Write a poem or short story from the viewpoint of someone living in a dollhouse.
They told me to never date a warlock but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. People who practice magic aren't all bad. He was sweet, quiet and a great listener you know? It didn't get bad until two months after the first date. After our first real fight, I tried to leave and he locked the doors with a spell until he had finished yelling at me.
That should've been my first clue.
But nope, I chalked it up to couples fighting and we worked through it. I told him to never use his powers on me again, unless I asked him to. He listened and agreed.
Until our second fight...
His fury shatter every window in my tiny apartment, covering all of my belongings in glass. That was when I knew I had to end it. He tried to apologize multiple times but with my friends' support I stayed firm and cut him out of my life. I told him to move on because I am done with him.
A week later, he showed up at my job with flowers, asking to talk. Against my better judgement, I went to his car to speak with him for a few minutes. Stupid, rookie mistake.
That was the last thing I remember before I woke up in this house.
Yep, this warlock son of a bitch SHRUNK ME DOWN AND PUT ME IN A DOLLHOUSE.
I don't know how long I've been in here but it's been three days since I woke up. The first day he apologized profusely but said he couldn't let me go...ever. Brought little meals (which were kind of adorable, I can't lie) for me and tried to keep me entertained with this fully functional dollhouse.
Enough is enough. I am getting the hell out of this thing, one way or the other.