Chapter 16: Crossroads of Change

The encounter with the lady in Dr. Ankins’ office seemed like a surreal detour from reality. Her words, spoken in a manner that didn’t resemble the familiar tones of my mother, carried weighty implications about what used to be Kristen, my younger sister. Here she was, now among Molly, her new existence as a doll unfolding before my eyes amidst stacks of legal documents. It was reminiscent of the ones I had recently perused with Molly over the weekend.

As my mother announced her impending departure due to the approaching snowstorm, a sense of urgency permeated the air. Her departure marked a physical absence but a symbolic departure from the normalcy we once knew. The official designation CO-5Y2-P76, akin to Molly’s designation, etched on the papers, underscored the gravity of Kristen’s transformation.

The sight of Kristen, her face now devoid of its usual vitality, nestled between my open legs under the table, felt like a poignant reminder of the vibrant person she once was. My former sister used to be a bubbly and confident persona she carried seemed distant now, replaced by a mere shell of her former self.

Navigating through the legal formalities that followed felt like traversing a labyrinth of unknowns. The weight of signing documents that dictated Kristen’s new existence as a doll lingered heavily on my conscience.

Exiting Dr. Ankins’ Office with Molly and the unnamed doll was thrust back into the reality of my responsibilities. The looming specter of my next class reminded me of the practicalities I needed to attend to. I was responsible for feeding my dolls and myself, attending the afternoon class, and the dolls in their kennel until after my last class.

The conflicting emotions of guilt and duty tugged at my conscience as I juggled academic commitments and newfound caretaking responsibilities. The day’s events and the mysteries surrounding my family’s decisions swirled in my mind, occasionally distracting me during lectures and moments of study.

In the dormitory, the familiar surroundings felt strangely altered, mirroring the shifts in my life. The silence within the room, punctuated only by the soft breathing of my dolls, underscored the weight of the changes we were all navigating.

Sitting amidst the confinement of their kennel, contemplating a name for what used to be Kristen, I couldn’t shake off the discomfort and questions brewing within me. Molly’s revelations about their activities in my absence of drinking each other piss and the implications of my family’s decisions left me grappling with emotions – confusion, concern, and a growing sense of isolation.

Confronting what my sister was, now a symbol of possession rather than kinship, with questions about her autonomy. The strained interaction underscored the vast chasm between us, a poignant reminder of the transformation that had altered the fabric of our familial bonds.

As I pondered the uncertainties of the future and the complexities of the present, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of responsibility settling in. The once-clear boundaries between family ties and ownership had blurred, leaving me at the crossroads of change, grappling with newfound roles, identities, and the unsettling realization of a fractured familial landscape.

I allowed them to leave the kennel briefly to use the toilet and close the kennel. With them safely back inside following the click of the lock on the app. Grabbel a chair and give them some energy drinks and bars to eat. As my sister entered last, she closed the door until the lock clicked and down at the screen popup stating locked.

The pending conversation was heavy upon my shoulders as I prepared to engage in an open dialogue with my dolls. I asked my former sister, who was overly independent and would scream if covered by a blanket by me. So now, she pulled the kennel door closed and her freedom. Then memories flooded my mind, recalling discussions with Duane about one of his friend’s cousins being a doll.

The conversation weighed heavily on my mind as I navigated the complex emotions. It was difficult to comprehend how my sister, once a vibrant and independent individual, could willingly surrender her freedom and undergo such drastic measures as a uterus removal surgery to become my living doll, her older sister.

Before I could delve deeper into the intricacies of my sister’s decision, Molly interrupted our conversation with a simple inquiry, prompting me to name my new doll. The name “Bixby’’ escaped my lips, though its origin remained elusive in my memory. Bixby answered why she agreed to sign those papers after watching a documentary show on Molby.