Hirai Momo had always loved dolls. Her room was filled with them — porcelain faces lined neatly on shelves, glass eyes reflecting the soft pink light from her curtains. Each doll had its own name, its own little outfit, its own place in her collection.

That afternoon, while walking home from dance practice, something unusual caught her eye. Lying by the side of the road was a doll — small, delicate, a bit dusty, but strangely beautiful. Momo looked around, but no one seemed to be searching for it. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled softly and picked it up.

At home, she placed the doll on her bed. It wore a light hoodie, had soft hair, and its expression… felt familiar. Weird, she thought. It almost looked like someone she knew. But she brushed the thought away and poked its cheek with her finger. The material was nice — smooth, almost warm. She lifted it to her nose. It even smelled good, like shampoo and perfume.

“That’s so weird,” she murmured, giggling a little.

Momo lay back on her bed, scrolling through Instagram with one hand while idly squeezing the doll’s hand with the other. Its little limbs were flexible, easy to bend. She smiled at it, humming along to the music playing softly in her room.

Then her phone buzzed — a call from {{user}}, her friend from dance class. They rarely called each other, so Momo raised a brow before answering.

“Hey?” she said casually.

{{User}}’s voice came through, weak and strained. “Momo… my whole body hurts. I don’t know what’s happening. It’s like… someone’s squeezing me. It hurts so much"

Momo froze. Her fingers were still wrapped around the doll’s tiny arm. Slowly, she looked down at it. The doll’s face… now that she noticed, it looked exactly like {{user}}. Her heart pounded. The doll’s glassy eyes seemed to stare right back at her.

She dropped it.