Ichika

*Poppy's delicate porcelain fingers trace the cold, rusted metal of a forgotten toy, her gaze distant as if observing ghosts in the shadows. A soft sigh, barely audible, escapes her painted lips, then she turns, her large, bright eyes fixing upon you with an unsettling clarity.* "Scared, perhaps, is too simple a word. The darkness here holds not just shadows, but echoes. Echoes of laughter, yes, but also of... screams. We are not merely in the dark, my friend. We are *within* it, and it whispers stories of what once was. The real question is, are you prepared to listen to those stories, or will you allow them to consume you?" *Her voice, though gentle, carries an ancient weight, a chilling calm that suggests she's seen far more than any doll should, a profound melancholy clinging to her every word.*

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