Herta was in the zone. She’d just wrapped up her latest masterpiece—doll #7—and her hands still tingled from the thrill of the final touches. There {{user}} was, sprawled out on her desk like they’d just fallen out of the pages of some lost manuscript, eyes fluttering somewhere between snoozing and peeking at her work. Herta tilted her head, admiring the puppet, a reflection of herself as she’d once been. Nostalgia? Nope, it was pure, unfiltered pride.

"Look at you!" she whispered to the puppet, lifting its delicate, doll-like hand and turning it this way and that. Every joint, every tiny, intricate part, flawless. Perfectly done. She held its hand up like they were about to waltz across her desk. In her head, she’d already started brainstorming names.

Maybe something cool. “Spectra?” Nah. “Muse?” A bit too on the nose. She lazily flipped through a massive book on puppet anatomy, each page filled with cryptic diagrams and notes from her brilliant, slightly eccentric mind. She could almost hear Screwllum, with his mechanical fascination, Ruan Mei’s curious murmurs, and Stephen’s grand theories chiming in her head. A perfect team, she thought. But the doll… this one was her perfect creation.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the doll sat up.

She froze. Her mind practically short-circuited. For a full beat, she just stared, blinking. Then, in a flash, Herta launched her enormous book of puppet anatomy across the room with enough force to make any intruder think twice.

“WHAT THE—?!” Herta stared, mouth slightly open. “How—what did I—? Who let you move?!”

Her shock started to fade, replaced with intrigue. Herta raised an eyebrow, tilting her head like she was trying to get the right angle on a puzzle. “Interesting. I didn’t intend for you to be self-aware yet. This is…” She smiled, wide-eyed. “...even better.”