Previous . Next (WIP) .

Chapter 2

Where dust and dolls decay. .

The faintest light leaked in through the narrow window, enough to paint thin silver lines across the floorboards. He moved to the center of the room, where a small mirror stood propped against the wall. Its surface was old and the frame was chipped, but it reflected him clearly. He sat down to the floor, the porcelain beneath his dress shifted, joints clicking softly as he lowered himself. Slowly, He lifted his sleeve. Porcelain glimmered faintly in the pale light, smooth and pale. Until the crack revealed itself. He touched it gently with his fingertip. A soft tap rang through his hollow arm. He has lost the broken piece. Therefore, there wasn't a way to put it back together. He turned toward the mirror. His reflection watched back at him. A porcelain face smooth and expressionless. They called such lifelessness beautiful. Eyes that were glass and a painted face. The man who created it all was trying very hard to mimic life. The mirror offered no comfort as it reminded him once again of what he truly is. Never will he belong here. He held his own gaze, searching for a hint of life, of a remnant of the soul that was stitched into him. But such cannot be found within the look from the outside. Perhaps the gods has abandoned him. A stray thread dangled from his wrist. He tucked it back in gently. It was time to rest. Prepare for tomorrow. After they've moved to Japan, it felt like there was something new everyday, good or bad. Especially now that Fyodor seems to have settled for the time being.

.

Only the faint whisper of his joints could be heard within the corridors. Small, delicate sounds that echoed softly between the walls. He stopped before a room, unoccupied. It had not been used. But for some reason Fyodor wanted it. But no one questioned his choices. After all, he was always correct. Dust gathered thick around the knob, and a stale quiet hovered in the air, as though the space had been waiting without purpose. When he stepped inside, the floorboards creaked beneath his weight, protesting the intrusion of something not quite alive. This was different. All this time this entire building was left unkept to keep hidden, but today's task.. was to clean. Light filtered weakly through the curtains, revealing floating motes of dust drifting like tiny ghosts and he set to work. First, the curtains. He pulled them open, the fabric brittle against his touch. The sudden light illuminated the state of the room—bedsheets tossed and yellowed, a desk coated in powdered gray, cobwebs clinging to corners like forgotten threads. Perhaps thanks the gods he cannot feel physically tired. He lifted the sheets from the bed, folding them neatly despite their stiffness. Dust coated his hands and he shook it off gently. Then he wiped the desk, slow and precise movements that left faint streaks of his reflection on the wood. Small cracks in his porcelain glimmered in the light. Cleaning had always given him a strange sense of calm. His body was fragile, but his movements were steady. Maybe he was a doll made to serve. This room was particularly coated in dust, lucky him dolls do not breathe, and dust did not frighten him. Eventually, the room was slowly taking shape, losing its abandonment. Clean sheets, a cleared desk, the windows open to the faint breeze outside. It was enough. More than enough for someone who might arrive. He paused, glancing once around the room. He too once had a place so lovely. Though it is but an old memory. Maybe one day, he could be cherished again. But dreams may remain dreams in such a situation. He still did not know who it was meant for. Or why it mattered. It was not his place to ask, but he could not help but wonder. Who could it be for a welcome to warm? With his task completed, he closed the door quietly behind him. It seems there was more to come soon..

Edit

Pub: 03 Aug 2025 05:49 UTC

Edit: 20 Nov 2025 22:30 UTC

Views: 123

Auto Theme: Light