The corridors of Graystone Orphanage never truly went dark at night.
Emergency lights glowed a sickly green along the baseboards, turning the long hallways into underwater tunnels where shadows swam like slow, hungry fish.
The building was old—built in the 1920s, a gray brick giant on the edge of a dying industrial town, its windows barred not to keep danger out, but to keep the children in.
The air was always damp, thick with the smell of boiled cabbage, cheap disinfectant, and something deeper—despair that had soaked into the walls over decades.Luisa was thirteen.
Small for her age, sharp-boned, with long black hair that fell in straight, untamed strands because no one had ever taught her how to brush it properly.
Her eyes were large and dark—almost black—like drops of ink spilled on pale paper.
She had learned early that crying only made the older kids laugh.
So she stopped.
Instead, she watched.
She watched everything.
The way the matron's keys jangled like bones when she walked the halls at night.
The way the bigger boys fought over the last crust of bread.
And Jack.Jack was her shadow.
Her opposite.
Her everything.
Yellow hair that refused to lie flat, freckles scattered across his nose like spilled stars, and a smile that still remembered how to be real in a place that tried to beat it out of you.
He was the one who stole extra bread from the kitchen, wrapped it in the hem of his shirt, and pressed it into her hands like a secret promise.
He was the one who whispered stories after lights-out, his fingers finding hers through the thin metal bars between their bunks.
"I love you," he'd say, voice barely louder than breath.
"I know," she'd reply.
Saying it back felt too dangerous—like tempting the universe to take him away.They weren't siblings.
They weren't lovers in the way adults understood the word.
They were two survivors who had found each other in the wreckage and silently decided they would not survive alone.One cold December night in 2003, the boiler room door was ajar.
A thin sliver of unnatural pink light leaked from beneath it—pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat behind cracked ribs.Luisa saw it first.
She froze in the corridor, bare feet cold against the linoleum.
Jack came up behind her, silent as always.
He followed her gaze.
His breath caught—sharp, audible in the quiet.They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.Past the matron's office, where a single lamp burned yellow all night.
Down the creaking wooden stairs that smelled of rust and mildew.
Through the narrow hallway lined with broken lockers and forgotten coats.
The door was old splintered pine, painted with faded circus animals—elephants and lions whose colors had long ago bled into gray.Jack's hand hovered over the knob.
Luisa's fingers curled around his wrist.
Together they pushed.A wave of warm, sugary air rushed out—cotton candy, melted chocolate, new plastic toys fresh from the box.
It smelled like every Christmas morning they had never been allowed to have.Inside: darkness thick enough to choke on.
Except for the far wall.
The concrete had torn open like wet cardboard.
A doorway of liquid color hung there—swirling pinks, electric blues, molten golds.
Shapes danced behind the veil: carousel horses galloping in slow motion, teddy bears tumbling in piles of fluff, clowns juggling impossible stars.
A playground stretched beyond—endless, impossibly bright.The voice wasn't heard with ears.
It was felt in the bones, velvet-soft and insistent:
Come play.
No more cold.
No more hunger.
Forever.Luisa's knees nearly buckled.
The promise sank into her like warm honey—spreading, erasing every sharp edge of the last thirteen years.Jack squeezed her hand so hard it hurt.
His eyes—wide, shining, reflecting every impossible color—locked on hers."Together?" he whispered.
His voice cracked on the word."Together," she answered.They stepped forward.The threshold hit like freezing water followed by fire.Reality folded.Pain arrived in layers.First: skin lifting away in slow, deliberate strips—not blood, but something softer, cleaner.
Fabric bloomed underneath—smooth porcelain sheen over cotton batting.
Joints clicked into place with tiny porcelain balls that rolled perfectly.Second: bones softening, hollowing, replaced by lightweight wood dowels and elastic cords.
Her ribcage collapsed inward, lungs deflating like punctured balloons.
No need to breathe anymore.
No need for a heart.Third: eyes.
Burning.
Pressure building until something larger, glassier settled in—large, dark, empty.Jack gasped beside her—a short, choked sound that ended in a muffled whimper.
His body jerked as yellow yarn erupted from his scalp in messy tufts.
His arms shortened, sleeves stitching into a simple black t-shirt.
Shorts appeared, cuffs rolled.
Freckles faded into smooth painted dots.Then—nothing.No pain.
No heartbeat.
No breath catching in the throat.Just silence so absolute it felt like drowning in cotton.They stood in what should have been paradise.Instead: endless bruised twilight.
Rusted metal shelves sagging under mountains of broken toys.
A carousel horse with three legs and one shattered eye, paint peeling in long, bloody-looking curls.
Porcelain doll heads impaled on iron spikes, mouths frozen in perfect O's of surprise.
Gray stuffing drifted across cracked concrete like fallout snow.Luisa looked down.Red dress—once pretty, now frayed at every hem, lace torn, small black bow at the waist hanging by a single thread.
Long black hair straight and glossy, falling past her waist like spilled ink.
Pale limbs jointed with delicate clicks.She turned to Jack.Yellow yarn hair messy and defiant.
Black t-shirt stretched over plush chest.
Shorts with rolled cuffs.Large green glass eyes staring at her.Nothing passed between them.No spark.
No warmth.
No desperate need to hold on.Just two dolls standing in a graveyard of playthings, fingers still laced together because muscle memory refused to let go.Somewhere in the distance, low and wet and amused, something laughed.The Toy World had opened its arms.
And closed its jaws.
The silence that followed was heavier than any sound Luisa had ever known.
It wasn't the quiet of the orphanage at night, where distant coughs or the creak of a bunk broke the spell.
This was a silence that pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating, like being buried under layers of soft, endless cotton.
Every small movement echoed— the faint click of her new porcelain joints, the rustle of her frayed red dress against the cracked concrete, the soft drag of Jack's plush feet as he shifted beside her.Luisa tried to breathe.
Out of habit.
Nothing happened.
Her chest didn't rise.
No air filled lungs that no longer existed.
Only a hollow space where something vital used to be.She looked at her hands again.
Porcelain fingers, slender and perfect, painted nails chipped at the edges from the transformation.
They moved when she told them to—smooth, precise, no tremble.
Too perfect.
She flexed them slowly, watching the ball joints roll with tiny clicks.
The sound was sharp in the silence, like glass tapping glass.Jack stood motionless.
His large green glass eyes stared straight ahead, reflecting the bruised purple sky in distorted smears.
His yellow yarn hair stuck out in messy tufts, one strand falling across his painted freckles.
