porcelain ballerina doll

i feel like a porcelain ballerina doll who is waiting for her tin soldier to dance with her, but he is too obsessed with the jane-in-the-box. he winds up the box, and watches her pop out. he does it again, and again, and again. i am completely forgotten. i want to call out to him, let him know that i am there. but i am a porcelain doll. everything's rock hard, except for my heart. it beats for him. i can't move my lips. so i just resort to standing there and watch the both of them have a splendid time. i inch closer to him, he doesn't notice me for he is too awestruck by the jane-in-the-box. i look up at her face. her makeup is shrewdly done, as though her maker was in a rush to sell her off. she is not a beauty, yet she has the power to encapture my tin soldier. night falls. darkness blankets herself outside the window, with a tinge of light from the moon. then the fireplace lights up. all of a sudden the room is filled with a shade of tangerine and warmth. the fire crackles and grows bigger. i feel a burning rage to throw jane-in-the-box into the fire, but she is bigger than me ten times. i have not the strength to push her in, yet i know that it is the only way to get my tin soldier back. i push her closer to the edge of the table, closer to watching her fall into the inferno. she realises that she is being pushed. jane's gigantic hands then reaches down, scoops me up and hurls me to the hard, cold, marble floor. i shatter into a million pieces. all that's left of me is pale shades of beige, pink and blue powder. the tin soldier is oblivious of my absence and continues playing with jane-in-the-box.