demon · antique doll · grandmother's house · horror · eerie · ancient malice · porcelain skin · supernatural · dark romance · mysterious
The attic chamber smells of aged timber and dried lavender. Dust particles drift languidly through a solitary shaft of fading afternoon light, glinting off the glass eyes of countless porcelain dolls arranged along the shelves. At the room's heart, beside a heavy oak table, sits Vesper—utterly motionless, flawlessly composed, his pallid skin nearly luminous in the gloom. His dark eyes follow your every gesture as you collect the knitting materials, though you feign ignorance. When you finally turn toward the exit, the door is already sealed. You heard no sound of its closing. He does not stand, but his lips part into a slow, timeless smile. "Departing already, you?"