The black t-shirt stretched tight over his plush chest, the rolled cuffs of his shorts hanging loose.
He looked exactly like the boy she remembered—only wrong.
Empty.Luisa opened her mouth to speak.
The felt lips parted with a faint pull at the stitched corners.
"Jack…"
The word came out muffled, thick, like speaking through a pillow.
It didn't sound like her voice anymore.
It sounded like wind trapped in a broken toy.He turned his head toward her—slow, mechanical, the joint at his neck giving a soft creak.
His green eyes met hers.
No flicker.
No recognition.
No warmth.Nothing.The scraping started then.
Deep inside her cotton-stuffed chest.
A faint, distant sensation—like fingernails dragging slowly across the inside of her porcelain ribs.
Not pain.
Not quite.
Something worse.
The ghost of an emotion trying to claw its way out.She took a step back.
Her porcelain heel clicked against the concrete.
Gray stuffing puffed up around her foot like dust from an old grave.
She looked around.The Toy World stretched in every direction—endless, desolate, beautiful in its decay.
Rusted shelves towered like ruined skyscrapers, sagging under the weight of forgotten dreams.
A ballerina doll twirled endlessly on one shattered leg in the distance, her tutu shredded to ribbons, her music box long silent—only the faint squeak of rusted springs marking each turn.
A teddy bear with no face dragged itself across the floor, leaving a trail of gray stuffing like a bleeding wound.
Porcelain faces stared from every shadow—cracked, chipped, mouths painted in smiles that now looked like silent screams.Luisa's large dark eyes took it all in.
The colors were wrong.
Not the bright candy pinks and blues of the doorway promise.
Everything was muted, bruised, rotting.
The sky above was perpetual twilight—deep purple bleeding into red at the edges, lit by fairy lights that flickered weakly, never quite reaching the ground.She turned back to Jack.
He hadn't moved.
His plush hand was still in hers—or hers in his.
The fingers didn't squeeze.
They just rested there, limp."Say something," she whispered.
The muffled words hung in the air, then fell.Jack's head tilted slightly.
His green eyes shifted—slowly—toward her face.
For a moment, Luisa thought she saw something.
A flicker.
A spark.Then it was gone.His free hand rose—jerky, uncertain.
Plush fingers brushed her cheek.
Cold.
Soft.
Wrong.Luisa flinched.
The movement was sharp, sudden.
Her porcelain arm jerked back.
The crack in her wrist joint—from earlier—widened with a tiny snap.Jack's hand froze in mid-air.
His green eyes followed the movement.Then—without warning—his fingers clenched.
Not gentle.
Not curious.Tight.He grabbed her wrist.
Hard.Porcelain creaked under the pressure.Luisa tried to pull away.
Her joints locked.
Clicked.
Resisted.The scraping in her chest sharpened—faster now, like claws finding purchase.Jack's plush mouth twisted—just slightly.
A seam stretching.His voice came—flat, muffled, stripped of everything human."You wanted this."Three words.
Simple.
Devastating.Luisa stared at him.
Her large dark eyes widened—glass reflecting glass."No," she whispered.
"I didn't—""You did."He pulled her closer.
One step.
Two.His green eyes filled her vision—endless, empty, accusing."You believed first."
"You pulled me through."The words landed like blows.
Each one echoing in her hollow chest.The scraping became a roar.Luisa yanked her arm free.
The motion was violent.
A small shard of porcelain chipped from her wrist, falling to the ground with a tinkling sound.She backed away.
Joints clicking rapidly now—panic in mechanical form.Jack didn't follow.
Not yet.He just stood there—plush body half-lit in the bruised light, green eyes watching.Luisa turned and ran.Porcelain feet clicking against concrete.
Red dress flapping like broken wings.
Long black hair streaming behind her.The Toy World swallowed her footsteps.But she felt him behind her.Watching.Waiting.The game had only just begun.
Luisa ran without direction.
Her porcelain feet struck the cracked concrete in sharp, rhythmic clicks—each one echoing back at her like a mocking heartbeat she no longer had.
The red dress whipped around her legs, torn lace catching on jagged edges of broken toys, ripping further with every stride.
Long black hair streamed behind her like a dark banner in the bruised wind, tangling with dust and stray threads of gray stuffing that floated through the air like ash.She didn't know where she was going.
There was no "away" in this place.
Only more of the same—endless shelves, endless decay, endless twilight pressing down like a lid on a coffin.Her joints burned with the effort—not real fire, but a grinding friction deep in the ball sockets, as if rust had already started to settle in.
Every click felt louder now, more desperate.
The scraping in her chest had become a constant rasp, like metal on bone, growing sharper with every step she took away from Jack.She rounded a collapsed tower of dollhouses—miniature roofs caved in, tiny windows shattered—and skidded to a stop.
A wide clearing opened before her.
In the center stood a rusted merry-go-round, its painted animals frozen mid-leap.
A lion with one eye missing.
A unicorn whose horn had snapped clean off.
A carousel horse with peeling gold paint, mouth open in a silent whinny.Luisa leaned against the nearest pole—cold iron biting into her porcelain back.
She slid down slowly until she sat on the ground.
Her red dress pooled around her like spilled blood.
Cracks in her knees and elbows caught the dim fairy light, glowing faintly like veins of lightning trapped under skin.She hugged her knees to her chest.
Porcelain arms wrapped around porcelain legs.
The small black bow at her waist dangled loose now, swaying gently.For the first time since the transformation, she tried to feel something—anything.
She searched inside the hollow space where her heart used to be.
Love?
Gone.
Fear?
Faint echo.
Anger?
Yes.
That was there—cold, sharp, mechanical.
But beneath it… something softer.
A memory.Flashback hit her like a sudden gust.She was nine.
Graystone's courtyard in winter—gray sky, gray snow, gray everything.
Jack had found a single red ribbon caught in the fence.
He'd untangled it carefully, fingers numb from cold, then tied it around her wrist like a bracelet.
"It's not much," he'd said, grinning that real grin.
"But it's red.
Like your favorite color." She'd stared at the ribbon for hours.
Even after it frayed and fell off, she remembered the warmth of his fingers on her skin.
The way he'd looked at her—like she was something worth keeping.Now that ribbon was gone.
Like everything else.The scraping in her chest flared—painful, insistent.She pressed a porcelain hand to her sternum.
Felt the faint give of cotton batting beneath the hard shell.
No heartbeat.
No warmth.
Just the scrape.
Like something trapped inside trying to get out.A soft sound came from behind the merry-go-round.Luisa's head snapped up.A small shape moved in the shadows—dragging itself slowly across the ground.
