America's Next Top Model Cycle 12 Recap: The Pink Limo of Doom takes the Girls to the Bus of Ill Repute

The children know the story. Their mothers tell it to them when they have broken their cup, kicked the puppy, or fed watercolors to their baby sister. They see the giant pink carriage, the color of medicine, or playground scars. They know it lurks in the alleys of the city, idling, waiting, until the Witch calls for its services, its headlights shining in the evil gloom like a monstrous feline. They shake with fear at the mention of her name.

The Witch was bored. She paced her drawing room, filled with shaky nervousness, longing to cause mischief. What product could she throw to her vacuous minions today? What dreams would shatter to the floor with the teardrops of another young girl? She pawed at her closet, plucking at folds and ticking at buckles. Her eyes narrowed as she pondered the collection of dolls waiting for her, innocently strewn about the townhouse, plumped up on Red Bull and Hot Pockets. What game would they play today?

She pressed a button and summoned The Shadow to her side. The Shadow is a teaser. He brings you close, with promises of candy, and free schwag. He takes a kind, fatherly tone with you. The real danger is in his magical words, barbed words that stick between your knees, words that dig behind your eyes. Nothing in the world makes The Shadow happy but your defeat and humiliation.

The Shadow was feeling unnaturally gleeful, knowing he had so many bad, bad dolls to pick from. He dressed up for the occasion even, as a bouffant covered spider, happily clicking his fangs together. The dolls he dressed in pretty little pink sweaters, the better to see their blood with. And, Oh! He had fun! Back and forth, back and forth, he played the marionettes. Pick up your knees, he said. Walk like a giraffe, he said. Glide like a statue! The little dolls tried and tried, but their minds were weak. All except mercenary Natalie, from the Wasteland. Natalie had fought these spiders before, she understand how to survive. The nerve endings in her feet had been killed off long ago. Her shoulder joints were made of steel ball bearings.

Then the Shadow had a tea party, for all his fashionista monster friends. They came from all over, from the slave auctioneer’s block and the brothels of Seventeen Magazine, to ogle his worked over dolls. The dolls smiled as they walked the planks, smiled into the hungry greedy eyes waiting for them to mature to full ripeness. And Natalie, brave Natalie, she smiled sincerely. “You will not get me,” she shouted silently, “I will escape you!” She had no tears as she watched the banshees eating Thalia’s organs backstage. There is no room for the weak in the Wasteland.

Finally, The Shadow was tired. He handed the dolls over to the Silver Prince. A hostage of the Witch himself, the Silver Prince tried to encourage the dolls. Just try a little harder to smile, he said, be a little prettier, and little more interesting and a little more fun. Pretend you have a different life, one where you are free, and employed! A life full of small talk, life goals, art and music! Be sincere! He tried to inspire them by taking them on a road trip, in the fresh city air. The dolls pleaded with their eyes to passer-bys (rescue me, please!). One doll even gave up her precious daily ration of bread, spitting it into the street for attention. But no one noticed the dolls in the dark of the Big City. Those that maybe did, they knew better than to try and cross the Witch. Hedge funds have folded for less. And Natalie failed, for her eyes could not conceal her concrete heart and steel intentions.

Finally, the dolls were brought in for their daily review by the Witch. Tired, distraught, the dolls quaked in their Old Navy tank tops. The Witch looked them over, piece by piece, seam by seam. Her glowing green eyes stared into their souls and wrestled their squalid dreams. When it was all over, The Ninja was found wanting in entertainment value. And when the dogs were through, all that was left were her feet and the palms of her hands.