Page 6 of Dolls of Ruin

Before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed my phone from the counter and scrolled to my music app. The first chords ofShut Up and Danceblasted through the speakers, the bassline cutting through the oppressive quiet like a knife. I adjusted the volume—loud, but not loud enough to catch complaints from the neighbors—and let the rhythm move through me.

As the chorus hit, I turned back to the doll, my hands moving instinctively to finish polishing the faint silver veins on his chest. The light caught the ruby emblem on his forehead again, a faint glint that made him look almost alive. Placing him back on the counter, I leaned in close, lowering my voice as though I were sharing a secret. “You, my friend, are way too much trouble for your own good.”

And somehow, I couldn’t stop smiling as I said it.

The next doll was heavier in my hands, his porcelain body radiating a gravity that none of the others had. From his neck down, his pitch-black frame was streaked with crimson veins that looked like they’d been carved by the edge of a blade. They didn’t slash chaotically but instead ran with precision, like blood frozen mid-pulse, exuding an air of restrained violence.

“Oh, don’t you dare look back,” I sang as I brushed the dust from his broad shoulders. “Just keep your eyes on me!”

The shop speakers blared, and I let myself get swept up in the beat. His matte black chest seemed to drink in the light, while the crimson streaks glinted like embers threatening to ignite. As I worked the cloth over his chest, I caught my reflection in his glossy surface and laughed at the sight of my twirling silhouette.

“You,” I muttered, shimmying to the beat while inspecting the sharp lines of his jaw, “are definitely the guy who stands atthe edge of a dance floor, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else—but secretly knows all the moves.”

The chorus hit, and I couldn’t resist a dramatic air guitar solo. My spin brought me dangerously close to the counter’s edge, but I caught myself just in time, laughing as I ran the cloth over the crimson veins streaking down his arms.

“But I bet you’d step in to stop a fight,” I added, carefully polishing the veins on his porcelain fingers. “Not because you care, but because no one else would do it right.”

I set him down with the others, pausing to catch my breath. “Broody, intense, and definitely judging my dance moves,” I murmured, brushing a stray hair out of my face. “But I guess I’ll let it slide.”

The music surged into the next verse, and I grabbed the next doll, swaying to the rhythm as I worked. The shop might’ve been empty, but between the music and the dolls, it felt anything but silent.

The music shifted toDon’t Stop Me Nowby Queen, and my grin widened.

By the second verse, I was fully jamming.

I spun on one heel, tea mug in hand, as I belted out, “I’m burnin’ through the sky, yeah!”

With my other hand, I strummed an exaggerated air guitar, leaning back so dramatically I almost tipped over a chair. “Two hundred degrees, that’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit!”

I slid across the worn wooden floor in my socks, striking what I imagined was a rockstar-worthy pose. The tea sloshed dangerously close to the rim of my mug, but I didn’t care. For a brief, shining moment, the shop wasn’t just my tiny, struggling thrift store—it was Madison Square Garden, and I was Queen.

Then, the bell over the front door jingled.

I froze mid-strum, my imaginary guitar still raised, as a woman stepped inside. She stopped short, her eyes darting between me, the dolls, and the faintly vibrating speakers.

“Oh no,” I whispered, fumbling with my phone to pause the music.

“Hi!” I said, forcing a bright smile and pretending I wasn’t just caught mid-performance.

The woman’s gaze swept over the shop, lingering on the lineup of dolls before landing back on me. “Are you...open?”

“Always,” I said, setting my mug down and gesturing toward the shelves. “Feel free to look around.”

She didn’t say anything else, wandering toward the aisles as I stood there, cheeks burning and heart pounding.

When the door jingled again and she left empty-handed, I let out a long breath, slumping against the counter.

“Well, that was mortifying,” I muttered, glancing at the dolls.

The doll with the black wisps seemed to gleam brighter than before, his sharp features catching the light in a way that felt almost smug.

“You’d have told me to keep going,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Just to watch me make a fool of myself.”

I grabbed the next doll with a little more care, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

This one was sleeker, his black suit pristine and his pale skin practically glowing under the lights. His raven hair was swept back, revealing striking features that felt...final.

“You have a big presence,” I said softly, brushing dust from his lapel. “Like the guy who walks into a room and everyone just...stops.”

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