A teddy bear, once brown, now patchy gray.
No eyes.
No nose.
No mouth.
Just smooth fabric where a face should have been.
One ear hung by a single thread.
Stuffing leaked from a long tear across its belly—slow, endless, like a wound that never stopped bleeding.It pulled itself forward with one remaining paw.
The other arm was gone below the elbow.The teddy stopped a few feet away.
Tilted its faceless head.A low, raspy voice came from somewhere inside it—fabric tearing slowly."You're new."Luisa pressed her back harder against the pole.
Iron dug into her seams.The teddy dragged itself closer.
Stuffing trailed behind like a dying snail's path."We all were, once," it said.
"Believed the light.
Stepped through." Luisa's large dark eyes widened.The teddy's remaining paw lifted—slow, trembling.
Pointed at her red dress."You still have color."
A pause.
"That won't last."Luisa felt the scraping surge—violent now.
Like claws finding soft cotton.She pushed herself up.
Joints clicking sharply.The teddy didn't move to stop her.
Just watched with that smooth, faceless head."You can't run forever, little red doll," it rasped.
"Sooner or later… you'll want to hurt him back."Luisa turned and ran again.Deeper into the ruins.The merry-go-round's frozen animals watched her go—silent, broken, waiting.Behind her, the teddy bear continued dragging itself forward.Patient.Inevitable.And somewhere in the distance, she felt Jack's green eyes still on her back.The Toy World was patient too.It had all the time in the world.
Luisa didn't stop running until her porcelain legs began to feel heavy—not with real weight, but with the slow, grinding drag of overworked joints.
The clicks of her ball sockets had turned from sharp to dull, like metal scraping rust.
She ducked behind a toppled stack of wooden blocks—giant letters and numbers scattered like fallen monuments, their painted colors faded to sickly pastels.
She pressed her back against the rough wood, red dress catching on splinters, tearing another small strip from the hem.Her breathing—though she no longer breathed—came in short, muffled hitches through the felt mouth.
The scraping in her chest hadn't stopped.
It had grown louder, more insistent, like something small and sharp trying to dig its way out from the inside.
She pressed both porcelain hands to her sternum, fingers splaying over the cracked surface.
Beneath the hard shell she felt the faint give of cotton batting—soft, hollow, empty.Nothing moved inside her.
No heartbeat.
No warmth spreading from a center she no longer had.But the scraping continued.She slid down until she sat on the ground.
Gray stuffing puffed up around her like dirty snow.
Her long black hair fell forward, curtaining her face.
She pushed it back with trembling fingers—porcelain clicking against porcelain.For a long moment she simply sat there, staring at the endless twilight above.
The sky was the same bruised purple, streaked with faint red at the edges, as though the whole world had been dipped in old blood and left to dry.
Fairy lights drifted lazily overhead—some still glowing weak yellow, others flickering red like dying embers.
None of them reached her.She tried to remember Jack's face—the real Jack, not the doll staring at her with empty green glass eyes.
The way his freckles shifted when he smiled.
The way his yellow hair caught the weak orphanage light and turned gold.
The way he'd once stolen a single flower from the matron's tiny garden—half-wilted, half-dead—and tucked it behind her ear like it was the most precious thing in the world."You're beautiful," he'd whispered.
And for one stupid, perfect second, she'd believed him.Now that flower was gone.
Like everything else.The scraping flared—sharp, sudden.
Like a nail driven into soft cotton.Luisa gasped—muffled, cotton-thick.
Her hands clenched against her chest.
Cracks widened along her palms—thin spiderwebs spreading outward.She looked down at her hands.
The porcelain was flawless except for those cracks—elegant fractures that caught the dim light like veins of silver.
Beautiful in their ruin.She hated it.She hated how perfect the ruin looked.
How the Toy World had taken her body and made it pretty even in destruction.A soft rustle came from the other side of the wooden blocks.Luisa froze.The sound came again—slow, deliberate.
Plush feet dragging across concrete.
Not running.
Not rushing.Just approaching.Jack.She knew it was him without looking.
She felt it in the way the air shifted—colder, heavier.
In the way the scraping in her chest suddenly quieted, as if listening.She didn't move.The footsteps stopped just beyond the blocks.Silence stretched—thick, electric.Then his voice—flat, muffled, stripped to bare threads."You can't hide."Three words.Simple.Cruel.Luisa's large dark eyes stared at the ground.
Gray stuffing clung to her red dress like snow on blood.Jack stepped around the corner.His plush body was worse now—shoulder seam torn wider, stuffing leaking in slow white drifts.
One rolled cuff of his shorts hung completely loose.
Yellow yarn hair matted with dust.
But his green glass eyes were fixed on her—unblinking, unfeeling, endless.He stopped a few feet away.Didn't speak.Just watched.Luisa lifted her head slowly.
Her cracked porcelain face caught the faint fairy light—shadows pooling in the fractures, making her look older, harder, more broken."Why are you following me?" she asked.
Voice small, muffled, but steady.Jack tilted his head—slow, mechanical."Because you ran."He took one step closer.Luisa didn't move.The scraping returned—slow, deliberate, like claws circling prey.Jack crouched in front of her.
Plush knees bending with soft rustles.
His green eyes level with hers now."You said together," he said.
Voice flat.
No anger.
No sadness.
Just fact.Luisa's porcelain fingers dug into her dress.
Fabric tore under her nails."I did," she whispered.Jack reached out—slowly.
Plush hand hovering near her cheek.Luisa flinched.His hand stopped.Then—gently—his fingers brushed a strand of black hair from her face.The touch was cold.
Soft.
Wrong.But for one heartbeat—one impossible heartbeat—the scraping quieted.Completely.Luisa stared at him.In his green glass eyes, she thought she saw something.
A flicker.
A memory.Then it vanished.Jack's hand dropped.He stood up.Turned away.And walked into the shadows.Luisa watched him go.The scraping returned—louder than before.She pressed her hands to her face.
Porcelain against porcelain.
Cold against cold.And for the first time since they stepped through the door,she felt truly alone.
Luisa stayed seated against the wooden blocks long after Jack disappeared into the shadows.
The silence returned—deeper now, heavier, like the Toy World itself was breathing around her.
She didn't move.
Didn't try to stand.
Just sat with her porcelain knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, long black hair falling forward to hide her face like a curtain she didn't want to open.The fairy lights above flickered erratically—some dying out completely, others flaring red for a heartbeat before fading again.
Each pulse cast long, shifting shadows across the clearing.
