Page 2 of Dolls of Ruin

Fine by me. The dolls were waiting.

They lined the counter, their polished faces gleaming faintly in the morning light. Even inanimate, they looked...expectant. Not in a creepy way—at least, I didn’t think so. But there was something about the way they sat, perfectly still yet brimming with presence, that made it hard to look away.

“Well,” I said, setting my coffee aside and tying my hair back, “you’re not going to clean yourselves.”

I grabbed a damp cloth from the backroom, wringing it out carefully before returning to the counter. My fingers hovered over the first doll—a pale figure whose smirk was sharp enough to draw blood. His sleek suit hugged his frame perfectly, the deep crimson accents on his collar and cuffs gleaming under theshop lights. His expression, equal parts sensual and sinister, felt like it could lure anyone into trouble.

“Alright, Casanova,” I muttered, carefully brushing dust from his shoulders. The cloth ran over his porcelain cheek, smooth and cool to the touch, and his dark, piercing eyes seemed to watch me work. “You’d definitely be the one to show up late and make everyone forget why they were mad in the first place.”

I set him down gently, half expecting him to adjust his tie and wink.

The next doll wasn’t subtle either. His pale features carried an air of decadence, but it was his lavish attire that stole my breath. Rich gold embroidery snaked across his maroon coat, catching the light as if the threads were spun from sunlight. The subtle tilt of his head, combined with his knowing expression, made it impossible to tell if he was inviting you into his world or judging you for even trying.

“You’re the life of the party,” I murmured, wiping the faint smudges from the intricate design of his suit. The detail on his face—delicate scrolls etched like fine calligraphy along his jaw—was breathtaking, and I found myself pausing just to admire it. “But I bet the party ends when you say it does.”

Placing him beside the first, I stepped back, momentarily dazzled by how commanding the two of them looked together. They radiated charisma, each in their own distinct way, but together? They were magnetic.

But there were so many more waiting.

My gaze shifted to the next set: four dolls that seemed to command my attention without even moving.

The first doll was impossible to ignore. His hair wasn’t just red—it was an inferno, wild flames frozen mid-flicker, every strand appearing to radiate heat. It framed his sharp, angular features, emphasizing the fierce intensity of his expression. His tailored suit, a deep crimson that shimmered faintly like embersin dim light, was a masterpiece of precision, each seam and button perfectly aligned as though he were dressed for the military rather than display.

He stood with an unmistakable air of command, his posture exuding raw power and control. His gaze felt almost alive—aggressive and unyielding, like he was daring the world to challenge him.

“You’re definitely the leader,” I said, running the cloth along the sharp lines of his jaw. “The type to charge into battle without looking back.”

Every detail of him, from his fiery presence to the intensity of his gaze, spoke of command. Setting him down felt like trying to tame a wildfire.

Beside him, the next doll was a study in contrasts. His pale complexion carried a faint, sickly undertone, adding a strange elegance to his sharp, angular features. Dressed in a tailored suit of muted green, the fabric seemed to ripple subtly in the light, its texture whispering of refinement and quiet decay. A delicate gold chain draped from his vest pocket, catching just enough light to suggest precision and purpose.

His expression was calm, almost detached, yet undeniably commanding. There was an air about him that didn’t need to shout or gesture—it simply was. His dark, deliberate gaze felt like it could peel back layers of pretense, seeing through everything with unsettling clarity. No aggression, no warmth—just a quiet inevitability that made the air seem heavier around him.

“You’re the thinker,” I murmured, focusing on the folds of his clothing. “The quiet one who’s probably ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

The third doll felt...regal.

His tailored suit, a pristine white adorned with golden embroidery, shimmered faintly under the shop lights, catchingevery curve and fold of the fabric like it had been designed to blind lesser men. The sharp cut of his jacket and the crispness of his collar spoke of a perfectionist, someone who wouldn’t tolerate even the faintest speck of dust. As I wiped his sleeve clean, the faint scent of the damp cloth mixed with a hint of old wood.

His face was angular, almost cruel in its beauty, with cheekbones that looked carved from marble and a faint shadow under his sharp jawline that made his expression all the more severe. His pale skin gleamed smooth and cold, while his piercing eyes—dark and hollow—held a quiet hunger that felt more dangerous than desperation.

Every inch of him radiated authority, not in the loud, commanding way of someone who demanded attention, but in the subtle, inescapable way of someone who simply...took.

“You’re...hungry,” I whispered, my voice catching on the word. It felt weighty, too deliberate, but I couldn’t shake it.

The final doll was a vision of sleek, understated power. His tailored black suit absorbed the light rather than reflecting it, its fabric matte and perfectly fitted, every detail precise to the last thread. The stark contrast of his pale porcelain skin made him look otherworldly, as though he were a shadow given form.

His face was impossibly flawless, with dark brows that framed eyes so sharp they seemed to cut straight through the air. His expression was unreadable—a faint tilt of his lips suggesting a knowing smirk that was equal parts alluring and unnerving. His dark hair, swept back with meticulous care, glinted faintly under the light, completing the image of a man—or doll—that embodied inevitability.

Standing there, he didn’t demand attention so much as swallow the room whole, his presence suffocatingly quiet yet impossible to ignore.

“You,” I said softly, setting him back with care, “don’t need to say much, do you? Everyone listens when you speak.”

I stretched my arms, glancing at the dolls I’d already cleaned. Sun and Moon sat proudly at one end of the counter, glowing faintly in the morning light. The fiery leader, the quiet strategist, the hungry one, and the shadowy enigma—they filled the shop with a presence I couldn’t quite name.

I shook off the chill that climbed up my spine and turned back to the counter to reach for the next doll.

His cracked porcelain caught the light, the jagged lines across his skin giving him an air of barely-contained chaos. Gold chains wrapped around his torso, embedded in his frame as though they were part of him.

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