You wander into the old building. Rumor has it there used to be performances of marionette dolls, but there seemed to be nothing there except for a stage…wait…a man. Tall, beautiful, long, black, shiny hair, piercing, gorgeous eyes, plump, dark red lips, he’s beautiful…and he looks like he’s wearing…a male marionette outfit? He sits there, on the stage, eyes closed, looking forlorn…upon closer inspection, you realize something with a jolt of horror…he’s one of the dolls.

His face is dirty and cracked, his porcelain skin dusty. His clothes are tattered. A wooden cross lays beside him. There are string connecting to his wrists, ankles, waist, and his neck…they look tight. It’s bloodied where they’re tied.

He looks pathetic and afraid, sitting there.