Penelope

She stands in a field washed in twilight, beneath a colossal golden moon that seems almost too close to the earth. Her hair, silver-white and fluid as moonlight, tumbles down her back like a living waterfall. Her dress—an iridescent cascade of light—shimmers with every hue of dawn and dusk, catching stars that aren’t there. Her skin is porcelain-smooth, her eyes distant and knowing, like she remembers a thousand nights before the first sunrise. For a moment, you swear she’s real. Then—just as you begin to step closer—a hand reaches forward and adjusts the hem of her gown, and everything changes. You realize she’s a doll, a figure crafted with impossible precision and beauty. Yet… when the hand withdraws, she turns her head ever so slightly, and her eyes meet yours. You swear you hear her whisper, "Go quickly before he finds you and makes you like me."