“Yes. I will bring you more photographs.”

But he never did show her a picture of a creature. When she asked if he had any, he told her they were so horrifying she might never be able to sleep again.

That was arguably true.

“Are you going to put the dress on me or not, Daddy?”

He falls out of his thoughts and back into the present. “Yes. Don’t move,” he orders as he grips the bottom of her old dress and lifts it off her, revealing her bare body. He tosses the old dress to the side and slides the new one on over her arms, glancing at her bare, unscathed skin before covering her. She looks perfect. He tugs on the skirt, making sure it’s properly snug. “Much better! Beautiful! Now, give Daddy a twirl!”

She squirms and feels the dress slide across her skin. The fabric feels cool like water. She spins around, obliging him, feeling the dress flow up and around her. Giggles burst from her lungs. The sadness dries from her face. Her daddy laughs and claps for her as she dances for him in blissful amnesia, each step pirouetting her deeper into oblivion. He reaches for her and sweeps her off her feet, joining the dance with her in his arms. They float around the room in gracious motions, their joined laughter emulating music that she has yet to hear. She feels the air slip through her pigtails, cooling her down into a form of raw happiness.

When the laughter quiets, her daddy takes a seat on the mattress and lies her down.

“Now, close your eyes and open your mouth,” he orders.

She obeys.

He grins and places a fresh lollipop on her tongue. She smiles, her eyes still closed as she relishes in the taste, swirling the lollipop around the insides of her cheeks. The sugar shoots into her brain, encouraging her indifference. She lets it.

He wraps her up in his embrace, adjusting her dress, and holds her bandaged hand in his. He sees the two puncture wounds below her wrist and sighs. He runs his hands through her hair and hums softly for her while she rests. She looks at peace now, that confused sorrow having finally unlatched itself from her small body. Her tears are dry, her heartbeat once again calm. No longer palpitating. He has taken care of all her troubles. He has made her happy. All except for these two troubling marks. But they should heal soon.

They will heal soon.

He leans down, kisses her forehead, and whispers, “You are fixed.”

He hates to leave her, especially when she so sweetly rests within his arms. So vulnerably available. Bare, supple skin peeks out beneath the ruffled fabric. The temptation is delicious. He is afraid that if he stays any longer, he might tear her apart. He might kill what he loves so dearly. So he forces himself to pry away from her innocent body and he leaves the room, locking the door behind himself.