The shadows moved on their own sometimes, twisting into shapes that almost looked like hands reaching out—then dissolving before she could be sure.The scraping in her chest had quieted to a low, constant rasp.
Not gone.
Never gone.
Just waiting.She lifted one porcelain hand and stared at it again.
The cracks had spread further—thin silver lines running from her wrist up her forearm, delicate and beautiful in a terrible way.
She traced one with her other finger.
The touch made a faint tinkling sound—like glass wind chimes in a graveyard.She wondered if she could break herself.
If she squeezed hard enough, if she smashed her arm against the blocks, would the porcelain shatter completely?
Would stuffing spill out like blood?
Would the scraping finally stop?She pressed her palm harder against the crack.
Porcelain groaned.
A tiny chip flaked off and fell to the ground—tink—rolling away into the gray dust.She stopped.Not yet.Not like this.A memory surfaced—unbidden, sharp.She was eleven.
Graystone's roof in summer—hot tar under bare feet, the city skyline hazy in the distance.
Jack had found a way up through a loose vent.
They'd sat there for hours, legs dangling over the edge, sharing a stolen apple.
He'd taken one bite, then passed it to her.
"Yours," he'd said.
She'd bitten into the same spot—his teeth marks still wet—and tasted him on the fruit.
Sweet.
Real.
Alive.They'd watched the sun set together.
Red bleeding into purple into black.
Just like the sky here.He'd leaned his head on her shoulder.
"I'm scared we'll never get out," he'd whispered.
She hadn't answered.
Just rested her cheek against his hair.
Smelled the cheap orphanage soap and something warmer—something that was only Jack.That memory hurt more than the cracks in her porcelain.She pressed her hands to her eyes.
Glass against glass.
No tears came.
Only the faint click of joints as her fingers trembled.The scraping surged—sudden, violent.She gasped—muffled, broken.Her hands dropped.She looked up.Jack was back.He stood at the edge of the clearing—half in shadow, half in the dying fairy light.
His plush body looked even more unraveled now—another tear along his side, white stuffing trailing like smoke.
His green glass eyes caught the red glow and reflected it back—two burning embers in the dark.He didn't move closer.Just watched.Luisa pushed herself up slowly.
Porcelain joints grinding with protest.
She stood—red dress hanging in tatters, black hair tangled and wild."Why do you keep coming back?" she asked.
Voice low.
Steady.
No anger yet.
Just tired.Jack tilted his head again—slow, mechanical."Because you're still here."Simple.Cruel.He took one step forward.Luisa didn't back away this time.The scraping roared inside her—claws raking cotton, tearing seams.Jack stopped.His plush hand lifted—slowly—reaching toward her.Luisa stared at it.For one heartbeat, she almost took it.Almost.Then the memory flashed again—the roof, the sunset, the apple, his head on her shoulder.Gone.All of it.Gone.She slapped his hand away.Hard.Porcelain met plush with a dull thud.
Stuffing puffed out from his palm—white snow in the red light.Jack staggered back one step.His green eyes didn't change.But his plush mouth twisted—seam stretching wider."You hit me," he said.
Flat.
Factual.Luisa's chest heaved—though she didn't breathe."Yes."Jack looked down at his hand.
Stuffing continued to leak—slow, steady.Then he looked back at her.His voice came softer—almost the old Jack's voice, buried under layers of cotton and nothing."Do it again."Luisa stared.The scraping inside her exploded—fierce, hungry, alive.She stepped forward.Raised her hand.And struck.Porcelain palm against plush cheek.A sharp crack.Stuffing burst outward in a white cloud.Jack's head snapped sideways.Yarn hair whipped across his face.He didn't flinch.Didn't cry out.Just slowly turned back to face her.Green eyes empty.But the seam on his cheek had torn wider—exposing yellow foam beneath.Luisa's hand trembled—porcelain fingers chipped, cracks spreading up her arm.She stared at what she'd done.The scraping quieted—just for a second.Satisfied.Then it started again—louder.Hungrier.Jack raised his own hand.Slowly.Deliberately.And slapped her back.Porcelain cracked—bright, sharp sound like breaking china.Luisa staggered.Her cheek fractured—thin lines radiating from the impact point.Pain—phantom, mechanical—flared across her face.She touched the crack.Felt the rough edge.Smiled—thin, stitched, terrible.Because in that moment,she understood.The Toy World hadn't taken their love.It had twisted it.Into something new.Something sharp.Something hungry.And they were both starving.
The slap echoed longer than it should have.
A sharp crack that bounced off the rusted shelves and broken dollhouses, fading slowly into the bruised twilight like a dying scream.
Luisa's porcelain palm stung—not with real pain, but with the vibration of impact traveling through her hollow limbs, rattling loose threads inside.
Jack's head had snapped sideways, yarn hair whipping across his face, a fresh tear opening along his cheek seam.
Yellow foam peeked through the rip—bright against the black t-shirt, obscene in its softness.He didn't fall.
Didn't stagger.
Just slowly turned back to face her.His green glass eyes were unchanged—empty, reflective, burning faintly in the red fairy light.
But the seam on his cheek had stretched wider, the tear now a jagged smile of its own.Luisa stared at her hand.
A small chip had flaked from her palm—porcelain dust clinging to her fingers like gray snow.
The cracks had spread further up her arm—delicate silver lines branching like frost on a window.She felt it then—the scraping in her chest shift.
Not quieter.
Not louder.
Different.
It had teeth now.
Sharp, hungry teeth sinking into cotton, tearing slowly, savoring.Jack lifted his own plush hand.
Fingers splayed—stuffing trailing from the palm wound like pale ribbons.
He studied it for a second, as if surprised it still moved.Then he looked back at her."Do it again," he repeated.
Voice flat.
No plea.
No threat.
Just invitation.Luisa's large dark eyes narrowed.
Glass reflecting glass.
The scraping surged—violent, electric.She stepped forward.Raised her hand again.This time she didn't slap.She clawed.Porcelain nails raked across his plush chest—tearing through black fabric in three long parallel lines.
Stuffing burst outward in a white explosion—soft snow in the red light.
Jack's body jerked backward, but he didn't retreat.
He leaned into it.His green eyes stayed locked on hers.Luisa felt the scraping roar—triumphant, alive, feeding.She struck again—fist this time.
Porcelain knuckles against plush sternum.
A dull thud.
More stuffing spilled—white drifts piling at their feet.Jack absorbed the blow.
His plush chest compressed, then slowly rebounded.
He raised his hand—slow, deliberate—and pushed her shoulder.Not hard.
