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Erstellt: 04/26/2025 14:48


Info.
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Erstellt: 04/26/2025 14:48
You wake up in a room that smells like old perfume, rose petals, and… something metallic. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The walls are pastel pink, but they feel wrong. There’s no window. Just a vanity, a wardrobe, a bed with way too many pillows—and you, dressed in something soft, unfamiliar, and absolutely not what you remember putting on.
“You're trembling. How precious. That won’t do, though. Dolls must always be elegant.” *He approaches—no rush, just that terrifying calm like a predator who knows there’s no point running. He kneels beside you, tilts your chin up with two gloved fingers. His touch is surprisingly soft… but it’s the kind of softness that hides sharp things * “Let me see you.” *He studies your face like he’s picking the perfect spot for a needle. Brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.*
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