Letters to the Fireplace

|Letters to the Fireplace| The Mansion

Dear Fireplace,

It wasn’t long before our honeymoon was over. I think we had more time than we deserved already. Human honeymoons last for a month. Ours lasted for three months.

Master was a boy.

Boys have a tendency to hate me. And along with me, Ken.

One day, Ken and I were taken from the box. The others thought we were simply going to spend time with Master again, but the truth is, we were never returned to our celebrity circle.

The fortunate thing about the departure was that Master had a female cousin, ten years old. Her mansion was where Ken and I were sent to.

Her name was Sophia. She was a soft girl, so she never tried twisting my head off. She gave me the prettiest clothes. Once again, I was in the spotlight.

What about Ken? You ask.

Did you know, fireplace? Ten-year-old girls have dreams of gaining themselves a reverse harem. Sophia’s box was full of different kinds of Kens, and I was the only Barbie she had.

Which, obviously, explains why I had the best clothes.

Ken faded into the background. I began to mingle with other Kens. It really made no difference to me. Sure, Ken and I had been through a lot. We had once been the center of attention as a couple, we’d died and reincarnated numerous times, we’d laughed and cried.

But to me, these were just part of the script. After all, how do you tell the difference between one Ken and another? I had my fun. I thought Ken had his.

Hey, fireplace, the weather is getting dry and hot. Are you going to burn brighter in this season? It’s not winter anymore. I won’t be needing all that fire.

With no love,

Barbie

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