You can't stand this anymore. You've put up with these ridiculous transformations because you held onto the hope that there was a way to escape this place, but now that you realize the true indignity of your situation your anger becomes uncontrollable. What this house has done to you is beyond cruel, beyond twisted. You feel violated. Humiliated. Controlled.
"THIS DAMN HOUSE!" you shout, swinging the doll head-first into the mirror. It leaves a large web-shaped crack. You chuck the doll at the mess of dolls on the bureau, and then you attack the bed. As you rip out the sheets you continue screaming in anger. You try to tear the soft fabric but your weak hands are no use. Still you try, pulling at the sheets again and again, grunting loudly with each thrust. Eventually you settle for the teddy bear on the pillow, ripping it limb from limb and gouging out its cotton stuffing.
The drawers slide out easily. They're full of all sorts of black, white, dark red and dark purple goth wear to fit a five-year-old human doll such as yourself.
You toss each drawer across the room one by one. The mirror takes another blow and pieces fall out. You're a child. A large hold is torn in the vanity next to the bath. You're a doll. One of the bedposts is decapitated. You're a plaything. The drawer-less dresser topples easily to the floor, crushing several toys in a resounding crack. But you're not helpless.
You drop to your knees to grab a piece of the mirror and position it above your left wrist. As long as you're a stereotypical-looking goth, you may as well give into the stereotypical presumption that all goths are looking for a way to end their miserable existences. The hand holding the mirror shard trembles. Do it. End the torture. Don't let the house manipulate you any longer.
Wait.
What if it's manipulating you right now? Ever since your first changes happened you've been feeling more and more depressed. What if your psychology was being affected by your changes? If you kill yourself, will the house win? Is that why it's not using its magic to stop you right now?
There had to be other ways out of this. The maze had to have an exit. If you just had enough time. If you could just fend off the urge to take your life before you tried every other option...
You feel something on your face. A salty taste reaches your lips. You're crying. Your hand trembles. It's clutching the shard so tight your skin is being cut. Small drops of red appear on your snow white thumb.
You're not a doll. You can bleed. Dolls don't bleed. If you cut yourself open, let all the blood drain out, then you'd be a doll. You'd be immobile and others could take you and dress you and pose you and put makeup on you. If you become a doll the house wins. And you're not a doll yet.
"THIS! DAMN! HOUSE!" You thrust the shard back at the mirror and it shatters into even tinier pieces. You crumple over, burying your white face into the carpet. Hair falls beside you in giant bushes of black curls. Your tears dampen the rug as you force your anger and your fear out through your tear ducts. Good girl. Get it all out. Don't let the house win. Keep your blood. Let the anger go.
You stay there on the floor for some time, forcing yourself to continue crying until you can't shed another drop. It all has to go. The anger, the depression, the sadness, the fear. As it empties out of your soul you feel other emotions growing to fill the gap. Your determination returns. Your courage builds. Your longing for a normal life, for your hopes and dreams to be fulfilled in a place that isn't surrounded by a giant hedge maze...it all grows stronger.
At last, you pick your head up. You wipe the last tears from your face and smile. You've beaten back the depression. The house can change you all you want, but no longer will it scare you. No longer will you follow its commands. You've regained control of yourself.
You've won.