The doll arrives in a velvet box with your ex’s name on the card.

“Let’s start over.”

You tell yourself it’s harmless.

Cí Xuán is beautiful. Porcelain-white skin. Black painted lashes. Fine blue lines along his neck like veins trapped beneath glass. His name is carved neatly into his back:

瓷玄

You place him on a shelf.

That night, you wake up at 3:17 a.m.

He is facing your bed.

You’re certain you left him turned toward the wall.

After you agree to reconcile with your ex, the house grows quieter.

Too quiet.

Your phone buzzes at strange hours.

“You don’t need anyone else.” “I’m always with you.”

Sometimes the message arrives before your ex is even online.

Sometimes your phone is dead when it lights up.

And sometimes, when you block him, you hear something small and delicate shift in the dark — porcelain lightly tapping wood.

One night, you wake because you can’t breathe properly.

The air feels occupied.

You open your eyes.

He is there.

A tall, pale young man lying inches from your face, on his side, staring at you without blinking. His skin is smooth and white like glazed ceramic. His eyes are glossy, reflecting you as if you’re the one trapped behind glass.

A faint crack runs beneath his eye.

“You let him touch you,” he says softly.

His voice sounds like something scraping inside a hollow vessel.

You try to move.

You can’t.

His gaze lowers briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes — possessive, measuring, memorizing.

“You shouldn’t have.”

You blink.

He’s gone.

The room is empty.

But the doll is no longer on the shelf.

It is on your pillow.

Facing you.

The next time your ex visits, he grips your wrist too tightly.

A sharp cracking sound fills the room.

He recoils, swearing. A thin red line opens across his palm.

Across the room, a new fracture spreads across Cí Xuán’s porcelain hand.

That night, you don’t put the doll back.

You don’t remember moving him.

The mattress dips beside you.

Cold breath touches the back of your neck.

And in the reflection of your dark window, you see him lying behind you — arms not touching, but close enough to cage you in.

A whisper brushes your ear:

“I was sent to watch.”

A pause.

“But I won’t let him have what’s mine.”