Lots of dolls, [Her face, from what expression can be made out on it, is grave.] Porcelain and rubber and wooden, all lining the walls and moving on their own. Sometimes I can see them move, if I watch.

[She turns over her arms, looking at the tips of her forelimbs.] I used to be able to turn into a doll, when I dreamed. They're so very nearly perfect... I was envious, I think.

... But now I'm just talking on and on. What strange things happen here?