The minute her grandmother had given her the teddy bear, Nicola had decided to destroy it.  It was an ugly mohair-covered bear, purple with thick black stitching on its face and paws.  The stuffing had settled in odd places from sitting on a shelf too long.  One shoulder was too thin; one leg bulged at odd intervals.  The tummy was hinged and opened to a mirror.  A tube for lipstick was attached under the right arm.  The mouth hid an atomizer.  Her grandfather had given to it her grandmother soon after they were married.

A gift for Nicola’s 10^th birthday, but it wasn’t really hers.  It was a “keepsake”; it was something to “save for when she had kids.”

Nicola was not going to have kids.

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