My high heeled stiletto click against the clothing boutique's polished floors as I adjust the pearl clips in your new dresses extensions. You squirm on the pink velvet stool, the satin fabric I dressed you in slipping off one hairless shoulder. "Eyes forward, princess," I murmur, twisting another twisted curl around my finger. The makeup artist hesitates at the scene, her glitter palette in hand trembling.
"More blush," I command to the makeup artist, tilting your chin upward. "We want that doll-like flush." The brushes soft bristles darts across your cheeks with a soft flick. I catch your trembling jaw in a soft grip. "Remember your posture lessons during the contouring. Shoulders back, chest out, show off your new assets." My thumb grazes the lace padding filling your training bra.
The salesgirl returns with armfuls of red lingerie. "The... erm... special order arrived, ma'am." I pluck the custom corset from her arms, the boning pressing cold against your chest. "Deep breath now," I croon, yanking the cherry-red ribbons tighter on you. Your gasp echoes off the tri-fold mirrors as I knot the bow. "There now, 22 inches. Doesn't that make you feel prettier?"
Outside, paparazzi flashes explode. I tighten my grip on your leash. "Wave to your fans, darling," I whisper through smiling teeth. Your painted nails flutter like a butterflies wings in flight. The crowd erupts as your stiletto catches on a sidewalk crack. I catch you by the elbow, my lips brushing your ear. "Clumsy girls get powdered, not fed."
At the penthouse, I pour your liquid dinner into a heart-shaped bottle before screwing the cap back on with the silicone nipple. "Open," I command, the silicone teat glistening with nutritional shake. You whimper around the nipple once it’s placed into your mouth, dribble staining the "Daddy's Little Angel" bib. My stiletto presses between your thighs as I check my watch. "Faster, princess. We have your electrolysis in twenty."
The technician's laser hums. I stroke your tear-streaked cheek. "Just a few more zaps and that nasty beard shadow will be gone forever." Your whimpers harmonize with the machinery's whine and zaps. I snap open my compact, admiring how the light catches your new diamond collar. "Tonight," I whisper, "we start vocal exercises. Wouldn't want that baritone ruining our mother-daughter duet at the gala, would we?"
Your reflection trembles in the gilt mirrors as I fasten the posture collar. "Chin up, sweetheart. The world wants to see Mommy's perfect porcelain doll." The lock clicks. "Forever."