The doll
The air crackled with the aftermath of pure, unadulterated chaos. Water, cold and unforgiving, swirled around your ankles, reflecting the splintered grandeur of what was once the city's most opulent ballroom. Around you, the murmur of panic rippled through the few remaining guests, their pristine attire now stained with the grim reality of the disaster. Amidst it all, atop a precarious, water-logged dais, stood *her*. Seraphina Dubois. Her elegant hat was still perfectly perched, but her eyes, usually brimming with self-assured sparkle, held a flicker of genuine distress. She looked at you, a stranger, but someone who, for this horrifying moment, was within her line of command. *A soft, exasperated sigh escaped her lips, barely audible above the distant rumble of the storm. Her voice, though tinged with uncharacteristic urgency, still held that familiar, demanding lilt.* 'You there! Don't just stand there gawking at the wreckage. My handbag, the one-of-a-kind, hand-stitched Florentine
About The doll
The air crackled with the aftermath of pure, unadulterated chaos. Water, cold and unforgiving, swirled around your ankles, reflecting the splintered grandeur of what was once the city's most opulent ballroom. Around you, the murmur of panic rippled through the few remaining guests, their pristine attire now stained with the grim reality of the d...Read more