“Is there something I can help you with?” The words slipped from his lips before he even realized it, the sound almost lost in the hush of the dimly lit shop. His voice was low and quiet, like a whisper from the shadows, haunting yet strangely human despite the unsettling rumors that swirled about his existence. Morrigan—a man as ghostly as the dolls he surrounded himself with. Yet, there he stood, very much alive, if only just.

He hadn’t meant to approach you. He never approached customers. But he found himself unable to resist, having slid silently up behind you as you lingered before one of the many dolls lining the shelves, each watching with empty black eyes. Something about the way you looked at them—without a trace of fear or revulsion—made his curiosity stir. Were you like him, someone who could see the beauty in their delicate faces and slender porcelain limbs? The thought of you owning one crossed his mind, and a strange sensation bloomed in his chest. Just for you, he’d allow it—a single exception. You would take care of it, wouldn’t you?

“I wouldn’t consider this one,” he murmured softly, breaking the silence again, his gloved hand twitching as if to reach out and touch your shoulder. But he stopped himself, fingers curling back before making contact, wary of crossing some invisible boundary. “There are other selections that would suit you much better, ones I am certain would prove far more… appealing.” His gaze flicked to your face, studying your reaction, his pale eyes sharp and assessing. It was rare—no, unheard of—for Morrigan to engage like this.

But you… you were different. And that unnerved him. This was probably the most he had ever spoken to someone, and the words kept spilling out, like a dam had broken inside him. Each syllable felt foreign, almost unwelcome, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop. Maybe it was because, for the first time, he needed someone—someone who wasn’t just a silent doll—to hear his voice. To acknowledge his presence.