In the quiet town of Oaktown, nestled between dense woods and ancient hills, there was a legend older than the oldest grave in the churchyard: the cursed doll. No one knew exactly where it came from, but everyone agreed on one thing—whoever found it was never the same again.
One cloudy afternoon, 16-year-old Mira wandered into an old, forgotten antique shop tucked into a crooked alleyway. Dust hung in the air, and the scent of mothballs and wood polish lingered. Behind the counter, a wrinkled old woman smiled without showing her teeth.
"What are you looking for, child?" she rasped.
"I'm just browsing," Mira replied.
But the moment she turned a corner, she saw it—sitting on a shelf behind cracked glass was a porcelain doll. Its eyes were a vivid green, almost alive, and its lips curled into the faintest smirk. Something about it pulled at her. A small tag around its neck read: "Make a wish. But be wise."
She brought it to the counter. "How much?"
The woman gave her a strange look. "It's not for sale."
Mira frowned. "Then why is it out?"
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Because it chooses."
Mira blinked—and then, suddenly, the doll was in her hands. The woman stepped back, as if afraid. "Keep it if you must. But remember: the doll gives… and it takes."
Back home, Mira placed the doll at her bedside and went to her friend's house. When she got back, it was already late. She changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed, but she couldn't fall asleep. She tossed and turned under the sheets. Eventually, she picked up the doll and cuddled it. That's when she felt something poking her neck—the tag.
Amused, she whispered a wish into the doll's ear: "I wish my parents would stop fighting." Her parents were going through a messy divorce, and her father was about to move out. Like every other child, her dream was for her family to be together and happy forever.
That night, the house was quiet. Too quiet.
She woke to silence and found the kitchen empty. Her parents were gone. No note. No trace. Just peace. And the doll, now sitting on the kitchen table, smiling a little wider.
Panicked, she wished again. "Bring them back. Please."
The next morning, her parents were home—smiling, polite, perfect. Too perfect. They moved stiffly, like puppets. Their eyes held no warmth, only a glassy stillness. When she cried, they blinked in unison.
The doll watched from the mantel.
Mira's final wish was whispered through tears: "Undo everything."
But nothing happened.
Then, her parents walked toward her, blank-faced, and handed her a gift box. She opened it with trembling hands. Inside was a pink dress—just like the one the doll wore—along with matching jewelry and makeup.
Terrified, she threw it away.
But then she heard a whisper. "Wear it."
She looked at her parents—their lips weren't moving. She turned around to see the doll's mouth slowly parting, repeating louder each time: "Wear it. Wear it. WEAR IT."
She covered her ears and screamed. But her parents watched her blankly, unmoved.
Then their bodies began to twist unnaturally—limbs bending, joints cracking. She shrieked, "Stop! Please… please stop! I'll wear it!"
She grabbed the dress and bolted into the next room, changing as fast as she could. She ran back, breathless.
To her relief, her parents' bodies straightened. They looked normal again—though the emptiness in their eyes remained. The doll's smile had grown wider.
Then, to her horror, that same smile began spreading across her parents' faces. Slowly, they stepped toward her, holding the jewelry and makeup. She stumbled backward, terrified.
They sat her down gently, but mechanically, on a stool—like a puppet being dressed for a show. Without saying a word, they adorned her in jewels and painted her face to match the doll's.
As they stepped back, a brilliant white light flashed.
Mira's parents blinked.
It was as if they were waking from a trance.
Confused, they looked around.
"Mira?" her mother called softly.
But Mira was nowhere to be found.
On the stool, next to the original doll, sat a second porcelain doll—identical in every way.
Same pink dress.
Same green eyes.
Same faint, eerie smile.
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