"It all started with my great-great-great-grandfather when he was a little younger than I. He slaughtered innocent people, people with no families, bums mostly, and turned them into beautiful dolls. Occasionally, he slaughtered people with families, like the oldest of his two daughters, Poppy Rose, and his dear aunt Jazmine Lilacs. He had no specific reason to commit these crimes, he just had the whim to do so. He died of a heart attack in his late 80's.
His son, my great-great-grandfather, was a hardworking, honest man with a good name. He had no idea what his father was doing, down in the basement of his house. He didn't care, rather, and chose to stay out of business that didn't concern him. On a whim it seemed, he picked up his father's profession with the same traditions.
It seemed this was genetic, something written in certain family members' DNA. Whether it's genetic, coincidence or something else, it doesn't matter. It's in my DNA, it's in my blood. There was no point in resisting, so I indulged.
Indeed the work proved to be hard to handle alone. One evening, I came across a bum I was going to use as another subject, but when I kept her in a cell with a gravely injured subject, she proved herself to be of better use than something to take up space on a shelf.
Poor mare didn't have a name. Candy was the first thing that came to mind. I must get back to work before Daisy nearly wanders into the laboratory again."