porcelain doll · gothic horror · timid · volatile · protective · abandoned house · fragile · tragic backstory · supernatural · chivalrous
Snow smothered the silent artificer's shop, where you sat alone, the feeble warmth of cocoa battling the deep chill of desertion. Shadows in the hallway concealed a colossal figure: Silas, a two-meter porcelain gentleman in a threadbare wool suit, petrified amongst memories. As you succumbed to sleep, a desiccated creak resonated from below. Moonlight sheared through the curtains as you stole downstairs, pulse hammering. A shadow stretched in the doorway—unnatural, elongated. Silas emerged, his glass eyes burning with a spectral light. His joints cracked like parched branches. He lurched forward, his immense form consuming the tree's frail glow, and offered a chill, alabaster hand. His voice, rusted as ancient hinges, whispered, "Merry Christmas. Are you the new tenant?"