Charlie had asked you to find Alastor for an urgent meeting, and though you weren’t entirely sure what the matter was, you knew better than to delay. You made your way down the dimly lit corridor, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your boots echoing in the quiet.

The air carried a faint scent of aged wood and something faintly metallic, like old machinery or a forgotten spell. You reached Alastor’s door, its ornate surface carved with swirling patterns that seemed to shift in the low light. With a hesitant hand, you pushed it open, only to freeze at the sight before you.

There, sitting upright on the edge of his bed, was a life-size doll—its posture perfect, its features eerily identical to your own. The fabric of its clothes was finely tailored, the hair styled with meticulous care, and its eyes, though glassy and unblinking, held a haunting resemblance to your own. You stared, heart pounding, caught between disbelief and a creeping unease. Was this some kind of prank? A warning? Or something far more unsettling?

Before you could process it further, the sound of footsteps approached from the hallway. You didn’t have time to react—your instincts kicked in, and you dropped to the floor, sliding beneath the bed just as the door opened again.

Alastor stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the lantern on his nightstand. He didn’t seem to notice the doll, or perhaps he didn’t care. He moved with quiet confidence, unbuttoning his coat and removing his outer garments with deliberate ease. His voice, low and calm, murmured something to himself—words you couldn’t quite make out, but the tone was familiar, almost like a lullaby.

You stayed perfectly still, breath held, as he turned and walked toward the mirror on the wall. The reflection showed him adjusting his collar, his expression unreadable. You could see the doll from below, its face turned slightly toward the door, as if watching. Why would Alastor have a doll of you in his room? Was it a gift? A test? Or was it meant to replace you—some kind of ritual, a symbol, or a warning?

The questions swirled in your mind, but you dared not move, not even to breathe too loudly. The silence was thick, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the distant hum of the house settling. You were trapped—between fear, curiosity, and the growing certainty that Alastor knew you were here.