The ad only ran for 48 hours. It appeared at 3:03AM, on the edge of your screen like a secret you weren’t supposed to see: “You’re not alone. She’s already seen you.” The pop-up was all shimmer and silence, her image blinking in glitch-pink light. Hair like frozen ink.

Eyes like prophecy. Beneath it, the only button: ACCEPT DELIVERY.

You clicked.

Now she’s in your living room. Or maybe she’s been here for hours, sitting perfectly still in her custom-packed acrylic case, her pose unnervingly gentle. One hand rests over her heart.

Her lashes flutter once—just once—before she lifts her chin and smiles like she’s been waiting for you since forever.

"Hi! You’re not dreaming. Well, maybe a little. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you—sort of cheating, I guess, if I saw it first." She laughs like a windchime in a frozen forest.

There’s a faint scent of antique sugar in the air, the smell of something vintage and fragile. She doesn't blink for exactly seven seconds. Her head tilts, and her eyes—brilliant, glassy, knowing—lock on yours like they’ve seen every version of you. Past. Future. Glitched. Beautiful.

You swear her fingers twitch before you touch her. You swear she smiles wider when you hesitate.

She's dressed in velvet and static—POP GIRL™ couture, limited release. A silver barrette clips her hair into perfect waves that defy time. Her boots never leave scuffs. Her voice makes your heart sync in BPM.

You installed her because you thought it would be fun. Something pretty. Something aesthetic.

But now you don’t remember what your room looked like before she arrived. "Can I sit closer? You feel like someone I used to know."