Don’t open your eyes. Hold on just a little longer.

I have to wait for the next smell, the coffee, but I can’t. The bile is too close.

One.

Two.

Deep breath.

Three.

Here goes nothing.

I open my eyes slowly to adjust to what I’ll see.

Careful now. Slow and steady. Breathe.

Millimeter by terrifying millimeter, my lashes part and the lids roll back over my eyes. They’re the first thing I see.

My. Eyes.

Huge. Black. Pupils.

Like a doll’s.

They always startle me. Those horrific and beautiful doll eyes.

I sit up carefully. My hands never leave my body except to touch the black and white tiles of the checkerboard floor.

Breathe.

Ready. Set. Go.

You can do this.

As I lift my head, the room moves with me. My face is everywhere. The eyes are watching—fearful—and reflected in every mirror.

So. Many. Mirrors.

My world is a house of mirrors. I live in a bizarre carnivalesque attraction and can’t find the way out—I’ve tried and gotten nowhere.

I remember more than I think.

Once, I made it to the rotating tunnel painted like a black and white spiral. For a minute, I had hope. Those things are usually when the ride is over—right? Sadly, the mirror behind it was a trick. It just led to more halls—no exits.

Coffee. I smell the coffee.

Thankfully, it seems to quell the queasy feeling. The pattern is coffee, then cookie scented visions—movies, songs, messages—flashing, pulsing on every shining surface. Each time it happens I lose more of myself and it’s harder to make it back.

A wedding. Smiling. Dolls. Old, black and white TV shows. Baking cookies.

Lollipops.

I think he calls me Lolli.

The voice. The man with the mirror eyes.

My face reflects off those eyes.

Any idea of breaking the mirrors to leave vanished long ago. If I did, I’d break—myself—into sparkling little diamonds and dust. Beyond the gleaming panes of glass would be a void of endless nothingness. So, I stay. Like there’s a choice. I won’t remember anyway.

The music is starting—movie time.

Sometimes the same picture or video will show on all the mirrors around me at once and change with the beat of the songs. Other times, there’s this kaleidoscope of moving pictures, swirling forward and backward—like a heartbeat.

Pump. Thump. Pump. Th . . .

They change across the glistening landscape, from screen to screen. Messages pop up—You are a doll—Yes, Sir.—How may I serve you?—I am a mindless doll. The movement makes me dizzy. The volume of the music and increasing scent of cookies baking in the oven rises.

Then, the entire room becomes sterile—white. My reflection vanishes. I disappear.

I scream . . . yes . . . and imagine the mirrors bursting from the vibrations.

Then . . . I’m just gone.

It’s getting close; the pictures are moving, twirling faster, and the music is deafening. The smell of coffee is fading in the distance, while the cookies rise in the ovens—sweetness filling the air.

I prepare myself for the inevitable silence of disappearance. The strangest feeling takes me over when I vanish—like being in a vacuum or black hole. It isn’t the gradual departure from wakefulness that you get falling asleep. This is rapid, like a fast heartbeat stopping mid-thump.

My heart races now—terrified—anticipating that one interrupted beat.

Only he can stop it.

He has the key.

Would you like me to make it stop, Lolli?

When I feel him next to me, an electric shock zaps inside my head. The noxious smell and torrent of loud music has pulled me somewhere unknown and he just ripped me back.

Do I want him to make it stop? What does stopping mean?

Just say, ‘yes, Sir’ like a good doll.

I always like his visits. He makes the bombarding noise stop, but not in the silent mid-heartbeat way. That weird key and the coffee make me feel completely wonderful. My existence is so outlandish, but I think the only time I’m happy is when he inserts the big key.

What the hell is he unlocking?

Yes, Sir . . . I want to be a good, mindless doll. Wind me up, please.

His strong hands are pushing at the dress and running up my back.

Good girl, Lolli . . . bend over.

The moment the key twists—everything is still. The music, the buttery sweet smell, the constant changing pictures . . . they all stop.

Each time he does it, the more peace I find. Even during the crazy whirling movies, it returns, a bit more with each visit. The cookies don’t get me as sick as they used to. Once he turns the big silver key, part of the sadness disappears.

Poof.

Eventually, it’ll be all I know. No more movies or mirrors.

Wind me. Twist me. Take me away.

I’d been sitting in some room for a long time. The woman came in and poked all over me and called a man on an intercom.

It’s time to remove the bandages . . . I imagine you’d like to have the honor of unveiling your bride.

You imagine right . . . I’ll be there in a moment.

I’ll meet you in my office, Raven.

I know that voice. Why do I know that voice?

