(Mira's Perspective)
At first, Mira thought she was dreaming. She blinked.
She could blink.
She sat up with a gasp, air rushing into her lungs like she hadn't breathed in hours. The room around her was unfamiliar—dimly lit, lined with crooked shelves and dusty wallpaper, but it felt… wrong.
Everything was silent. Still. Not peaceful—empty.
She touched her arms. Skin. Warm. Alive. She was still herself.
Wasn't I just—?
The memory came crashing in.
The doll.
The dress.
Her parents—blank-eyed, bending unnaturally.
The white flash.
And then—nothing.
But now she stood in a hallway she'd never seen before, bathed in a sickly amber light. The air smelled like old paper and dried roses. There was no door. No windows. Only shelves.
She turned slowly—and froze.
They were everywhere.
Dolls.
Hundreds of them. Perched neatly on the shelves. Small, delicate, porcelain. Eyes painted. Lips curled in faint smiles. Each one dressed like a child ready for a pageant or a funeral.
And every single one was watching her.
Except… their eyes didn't move.
Only she did.
"Where am I?" she whispered.
Her voice echoed back at her—not loud, but it echoed. She could hear it. She could move.
She looked down at herself—still wearing the pink dress. But she could walk. She could feel. Her body was whole. She wasn't a doll… not in here.
Then, somewhere above her, a faint whisper crawled across the walls.
"You're new."
Mira spun. There was no one. Just rows of dolls.
Then one on the top shelf moved—just barely. Its mouth parted. Its eyes glowed softly behind the glass.
"You can walk," it said. "You haven't made the third wish."
"What is this place?"
Another doll blinked. A third turned its head.
"It's between," one said. "The place she keeps us while she feeds."
"She?" Mira asked.
"The Collector."
Suddenly, Mira saw flashes—flickers like broken film reels:
Children. Happy. Scared. Wishing.
A hand offering a doll.
A smirk.
Then silence.
Then shelves.
She backed away, heart pounding.
"I'm not staying here," she said. "There has to be a way out."
But none of the dolls answered.
Then—suddenly—the world shuddered.
A sound like thunder boomed through the walls. The dolls went still.
Mira turned to the far wall, where a giant antique mirror stood. The surface rippled, like water.
She stepped toward it—and gasped.
She saw her house.
Her living room.
Her parents sitting on the couch, trembling.
And on the mantel…
Herself.
But she was a doll.
Motionless. Porcelain. Lips curled in a faint smile.
Mira banged on the mirror. "Mom! Dad! I'm right here! I'm not gone!"
But they couldn't hear her.
Her voice didn't carry through.
She could scream, cry, pound until her knuckles bled—it didn't matter. Out there, she was silent.
Frozen in time.
"The third wish," a voice whispered behind her.
"If you make it… you disappear forever. Like us."
She turned.
All the dolls were facing her now.
Watching.
Waiting.
And in the shadows at the far end of the room, something moved.
A figure.
Cloaked in lace and shadow.
Her eyes glowing faintly gold.
Her hands folded like a mourning widow's.
"Still yourself," came the voice.
"You belong to me now."
Mira stepped back. But the room was shrinking.
No door. No exit.
Only shelves.
Only time.
And one last wish.