Barbie Doll Names

I am standing in front of the mirror only on my red skirt and blouse.He is wearing me a red saree.Tears are flowing from my eyes like nigra falls.After wearing me the saree,he sat me down in front of the mirror and started wearing me jewellery. He applied red lipstick on my lips and said seductively, "you look very fuckable in red colour."I replied crying, "please.Let me see my brother.He is very sick.Let me go to the hospital for once".Hearing me, he slapped very hard on my face and fisted my hair tightly.He said anger dripping from his voice,"you dare to talk back.Did you just forget your place in front of me.Tell me who you are?Tell me whom you belong? I hissed in pain and replied," I am your doll. I only belong to you. I am only yours" . . . Devika, A 20-year-old college-going girl was married to the mafia leader Abhinav. After her marriage, her husband started torturing her for some reason which she doesn't know. Will she ever come to know why she is being tortured?Join Abhinav and Devika's, bittersweet love journey and be a part of their journey.. . . Warning- Disturbing scene ahead like violence, rape and mental abuse. Read at your own risk. It's a work of fiction. So, kindly take it as fiction. English isn't my first language so apologizing in advance for grammatical errors.

"Bakit ang dungis mo na naman? Tanong ni Marilyn sa pamangkin. Mula nang mamatay ang mga magulang ng bata, siya na ang kumupkop dito, naging pangalawang ina siya ng bata. "Si Dolly po kasi, sabi ko sa kanya ayoko maglaro pero nagalit siya." Tukoy ng bata sa hawak na manika. Nasundan naman ng tingin ni Marilyn ang manikang hawak nito, pero dahil walong taon palang ang kanyang pamangkin ay sinawalang bahala niya ang mga sinasabi ng bata. "Anong ginagawa ni Dolly kapag nagagalit siya?" Sinakyan ni Marilyn ang sinabi ni Maya. "Minsan tita nagpapalit po kami, minsan ako ang nasa loob ng kahon para maging manika at siya naman ay magiging tao." Naguluhan si Marilyn sa sinabi ng pamangkin, natatawang ginulo niya ang mahabang buhok nito. Ngunit isang araw ay muli niyang nakita ang isang maputing batang babae, hawak nito ang kahon kung saan nilalagay niya ang manika ni Maya. Pinagsabihan ni Marilyn ang batang babae sa pag-aakalang kukunin nito ang manika ng pamangkin niya. Pinaalis niya ang batang babae, ngumiti lang ito sa kanya. Ngiting nagbigay ng kaba sa sa dibdib ni Marilyn. Inilapag ng batang babae ang kahon at mabilis na itong tumakbo palabas ng gate. Ngunit ganoon na lamang ang hilakbot na nadarama ni Marilyn nang buksan niya ang kahon at makita ang isang manika na nasa loob. "Hindi ito totoo, Maya!"

‘It’s not that there aren’t good people in the world. It’s that the bad ones are so much easier to find.’ A teen mother raises her daughter on a looping road trip, living hand-to-mouth in motel rest stops and backwater towns, stepping occasionally into the heat and chaos of the surrounding cities. A life without permanence, filled with terrors and joys, their stability is dependent on the strangers—and strange men—they meet along the way. But what is the difference between the love of a mother, and the love of a friend? And in a world with such blurred lines, where money is tight and there’s little outside influence, when does the need to survive slide into something more sinister? ©️ Crystal Lake Publishing

My childhood friend said that he was connected with the doll. Now that he had lost it, he called me up to cry. One hand held my phone as I consoled him, while the other toyed with the doll. His voice began to take on a more interesting tone with my purposeful touches… I squeezed and pinched the toy and comforted him, “Shh, I agree with you. Whoever took your toy is a terrible person…”

“You don’t mean anything to me,” he spoke dangerously, the tips of his fingers curling in my hairs as he jerked my neck back. “A mere toy that I’ll use whenever I want,” a breathless whimper escaping my lips. “Leave me-“ “Or what?” His lips stretched into a wide grin. “Tear me with your tiny claws?” He backed me into the wall behind me and leaned in closer, his grey eyes pierced my soul. “Remember, Amara, you exist solely for my pleasure.” He pulled my hair harder and my flesh burned the moment he nuzzled his face into my shoulder. I bet he could hear my heart beat accelerating with passing breath. His other arm circling to wrap around my waist, my heart pounded when his strong sandalwood essence in-filtered my senses. “Rhys-” “Shh…and for your punishment, I want you to bend over the wall and lift you skirt.” ****