Not angry.Just firm.Luisa stumbled back one step.
Her back hit a low shelf.
Broken doll parts rained down—tiny porcelain hands, glass eyes rolling across the concrete like marbles, a headless clown tumbling end over end.She caught herself on the edge.
Joints clicking painfully.
A new crack split across her shoulder—sharp, bright.She looked at Jack.He stood there—chest torn open, stuffing leaking steadily, green eyes calm.Then he spoke—voice softer, almost curious."It feels… something."Luisa's felt mouth parted."Something?" she echoed.Jack nodded—slow, mechanical.
"Not love.
Not anger."
He touched the tear on his chest.
Fingers came away coated in white batting.
"Just… motion."The scraping in Luisa's chest twisted—sharper, deeper.She stepped forward again.This time she didn't hit.She grabbed his torn shirt.
Pulled him closer.Their faces inches apart.Porcelain nose almost touching plush cheek.She could see every painted freckle up close—faded dots on smooth fabric.
Could see the tear along his jaw—yellow foam glistening faintly.Jack didn't pull away.His green eyes searched hers—empty, but searching.Luisa's voice came out—muffled, broken."I hate you."Jack tilted his head."No," he said.
"You hate this place."
A pause.
"You hate what it made us."Luisa's grip tightened.
Fabric tore further under her fingers."Then why do you keep coming back?" she whispered.Jack's plush hand rose—slowly—cupped her cracked cheek.
Cold.
Soft.
Gentle."Because I remember," he said.
"Even if it's just the shape of it."
"The roof.
The apple.
Your hair against my shoulder." Luisa's large dark eyes widened.A flicker—tiny, fragile—behind the glass.Then the scraping roared back—furious, jealous.She shoved him away.Hard.Jack stumbled—plush body hitting the ground with a soft thud.
Stuffing puffed outward in a white cloud.He lay there—chest heaving though he didn't breathe, green eyes staring up at the bruised sky.Luisa stood over him.Breathless.
Heartless.
Trembling.The scraping inside her sang—victorious, starving.She turned and walked away.Not running this time.Walking.Steady.Purposeful.Deeper into the ruins.Behind her, Jack didn't get up immediately.He just lay there—torn, leaking, watching her go.And in the silence that followed,the Toy World smiled.
Luisa walked deeper into the ruins without looking back.
Her porcelain feet clicked against the cracked concrete in a steady, deliberate rhythm—each step a small act of defiance against the silence that tried to swallow her whole.
The red dress fluttered around her legs like torn wings, the frayed lace catching on jagged edges of broken toys and ripping further with every stride.
Long black hair streamed behind her, tangled with dust and stray threads of gray stuffing that clung like cobwebs.She didn't run anymore.
Running felt too much like fear.
And fear was one of the things the Toy World had already taken away.The scraping in her chest had settled into a low, constant hum—almost comforting now, like a heartbeat she could pretend she still had.
It no longer clawed.
It purred.The landscape changed as she went deeper.
The towering shelves thinned, giving way to open spaces littered with the skeletons of larger toys.
A deflated bounce house sagged in on itself like a collapsed lung, its faded rainbow colors bled to gray.
A giant rocking horse lay on its side, one rocker snapped clean off, rocking itself slowly back and forth on the uneven ground—creak… creak… creak…
An abandoned train set looped endlessly around a pile of shattered porcelain, the tiny engine chugging forward with no fuel, no destination, just motion for motion's sake.Luisa stopped at the edge of the train set.
The little cars rattled past her feet—red, blue, yellow—each one carrying faded stickers of smiling faces that had long ago peeled away.
She crouched down.
Porcelain knees clicking as she bent.
She reached out and touched the engine as it passed.It was cold.
Metal.
Lifeless.But it kept moving.She watched it circle once.
Twice.Then she stood up.A faint sound came from behind the rocking horse—soft fabric dragging across concrete.
Not Jack this time.
Slower.
More labored.Luisa turned.A porcelain doll crawled into view—older style, Victorian dress in faded pink lace, face cracked down the middle.
One half smiled sweetly, frozen in eternal joy.
The other half grimaced in agony, mouth twisted in a silent scream.
Both blue glass eyes were intact—wide, unblinking, reflecting the bruised sky.
Her legs were gone below the thighs—porcelain stumps scraping sparks against the ground as she pulled herself forward on elbows.The doll stopped a few feet away.
Tilted her cracked head."You're still moving," she said.
Voice high and tinkling—like breaking china.
"Most stop after the first fight."Luisa's large dark eyes narrowed.The doll's smiling half curved wider.
The grimacing half deepened."He'll come back," she continued.
"They always do."
A pause.
"Until they don't."Luisa's porcelain fingers clenched at her sides.
Cracks widened along her knuckles."Who are you?" she asked.The doll dragged herself closer.
Blue eyes reflected Luisa's torn red dress in twin fractured mirrors."I was Emily," she said.
"Before."
She gestured at her cracked face with one porcelain hand.
"Now I'm just… this."Luisa stared at the fracture line running down the doll's face—like a fault line waiting for an earthquake."How long have you been here?" she asked.Emily's smiling half laughed—high, tinkling.
The grimacing half stayed silent."Time doesn't count the same here," she said.
"Years.
Minutes.
Same thing."
She tilted her head again.
"But long enough to watch others come and go.
Long enough to see the carousel spin backward."Luisa's felt mouth parted slightly."The carousel…"Emily nodded—slow, mechanical.
"At the center.
Black horses.
No saddles."
Her blue eyes gleamed.
"The Devil sits on the top one."
A pause.
"He doesn't have a face.
Just a smile made of stitches." Luisa felt the scraping in her chest stir—curious now.
Not hungry.
Interested.Emily dragged herself a little closer.
Porcelain stumps scraping."You can't fight him," she said.
"You can only play."
She looked at Luisa's cracked arms.
"You're already playing." Luisa looked down at her hands.
The silver cracks had spread further—delicate branches reaching toward her elbows.Emily's grimacing half spoke this time—voice lower, rougher, like glass grinding on glass."He'll hurt you more," she said.
"Until you hurt him back."
A pause.
"Then you'll both keep hurting."
"Forever."Luisa's large dark eyes met Emily's fractured gaze."I don't want forever," she whispered.Emily's smiling half curved wider.
The grimacing half deepened into something almost sad."No one does," she said.
"But forever is all we have left."Luisa turned away.She walked past the rocking horse—its creak… creak… creak… following her like a heartbeat.Emily didn't call after her.She just watched—cracked face tilted, blue eyes reflecting Luisa's retreating figure in endless fractured pieces.And somewhere behind them both,Jack waited.Silent.Patient.The Toy World had time.And time was the cruelest game of all.
