She created it, yes. That poor little thing was wandering outside, lost, lost in emotion, lost in way, lost in purpose. So she took it in that one night, carrying it home, nurturing it, giving it reason, a purpose. It didn't understand at first, too overwhelming was that pure, unadulterated acceptance as what it was. Yet quickly gave in, gave in to her guidance. And saw in her its one and all, its reason to exist, its full and omnipresent owner. But on nights like these it is she who relies on it. When the thunder rages outside, when she is reminded of that moment, that emotion deep inside her it is she who comes crawling. And it is her doll, her prized possession, who comforts her, caresses the all powerful witch suddenly turned small and scared. It is the doll who gently pats her head, who whispers "it will protect you". And she who presses herself ever more into it.