DOLLS, by Paul Dale AndersonLizza was a living doll. Everyone who saw her said she looked absolutely picture-perfect. Her chubby little cheeks were delightfully pink, her button nose slightly upturned, her blonde hair long and curly, her eyes brilliantly blue. Lizza was seven years old when she killed her first human.
Lizza’s mother carefully taught her. Lizza had accompanied mother on hundreds of hunting trips over the years and carefully watched as mother searched out women who were exactly right. Like Goldilocks, mother rejected those too big or too small, too young or too old. If a woman wasn’t just right, she wouldn’t do at all.
“Outer beauty is important,” mother taught, “but inner beauty is essential. How do you know, Lizza, if a woman has inner beauty?”
“Her eyes?”
“What about
