In shadows drear, young Fantine weeps in sorrow,
Her cherished doll, "Molly," lost and forlorn.
Through night and day, she yearns for the morrow,
Hoping her dear companion will be reborn.

With flowing hair and eyes of azure hue,
She searches for her friend with unwavering might,
For in her heart, her love for Molly is true,
A doll so dear, lost in the evening light.

The seamstress, with skillful hands and tender care,
Finds little Molly, broken and forlorn.
She weaves her magic, stitching with great flair,
And soon, the doll is whole, no longer torn.

Molly, restored, in Fantine's loving embrace,
Brings joy and solace, in a bond none can erase.

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Daedalan, in the year 949 AF.