Time moved strangely here.
Sometimes it felt like days passed in a blink. Other times, like now, it stretched endlessly. Mira sat on the checkered floor of the dollhouse world, knees hugged to her chest, staring out at the faint light beyond the glass dome that sealed her fate.
She didn't cry anymore.
Not because she didn't want to—but because the tears no longer came. Like she'd already spent them all.
Then, without warning, the air changed. The glass shimmered. Something stirred beyond it.
And the lights dimmed.
From the mist that hung in the edges of this uncanny world, a figure stepped forward. Tall. Elegant. Skin smooth and pale—but her eyes… her eyes were ancient. Too knowing. Too sharp. Her lips curved into a polite, bone-deep smile.
The Collector.
She wore a flowing black dress embroidered with gold thread. On her fingers, antique rings glinted with tiny stones that shimmered oddly—like they were watching.
"Hello, Mira," she said gently, like greeting a child at a funeral. "You've grown quiet."
Mira stood, backing away slightly. "Why are you here?"
The woman tilted her head. "I thought it was time for a little chat. And to show you something… important."
With a wave of her hand, the air shifted. A window appeared in the glass above them—like a projected memory. Mira gasped.
It was her house.
Her parents sat on the couch. They weren't yelling. They weren't even arguing. They were… laughing. Smiling. Holding hands.
"They're together again," the woman said softly. "No more papers. No more cold dinners or slammed doors."
Mira's voice was a whisper. "How is that…?"
"You wished for peace. And you got it," the Collector replied. "You did what they couldn't. You saved your family."
"I didn't mean like this," Mira muttered, but her voice trembled.
The Collector stepped closer. "Do you remember what they used to say? What they used to blame?"
Suddenly, the image flickered again.
Another moment from the past.
Mira curled on the staircase, out of sight, listening to the shouting.
"She needs so much attention," her father barked. "You baby her too much."
"You're never around," her mother snapped. "She's lonely! Of course she clings to me."
"I can't even breathe in my own house without her watching us fall apart!"
Their voices echoed through Mira like glass breaking. The words she had tucked deep inside, now surfacing again.
"She was always the reason," the Collector whispered. "Not their failures. You were the excuse."
Mira gritted her teeth. "Stop it."
But the Collector's voice was silk, soft and slow. "You have one wish left, dear. You could go back. Or… you could fix it another way. A better way."
Mira looked up at her, confused. "What other way?"
The Collector only smiled. "Think carefully, Mira. The last wish… is always the most important."
She turned to leave—but just before vanishing into the mist, she raised her hand and whispered a phrase in an ancient tongue.
Unseen to Mira, a faint ring of symbols flickered around her feet—barely there, like the echo of heat. A spell.
One that made guilt heavier.
Grief sharper.
Doubt louder.
And then, she was gone.
Leaving Mira standing alone.
With only her thoughts—and a third wish—pressing down like stone.