A girl by the name of Marcella laid in her bed, a melancholy look to her pale face. One is not usually joyful to be told they are dying, especially at such a young age.

She listened to the rain drops hit the window, and watched the curtains sway as she fiddled with her lace nightgown. Then the covers rustled, and from the end of the bed came a rag doll, who was now the size of her, maybe larger. That rag doll was her old Raggedy Ann doll that Poppa gifted her.

“Raggedy Ann?! You’re real!” Marcella gasped.