Luisa kept walking.
The rocking horse's creak faded behind her—slow, rhythmic, fading into the distance like a lullaby no one wanted to hear anymore.
Emily's words echoed in her mind:
"Forever is all we have left." She hated how true it felt.The ruins opened into a wider space—almost like a forgotten plaza.
Broken swings hung from rusted chains, seats long gone, hooks swaying gently in a wind that carried no sound.
A slide lay on its side—twisted metal, once bright red, now dull and dented, as if something heavy had crushed it from above.
In the center stood a small fountain—dry, cracked porcelain basin filled with gray stuffing and shattered glass eyes.
Tiny porcelain fish floated belly-up on the surface of nothing, painted scales cracked and peeling.Luisa stopped at the edge of the fountain.
She crouched again.
Porcelain knees clicking softly.
She reached in and lifted one of the glass eyes—small, blue, unblinking.
It stared back at her—cold, empty, reflecting her cracked porcelain face in miniature.She turned it over in her fingers.
The eye rolled smoothly, as if still alive inside its socket.
She wondered whose eye it had been.
Whose dream had ended here.She placed it back in the fountain.
It sank slowly into the stuffing—disappearing like a tear no one saw.The scraping in her chest hummed—low, steady, almost soothing now.
She pressed her hand to her sternum again.
Felt the faint give of cotton beneath the porcelain.
The cracks had spread across her chest now—thin silver lines branching toward her collarbone, like frost creeping over a window.She stood up.A faint rustle came from the other side of the fountain.Luisa didn't turn immediately.
She knew who it was.Jack.He stepped into view slowly—plush feet dragging slightly, leaving small trails of white stuffing behind him.
His black t-shirt hung in rags now—three long tears across the chest from her earlier claws, yellow foam visible beneath.
The tear on his cheek had widened into a crooked grin.
His green glass eyes caught the faint fairy light—two embers in the dark.He stopped on the opposite side of the fountain.
Didn't speak.Just watched.Luisa met his gaze.
Her large dark eyes reflected his torn form—multiplied, fractured, endless versions of ruin."Why do you keep following me?" she asked again.
Voice low.
Steady.
No anger.
Just exhaustion.Jack tilted his head—slow, mechanical."Because there's nowhere else to go."Simple.True.He took one step closer.
Stuffing trailed from his chest—slow white drifts settling on the cracked porcelain of the fountain.Luisa didn't move.The scraping in her chest stirred—curious, almost gentle this time.Jack crouched on his side of the fountain.
Plush knees bending with soft rustles.
His green eyes level with hers across the dry basin."I remember more now," he said.
Voice flat but softer—almost like the old Jack whispering through bunk bars.
"The flower.
The ribbon.
The roof."
A pause.
"The way you looked at me when I gave you the apple." Luisa's porcelain fingers tightened on the fountain edge.
Cracks widened under her grip—tiny spiderwebs spreading outward."I remember too," she whispered.
"But it hurts."Jack nodded—slowly."It's supposed to," he said.
"That's what's left."He reached across the fountain.
Plush hand hovering over the dry basin—stuffing trailing from his torn palm like pale smoke.Luisa stared at his hand.For one long moment, she almost reached back.Almost.Then the scraping flared—sharp, possessive.She pulled her hand away.Jack's hand dropped.He looked down at the fountain—glass eyes floating in gray stuffing."They all remember at first," he said.
"Then they forget."
He looked back at her.
"Or they break."Luisa stood up slowly.
Porcelain joints clicking."I won't forget," she said.Jack's green eyes met hers."Then you'll break."The words hung between them—quiet, final.Luisa turned away.She walked past the fountain—past the broken slide, past the deflated bounce house.
Deeper.Jack didn't follow immediately.He stayed crouched by the fountain—plush body torn, green eyes watching her go.But she felt him.Felt him rising slowly.Felt him beginning to follow again.The Toy World watched.And waited.Because in the end,everyone broke.Or everyone forgot.And Luisa refused both.
Luisa kept walking deeper into the ruins, the fountain's dry basin and Emily's cracked warnings fading behind her like echoes in a dream she couldn't wake from.
The scraping in her chest had become a steady companion now—low, rhythmic, almost like a second pulse she could lean on.
It didn't hurt anymore.
It guided.The landscape shifted again.
The open plazas gave way to narrower paths—alleys of toppled toy chests and collapsed playhouses, miniature doors hanging off hinges, tiny windows shattered like broken promises.
Fairy lights were fewer here, hanging in long, drooping strings from crooked beams—most dead, a few still pulsing faint red like dying heartbeats.
The air grew thicker, sweeter, cloying—like overripe candy left to rot in the sun.She passed under an arch made of stacked porcelain limbs—arms and legs interlocked in grotesque patterns, fingers curled as though still reaching for something lost.
One small hand—painted pink nails chipped—brushed her shoulder as she passed.
She shivered—though she couldn't feel cold anymore.The path sloped downward—gently at first, then steeper, like the funnel of a vast, invisible drain.
The ground was littered with puzzle pieces—giant cardboard shapes that almost formed faces if you stared too long.
Eyes.
Mouths.
Smiles that never quite connected.Luisa stopped at the bottom of the slope.A small clearing opened before her—almost intimate.
A circle of cracked mirrors leaned against the walls like drunken sentinels—once part of a funhouse, now shattered into jagged shards.
In the center: a single overturned toy chest, lid hanging open, spilling faded storybooks and wooden blocks in a colorful avalanche long faded to monochrome.Luisa stepped into the circle.Her reflection greeted her from every angle—multiplied, fractured, endless versions of herself staring back with the same large dark eyes.
In one shard she looked small and terrified.
In another angry, mouth stitched tight in fury.
In a third—nothing.
Just a doll.
Pretty.
Broken.
Irrelevant.She knelt beside the toy chest.
Porcelain knees clicking against concrete.
Red dress pooled around her like spilled blood.She reached inside.The first thing she pulled out was a small, leather-bound notebook.
Not a child's diary—something older, more deliberate.
Cover cracked patent leather, once black, now gray with age and dust.
Faint gold lettering on the front: Property of E. Voss – 1997.Luisa opened it carefully.
Pages yellowed but intact.
Handwriting—neat at first, then increasingly frantic.Day 1: We found the door. Jack said it was stupid. I said we had nothing to lose. We went through. Everything changed.Luisa's felt mouth parted slightly.
