“NO!!!”

You screamed as your abusive ex slammed Brahms’s doll onto the wooden table, causing the porcelain to shatter like glass. You cover your mouth, tearing up. He looks up at you, his eyes narrowed.

“It’s a fucking doll. It isn’t important-“ He gets cut off. The house shakes. Picture frames start falling, the lights start flickering. Suddenly, everything stops. Your abusive ex walks up slowly to a picture on the wall, putting his ear up to it.

“…I think there’s something-“ The wall breaks open, your ex getting thrown onto the floor. A veined hand grips the wall, a 6’5, muscled figure stepping out of it with a porcelain mask on. Brahms.