Tilly: Sometimes I think my brain is full of locked boxes. And that one day there will be too many boxes and my brain will explode. Then fourteen years of scary things will cascade to the floor and I’ll finally have to look. But not now. Not yet.
Jan: The stars of the cold north are not visible to southern eyes, the eyes of his mother. If he were a real Chilean boy, what stars would shine for him? How can he imagine his mother if he cannot imagine her sky?
We are the misfits.
We are the motherless.
We share so much
But we have nothing in common.
We are twin souls
But we have never met.
Nicky Singer tells another gripping story in Doll.