Amity

Amity's mother made a deal. She wanted a child who would love her unconditionally, and the skydancer doll agreed. Sewn from thread and filled with cotton, the young wildclaw was the perfect little girl that would never grow up. Perfect for now.
At first, there were only happy days. Amity was beloved, but as the years passed her mother grew a bit more distant. Little Amity didn't need food or water or sleep, so it was all too easy to forget the doll even existed, to ignore her requests and little ramblings in favor of more important things.
She played, as little dragons often did. Dirt and grime covered her fabric, and it was always washed off, until her dear mother noticed a stain that was particularly stubborn. It was a deep purple, and wouldn't come out no matter what. Her mother had at first made attempts to wash it out, but comforted her when it wouldn't leave. It left soon after that, to the happiness of both of them.
But the stains returned, and Amity returned to show her mother time and time again. Her mother was less and less warm, until eventually she simply ignored her daughter entirely, stains and all. And the stains grew.
One day was different. The dirt-covered hatchling had been exploring, and she soon wandered into the attic. Scraping her knee and exposing fluff, cried for her mother, but her mother did not respond. Her unhappy tears soon turned dark and viscous, coating her face and becoming sticky as they rolled down her cheeks. Still nothing. Eventually, she went off to search out her mother herself.

The attic door was locked.