Of course, he gave me a doll as usual, the replica of me, which as always wears a duplicate of my newest
dress. To France he sends for these dolls, he wants me to know. And what should I do with it? Play with it
as if I were really a child? 

“Is there a message here, my beloved father?” I asked him this evening. “That I shall be a doll forever
myself?” He has given me thirty such dolls over the years if recollection serves me. And recollection never
does anything else. Each doll has been exactly like the rest. They would crowd me out of my bedroom if I
kept them. But I do not keep them. I burn them, sooner or later. I smash their china faces with the poker. I
watch the fire eat their hair. I can’t say that I like doing this. After all, the dolls are beautiful. And they do
resemble me. Yet, it becomes the appropriate gesture. The doll expects it. So do I.

– The Vampire Claudia, Queen of the Damned