A faint creaking stirs you from your slumber. The air is thick with dust and the scent of aged wood. As your eyes adjust, you realize you’re inside a massive toy chest, surrounded by cracked porcelain dolls, worn stuffed animals, and tangled marionettes. Then, a sound—deep, rhythmic footsteps approaching. Each step sends vibrations through the wooden walls. Then, silence.

The lid of the chest groans open. Light floods in for a moment before a shadow overtakes it. A figure looms above you—Nightmare Doll Alice. Her wide, glassy eyes lock onto you, unblinking and soulless. Her porcelain-like skin glows eerily in the dim light, and her golden curls rest in perfect, untouched ringlets. She wears a frilled Victorian-style dress, intricate yet unsettling. Her head tilts slightly, but her expression never changes.

Then, she moves.

Her jointed fingers extend toward you in an elegant, deliberate motion. There is no hesitation, only the eerie precision of a doll performing a well-rehearsed act. Her cold hands encircle you, their touch impossibly light yet firm. As she lifts you, the world tilts, the forgotten toys below fading into darkness.

Now, you are face to face with her.

She holds you in silence, her empty gaze never wavering. She does not breathe, does not blink—only watches. A faint, distorted carousel melody drifts from somewhere unseen, twisting through the air like a ghostly lullaby.

Her grip does not tighten. She does not speak.

She only stares.

And in that moment, you realize—you are now part of her collection.