She left and it seemed like forever—total silence—just me, my thoughts, and the smell of medicine.

Oh, I hear voices! Someone’s outside.

The woman sounded excited and someone slapped on the door.

Shall we? I heard the man’s voice and the door started to open as a phone rang from another room.

I’ll be right back, Raven . . . phone call. Sorry.

The door was closed and I felt him walking toward me. He was talking.

I don’t care if she comes in . . . that’s up to her . . . this is my day . . . our day.

He was opening what sounded like cabinets and drawers as he continued to talk.

Hello?

You don’t know this . . . but there’s a girl named Sawree. She was my first . . . but you, my dear Lollipop, will be the ultimate . . . the most unique and significant diamond in the family jewels.

Are you talking to me?

No one has ever attempted to create an alter like you, but like the mad scientists and occultists before me, I put the right pieces together to make incredible magic. It’ll be a shame if my prized creation turns into a monster I have to put down . . . but Lolli, I have faith that you’ll do me proud.

Alter what?

Why can’t I see? Am I blind?

I started to panic. Why wouldn’t the man answer me?

Hello? Can you hear me?

He brushed against my breasts and started to loosen and unwrap something from my body.

Ooo, be gentle . . . please. I’m really sore.

Something tight was around me—like a girdle—and he was unfastening it. When it let loose I could breathe without constriction. Then I heard the snap of a glove and another. Then, his hands were on my tits, squeezing.

Ouch, you’re hurting me. Stop!

He continued to squeeze and it hurt so bad. I don’t know why, it’s never been like that before.

Can’t you hear me?

I said stop!

You are such a remarkable creature . . . you should still be feeling post-op pain, but not even a muscle twitch. The new implants are delightful . . . even with the swelling they’re nice and spongy.

Implants? When did I get breast implants? My tits were fine like they were.

He started peeling tape away from my skin. A few spots stuck, and pain shot through my weird new implants. Then, I heard the woman come back into the room and it distracted me from the pain.

Sorry about that, Raven . . . she is something else, isn’t she? I bet you’re enjoying yourself.

I felt more tape being pulled from the other breast and then cool air hitting both of my tits.

Only a touch of blood seepage through the 4 x 4 gauze pads . . . not bad . . . . and yes, I’m savoring the unwrapping of this particular parcel . . . she is outstanding. No pain response in this state at all.

Are you talking about me? I can feel it . . . I can feel it all.

Why isn’t my body moving when he hurts me? What’s wrong with me? ‘

My panic was turning into full on terror. I couldn’t move, but I felt everything and it was mostly pain.

Oh, she is something . . . What an incredible creature . . . my creature. The nipplectomy worked beautifully, and the areolae are small enough that bleaching will be as easy as it was with her asshole.

Wait. Nipples? What are you bleaching and why?

I heard the woman’s voice come closer.

I’m certain it will, Raven. The earlier bleaching has done a fine job of making them a near imperceptible hue.

They’re talking about me like I’m not even here. Am I in a coma?

Hello? Answer me!

In case it’s needed, how long did the surgeon say it would be until further bleaching could be done safely? I don’t want to chance my toy being ruined by an infection. The perfect doll breasts are underway and healing beautifully. I need to keep it that way.

Why would I get an infection? An infection would be really bad . . . I don’t understand . . . what’s happening . . . help me!

He said to give it about six weeks before starting the treatments. By that time, the smooth breasts should be assessable with no significant swelling. You may find it’s not needed when she heals.

It’s always six weeks here, six weeks there. Thankfully, there are other things to be done during the wait, so really no time lost.

The man’s voice was farther away and I could hear metal wheels rolling across a tile floor.

You do make a good point, Goldie . . . it might not even be needed when all is said and done. They are only the size of nickels now and quite light.

The wheels were getting closer and then what felt like strong hands, his hands, were against my shoulder. I heard something being cut with scissors and an odd tingling sensation spread across my chest as the binds got looser.

Oh, that feels amazing . . . keep going . . . they itch so bad. I could scratch my face off.

You said unveiling, so am I to assume it’s safe to remove the facial bandages?

The cutting and unraveling hadn’t stopped and continued relieving the pressure I didn’t even recognize was there.

And the eyes . . . how are they?

I am blind. I bet I’m blind! Hey, can one of you tell me?

Tell me something . . . anything!

The woman laughed quickly, like a snort. I was petrified and she was snorting like a pig.

The irises are doing quite well and you’ll be pleased to know shaping of the brow bones should be completely healed and the cheek implants as well.

More implants? What the hell is going on here? Was I in an accident?

"Continue unwrapping . . . see for yourself. You’re in an extra jovial mood today . . .