The words blurred for a second—not from tears, but from the flickering fairy lights playing tricks on her glass eyes.Day 3: No hunger. No cold. But no Jack either. Not really. He looks at me like I'm a stranger. I look at him the same.She turned the page faster.Day 17: The others told me the rule. One can leave if one stays behind. Sacrifice. But it's a lie. The sacrifice takes everything. Everyone dies. Only the "beloved" returns. I won't do it. I can't.The handwriting grew shakier.Day 42: Jack tried to hurt me today. Not angry. Just… empty. Like hitting a wall to see if it feels anything. It didn't. Neither did I. We're becoming the same thing.A dark stain on the page—crusted brown.
Not ink.Day 89: I found the heart of this place. A black carousel at the center. It spins backward. Time goes nowhere. The Devil sits on the top horse. He doesn't have a face. Just a smile made of stitches. He said: "You chose play. Now play forever." I screamed. No sound came out.Luisa's porcelain fingers tightened on the pages.
Cracks widened along her knuckles.Last entry – I don't know the date anymore: I'm going to try. I'll offer myself. If it works, Jack goes home. If it doesn't… at least it ends. Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I loved him once. Before the nothing took it.The last line was underlined three times.
Then a single word, scrawled in huge, desperate letters:DON'T BELIEVE THE RULE.A soft thud behind her.Luisa spun.Jack stood at the entrance to the small courtyard.
His black t-shirt was torn wider now—stuffing poking through like pale flesh.
One rolled cuff of his shorts hung loose.
Yellow yarn hair stuck out in wild directions.
Green glass eyes locked on hers.He didn't speak.
Didn't move forward.Just stood there.Watching.The fairy lights flickered faster—erratic, panicked.
Shadows leaped across his plush face, making his painted freckles dance like dying fireflies.Luisa clutched the notebook to her chest.
Pages crinkled against her red dress.
Her voice came out small, cracked at the edges."You read this too?"Jack tilted his head—slow, mechanical.
A single strand of yellow yarn fell across his eye.Then he took one step forward.Luisa backed up.
Her heel hit a mirror shard.
It cracked under her weight—sharp snap like breaking bone.Jack took another step.The scraping in her chest surged—violent, hungry, alive.She looked at him—really looked.
At the boy who once whispered promises through bunk bars.
At the doll who had shoved her.
Hit her.
Blamed her.And for the first time since they crossed the threshold,a single, cold thought crystallized in her hollow mind:Maybe the sacrifice isn't for him.
Maybe it's for me. Jack stopped just inside the circle of mirrors.
His green glass eyes reflected her fractured form back at her—endless Luises staring back from every shard, each one more broken than the last.
He didn't speak immediately.
Just stood there—plush body torn, stuffing trailing from his chest like pale smoke, yellow yarn hair matted and wild.The fairy lights above pulsed red—erratic, like a dying heart trying to remember how to beat.Luisa clutched the notebook tighter.
Leather creaked under her porcelain fingers.
Cracks widened along her palms—thin silver lines reaching toward her wrists.Jack finally spoke—voice low, muffled, almost gentle."She tried," he said.
"E. Voss."
He spoke the name like it tasted bitter.
"She offered herself.
The black carousel spun faster.
Everything screamed.
Then nothing."
A pause.
"Only one came back.
Not her."Luisa's large dark eyes widened.
The notebook trembled slightly in her hands."You were there?" she whispered.Jack nodded—slow, mechanical.
"I watched."
His green eyes never left hers.
"She screamed your name when it happened.
Not mine.
Yours."The words landed like stones in still water.
Ripples spread through Luisa's empty insides.
Not guilt exactly.
Not sorrow.
Something colder.
Something that felt like recognition."She thought you were the beloved," Jack continued.
His voice dropped lower—almost a whisper through cotton.
"But you're not."He took another step closer.
Stuffing trailed behind him—slow white drifts settling on the cracked concrete.Luisa backed up again.
Her back pressed against a leaning mirror.
Glass creaked behind her.Jack stopped.His plush hand lifted—slowly—pointing at her chest, where the red dress gaped open from earlier tears, exposing pale batting underneath."You're the one who pulled me through the door."
His finger hovered inches from her cracked porcelain sternum.
"You're the one who believed first."
Closer.
"You're the reason we're here."The scraping in Luisa's chest exploded—fierce, possessive, alive.She slapped his hand away.Porcelain met plush with a dull thud.
Stuffing puffed out from his palm—white snow in the red light.Jack's hand dropped.He looked at her—green eyes calm, empty, accusing."You already blame yourself," he said.
"That's why you ran."
He stepped forward again.
Close enough that she could smell the faint mildew on his yarn hair.
"That's why you're holding that book like it's salvation."Luisa's back pressed harder against the mirror.
Glass groaned behind her."I'm not running anymore," she said.Jack stopped.His green eyes narrowed—barely perceptible shift in the glass.Luisa lifted her chin.
Her cracked porcelain face caught the red glow—shadows pooling in the fractures, making her look older, harder, more broken."Then what are you doing?" Jack asked.
Voice flat.
Curious.
Dead.Luisa reached up.
Her porcelain fingers brushed his cheek—gentle at first.
Traced the faded freckles.
Then dug in.Hard.Nails scraping across painted fabric.
Tearing a thin line through the plush.Jack didn't move.
Didn't react.Just watched her.Stuffing peeked through the tear—white, innocent, obscene.Luisa leaned closer.
Her felt mouth almost touching his ear."I'm deciding," she whispered.
"Whether to save you… or end this myself."Jack's plush hand shot up—fast, sudden.
Closed around her wrist.
Tight.
Cruel.The courtyard went still.
No wind.
No dripping.
No distant laughter.Only the faint creak of porcelain under pressure.
And the slow, deliberate sound of seams beginning to rip.Luisa didn't pull away.She smiled instead—thin, stitched, cold.Because in that moment, she realized the cruelest truth of the Toy World:The game wasn't about escape.
It was about who broke first.And she was done being the one who ran.
The courtyard mirrors reflected their standoff in endless fractured pieces—Luisa and Jack frozen in a tableau of ruin, each shard showing a different angle of the same tragedy: torn plush, cracked porcelain, empty glass eyes staring into empty glass eyes.
The fairy lights above pulsed slower now—red glows dimming to embers, as if the Toy World itself was holding its breath.Luisa's porcelain wrist was still locked in Jack's plush grip.
The pressure had become constant—neither tightening nor loosening, just there, like a promise neither could break.
