This little porcelain doll that responded to "Namine." Her skin was too pale, her frame too small. She was too fragile, too sensitive, too easily bruised. Namine was something to just sit there and look at.
She'd come into the girl's room once in a while, just to check up on her. Staring at all the drawings pasted hastily on the wall, staring at how white paper turned to color. "Anyone can do that," Larxene told the girl, "You're not special."
And the older female could prove it to her. Larxene knew how to turn the girl's white skin into color. All it took was a firm grip on her arm, a knife down her leg. Anyone could do it. But only Larxene would.
Namine had quickly become a favorite toy of Larxene's. Or perhaps more accurately, a porcelain doll. She was something to just sit there and look at, but it wasn't like Larxene always followed directions.