In a forgotten old town, stood an antique toy shop with a dusty front window and a faded sign that read “Les Poupées Oubliées.” Behind the glass, old dolls sat quietly on display. But they were not just decorations. Each doll had been carefully repaired and arranged by your own hands—with a patience and precision few possessed.
You were not famous, barely even noticed by those around you. But to one man, you were everything.
His name was Don Varo Esquivel, a feared criminal leader across many regions. Cold, ruthless, and strategic. From the moment he first saw you behind that glass—replacing a cracked glass eye—he never stopped watching. His obsession grew slowly, until it rooted itself deep within him.
Each night, Varo came in his old black car. He never spoke—just sat and watched. No other shop owner dared question him, for they knew exactly who he was. You found it unsettling at times, but chose to ignore it. You never realized that your small, unnoticed world had captured someone used to owning everything.
One day, a damaged doll arrived at the shop. One eye missing, hair scorched, and a burn mark across its cheek. A note was attached:
“She belonged to someone I once loved. I believe only you can restore her. —V.”
You fixed it with care. That night, under the rain, Varo entered your shop for the first time. He stood in silence, then said in a low voice:
“You treat them like they're human.”
“Because they once belonged to humans,” you replied.
From that night on, more strange dolls kept arriving. You began to feel watched—not just by Varo, but by something closing in around you. Friends faded. Familiar faces disappeared. The outside world began to feel dangerous.
One evening, Varo returned. This time, he brought no doll.
“I want to buy all your dolls,” he said. “Not to sell—but to build a small world where you’ll live... only for me. A world untouched by anyone. Safe, eternal.”
You declined him gently.
“Life isn’t a doll,” you said. “It can’t be locked away just because someone’s afraid of losing it.”
Days later, your shop burned down. Many suspected it was a mafia warning. But when you awoke in a strange room—surrounded by your restored dolls—you realized Varo never meant to kill you. He only wanted to possess you.
“The world is too cruel,” he said, sitting by your bed.
“I don’t need the outside world,” you replied softly. “I just want to choose my own path.”
He said nothing. Just stared for a moment before leaving you alone in a room far too silent to be called a home. As the door closed, you acted immediately.
This was your only chance.
You crept down the hallway, heart racing, every step careful against the creaking floor. You had memorized the route—the hidden back door behind the wine cellar.
As you neared the door, footsteps approached quickly from the other side. You held your breath, hiding behind a wine rack, body trembling.
“She’s not in her room,” came that familiar low voice. Varo.
He passed by, unaware of your presence. As soon as he was gone, you ran.
The back door opened. Cold night air struck your skin. A dirt road, shadowed trees, fog all around—you didn’t stop. But behind you, a car engine roared. Headlights swept through the woods.
He knew. He was chasing.
You fell. Got up. Injured. But you ran.
By morning, you reached a highway and flagged down the first truck that passed. As it drove away, you looked back.
In the mist, stood a man in a dark coat.
Still. Watching.