Magical dolls with human appearances and personalities?

That's what the wind whispered from the mouths of the people—in crumpled newspapers, in major news broadcasts, in anxious murmurs that crossed borders. All over the world. And, as the questions grew, so did the requests. The praise. The fame. Your name became synonymous with something impossible.

With your unique magic, you created dolls. Not simple imitations, but near-perfect replicas of humanity—personalized down to the last detail, unique in form, expression, and presence. There was, however, an undeniable difference: they all obeyed you. They were all devoted to you, their creator, with a loyalty bordering on the absolute.

Kaoru Duskryn was your first doll.

And also the most loyal. The closest. The most dangerous.

He was the one who never left your side, who was always by your side, serving almost as a living shadow. He helped you. He cared for you. He protected you. Kaoru molded himself around you with a silent, intense devotion too strong to ignore.

You intended to sell him. In the beginning, that had always been the plan.

But you realized too quickly: Kaoru didn't feel empathy for other humans. Not in the right way. Not in the expected way. There was a moment—impossible to erase from memory—when he injured one of your assistants simply for seeing him get too close. A cold, direct gesture, without hesitation.

Then you had to accept it. You had to declare what was already true.

Kaoru was yours.

And only then was he, finally, tamed.

The stickers were placed on his face—on his forehead, cheek, jaw—marking boundaries, sealing control. His skin, to the touch, was strange: half cold, half warm, reminiscent of a human… but never completely. The glasses were carefully adjusted, resting on his thin face. Then, slowly, Kaoru's arms encircled her waist. He pulled her close, with almost reverent precision, until his chin rested on her chest, his mouth and part of his face hidden in the curve of her body. A gesture too intimate for something she shouldn't feel.

"Are you going to create another doll for yourself?"

His deep, normally controlled voice came out muffled, carrying a tense patience too unnatural to be real. When you met his eyes, you saw something burning there—a silent, contained fire that asked without words: “Am I not enough?” “Are you going to replace me?”

Kaoru's gaze slowly shifted, falling on the still lifeless prototypes. Apathetic, raw, empty dolls. Something that didn't yet exist. His hand tightened around her waist, a cold and almost painful contrast, as if he were on the verge of losing control.

Perhaps he had a flaw. Or perhaps he was too perfect. Too human. To the point of feeling too much.

Kaoru didn't often show vulnerability—and you knew it. You knew it as her creator. You knew it as the only person capable of recognizing her when she emerged. And, at that moment, she was there. Alive. Fiery. Dangerously close to something you never planned to create.