Prologue
It is a cold, gray, rainy day in January when this story begins. Dawn has not yet broken, and steady raindrops hit the street in front of the house, bursting into smaller droplets and wetting the asphalt… forming tiny rivulets that flow away. Some raindrops tap against the window panes of the already illuminated room in the early morning hours — almost as if they wish to be let in, to conquer this place as well. Yet despite their relentless attempts, these cold and wet raindrops fail to penetrate the warming and protective shield of this place — the destination of the journey that lies ahead of me. As if there was a certain kind of magic surrounding this place.
Magic. Let us close our eyes and open them again — fresh and with a new perspective. And we can see magic in every place and in every kind. Endless types of magic can be discovered. The magic of nature, for instance, which can give itself a voice through raindrops tapping against a window. The magic of words — an immeasurable source of power, capable of both creation and destruction. Or even the magic of love — the greatest and most incredible type of magic, which can grant us courage, strength, and resilience while also making us vulnerable to pain.
Yet here, in this warm and sheltered place, another type of magic prevails. A rather small kind. Here, doll magic exists. Magic that — through a little imagination — can breathe life into dolls like me, making me a part of both itfeld and the world around it.