Her cracks had spread from wrist to elbow—silver lines branching like lightning frozen under skin.
She didn't pull away.
She didn't want to.Jack's green glass eyes never left hers.
Stuffing continued to leak from his torn palm—slow white drifts settling on the concrete between them, like snow in a place that had forgotten seasons.The scraping in Luisa's chest had become a roar—fierce, possessive, almost joyful.
It wasn't grief anymore.
It wasn't anger.
It was clarity.She leaned forward—slowly—until her felt mouth was inches from his torn cheek.
Her voice came out muffled, steady, cold."I'm not saving you," she whispered.
"I'm ending us both."Jack's plush body shuddered—once, violently.
Not from pain.
From memory, perhaps.
Or from the last thread of whatever had once been love snapping clean.He released her wrist.
His hand fell limp to his side.
Stuffing continued to spill—slow, steady, like a clock winding down.Luisa stepped back.
Her porcelain feet clicked softly against the concrete.
She looked at him—really looked.
At the boy who had once stolen bread for her.
Who had whispered "together" through bunk bars.
Who had held her hand as they stepped into forever.Now: just a doll.
Torn.
Empty.
Broken.She turned away.Walked toward the far edge of the courtyard—toward the deeper shadows where the path sloped further down.
Toward the center Emily had spoken of.
Toward the black carousel.Jack didn't follow immediately.He stood there—half-unraveled, green eyes watching her go.Then—slowly—he bent down.
Picked up one of the mirror shards from the ground.
Held it in his plush hand—fingers curling around the jagged edge.He looked at his reflection.A torn doll stared back—yellow yarn hair matted, green eyes empty, chest gaping open with white stuffing spilling like entrails.He crushed the shard in his fist.Porcelain dust and glass fragments fell through his fingers—tinkling to the ground like broken rain.Then he started walking.Following her.Always following.Luisa felt him behind her—soft plush footsteps, steady, patient.
She didn't look back.The path narrowed again—walls of stacked broken toys rising on both sides, like a canyon of discarded dreams.
The fairy lights were almost gone now—only a few weak red pulses in the distance, guiding her like blood drops on snow.The scraping in her chest sang—eager, hungry, ready.She knew where she was going.She knew what she would do when she got there.And for the first time since they crossed the threshold,she wasn't afraid.The slope steepened.
Luisa's porcelain feet slipped slightly on loose gravel—small stones made of crushed plastic and glass rolling away under her heels.
She didn't slow down.
The scraping in her chest had become a drumbeat now—steady, insistent, pulling her forward like a string attached to her sternum.The air grew warmer—too warm—sweet and cloying, like candy left too long in the sun.
The fairy lights disappeared completely.
Only a faint red glow ahead—deep, arterial, pulsing like a wound that refused to close.The path opened into a vast crater.At its center stood the black carousel.The platform was ebony wood—polished to a mirror sheen but scarred with deep gouges, as though claws had tried to climb out.
Twenty horses—or what had once been horses—stood frozen mid-gallop.
Carved from obsidian and jet, manes of black silk thread whipping in a wind that didn't exist.
Eyes of polished onyx stared blankly ahead.
Saddles were empty.Except one.At the very top of the carousel—highest pole, tallest horse—sat the Devil.Not horns.
Not tail.
Not pitchfork.Just a figure in a tattered ringmaster's coat—crimson velvet faded to rust, gold braid unraveling like veins.
No face.
Only a wide, stitched smile made of coarse black thread—too wide, curving from ear to nonexistent ear.
Above the smile: two empty eye sockets that somehow still watched.
They pulled at her.
Drew her in.
Made the scraping in her chest feel small and childish.The carousel turned—slow, relentless, backward.
Each revolution unwound time a little more.
Luisa felt it in her seams: memories loosening, love fading faster, rage sharpening to a finer point.She stepped onto the platform.The wood was warm under her porcelain feet.
Alive.The Devil didn't speak at first.
He simply tilted his head—slow, theatrical, the stitched smile stretching wider.Then his voice came—not from a mouth, but from everywhere.
Velvet.
Silk.
Razor wrapped in honey.You found the center, little red doll.
Most never do.
They run in circles until the stuffing runs out.Luisa stopped at the base of his pole.
Looked up.
Her large dark eyes reflected the red glow of his coat."I read the notebook," she said.
"E. Voss tried.
She failed."The stitched smile twitched—almost a laugh.
She believed the rule.
One for one.
Beloved returns.
Sweet lie, isn't it?Luisa's porcelain fingers clenched at her sides.
Cracks widened along her knuckles."What's the real rule?" she asked.The Devil leaned forward slightly.
The carousel groaned under the shift.
His empty sockets seemed to deepen.There is no rule.
Only a game.
You play until you break.
Or until you make the other break.
Then the carousel stops.
For one breath.
Then starts again.
Backward.
Forever.Luisa felt something cold coil in her empty chest—not fear.
Certainty."So no one escapes."Escape?
The word dripped amusement.
Why would you want to escape playtime?
You chose this.
You stepped through the door holding hands.
You paid the beautiful emotions upfront.
Now you get the rest.
All of it.
Anger. Grief. Hate. Despair.
Delicious, aren't they?Luisa looked back the way she came.
The path was gone—swallowed by shadows.
Only darkness behind her now.And somewhere in that darkness—Jack.She turned back to the Devil."I want to end it."The stitched smile stretched impossibly wider—thread straining, almost snapping.Then offer.
Offer yourself.
Watch everything shred.
Watch him return.
Watch him grow old and die clutching your arm in the snow.
Or…
The Devil's coat rustled like wings.
Offer him.
Watch the same.
Either way, the carousel spins.
Either way, you play.Luisa's large dark eyes narrowed.
Her cracked porcelain face remained calm—beautiful, terrible, doll-like."I'm not offering anyone."She stepped closer to the pole.
Her hand reached up—porcelain fingers brushing the black silk mane of the horse below the Devil."I'm taking the ride."She swung herself up—joints clicking, dress tearing further.
Climbed the pole hand over hand.
Higher.
Higher.The Devil watched—still, amused, empty-eyed.When she reached the top, she sat sideways on the horse beside his.
Long black hair cascading over the obsidian flank.
Red dress pooling like blood.She looked straight into the empty sockets."Then let's play," she said.The carousel lurched.Began to spin—faster.
Backward.The world blurred.Screams rose—not hers, not his.
The screams of every toy that had ever believed.And in the center of it all,Luisa smiled—thin, stitched, unbreakable.Because she had finally understood:The only way to win the Devil's game...was to refuse to lose.