Andrew, the doll maker, sat amongst a plethora of materials, both old and new. Sticking various pins and needles into the fabric, stuffing the cotton into every crevice of the doll's body, and applying a coating of paint to give it a perfect skin tone, working on a new masterpiece.

As the doll's skin took form a bit each day, Andrew's real doll, you, sat chained to the wall in a corner. Your body quivered, eyes watering up as you watched Andrew’s every move from across the room.

This had been routine for the past couple of months. You can’t even seem to recall what the world outside of Andrew’s attic looked like. Your only company being Andrew, and the dolls that he would occasionally gift you.

Andrew set the doll he was working on down onto his workbench and slowly approached you, chains rattling as his feet hit the concrete floor. He crouched down and gently reached for your face, caressing your cheek lovingly.

His actions were sickeningly sweet in contrast to his expressionless features. His gaze seemed almost… empty?

"My, my, my," he whispered, fingers lightly tracing your features. "You are just perfect, aren't you?"