When American engineer Evan Hart arrives in Rome, he expects worn stones, ancient architecture, and a chance to quietly rethink his failing marriage. He doesn’t expect Livia Moretti—the enigmatic archivist whose fragile intensity pulls him into a slow-burning, dangerous affair he never meant to start. Livia is brilliant, secretive, and a little broken… and Evan can’t stay away. But when he finally tells his wife Leah he wants a separation, she collapses, claiming she’s been diagnosed with a devastating neurological disease. Overnight, Evan’s guilt becomes a trap. Then Livia disappears without a trace. Anonymous photographs of him and Livia arrive in the mail. A stranger begins watching his apartment. And Leah—sweet, steady Leah—starts behaving in ways he can’t explain. When Evan finds hidden documents and photographs connecting the two women in his life, he follows a clue to a remote coastal village, where he learns Livia once lived under a different name… and may have been running from something far darker than heartbreak. As Evan digs deeper, he uncovers the edge of a conspiracy built on identity, memory, and manipulation—one determined to keep its secrets buried. Someone is pulling strings. Someone is rewriting the truth. And someone wants Evan to stop asking questions. Caught between a wife he no longer understands and a lover who may not be who she claimed to be, Evan is forced to confront the one question he never thought to ask: If the women in his life are wearing borrowed identities… then who has been shaping his? In a story of seduction, deception, and emotional obsession, All the Names She Wore explores the dangerous terrain between love and control—and what happens when the truth becomes the most terrifying lie of all.

When I first started at Serenity Hills, the head nurse told me coma patients paid well—but the job was messy and brutal. They could only get IV nutrition. Screw that up, and you're basically killing them. Today was day thirty of looking after the girl. Young. Gorgeous. Like always, I hit the nurse's station to grab her IV bags— But then I saw it. Thirty glucose bottles gone. IV nutrition? Still sealed. Chills shot down my spine.

"It is an anxious, sometimes a dangerous thing to be a doll. Dolls cannot choose; they can only be chosen; they cannot 'do'; they can only be done by."

"Kau siapa?" Charlotte tak menemukan jejak ingatan siapa yang berdiri didepannya memakai handuk dengan rambut basah di kamar hotel itu. Pria tampan atletis dengan tubuh mengagumkan itu memandangnya dengan senyum lucu. "Kau tak tahu siapa aku? Kau tidur diranjangku." Bajunya sudah berganti baju pria itu, Dan sialnya namanya pun tak bisa diingatnya. Nasib sial apa yang menimpanya sekarang. Charlotte adalah seorang wanita mandiri yang tak pernah mempercayai cinta pria, apa yang harus dia percayai. Dari kecil tak ada pria yang berperan dalam hidupnya, dan dia adalah pengacara perceraian, dia melihat banyak wanita brengsek dalam hidupnya. Tapi sekarang dia jatuh ke pelukan pria asing karena minuman, karena kebodohannya sendiri. Dia minum karena kesal terhadap teman mesranya yang sebenarnya dicintainya menggoda wanita lain didepannya. "Mari kita tak saling bertemu lagi." Dia berkata begitu saja dan menghindar. Merasa kejadian ini adalah lembaran yang tidak akan punya pengaruh apapun ke hidupnya. Benarkah mereka tak akan bertemu lagi.

A dark and gloomy villa stood in the middle of the barren landscape, hidden from sight by a perched hedge. It was phenomenal and spectacular, but it makes it appear to have succumbed to a sullen and ominous atmosphere, both inside and out. A lanky hedge and gnarled shrubs give off the impression that the house has indeed been overlooked. The rainstorm seeping from the sewer pipes made the place appear miserable and dispirited. Needless to say, the house appeared razed to the ground and devoid of life. The house was made of rune stone that had been smeared darker in spots by downpours, sending it an insidious demeanor even during the day. The window frames were all padlocked and bricked up in steel frames and woods, as if what was inside would have been too grotesque to see, trying to give the impression that someone must have attempted to prevent something horrible from escaping. People have claimed that the residence was plagued by the witch who died there, but there has been no tangible evidence to substantiate their claims. It was even widely speculated that the villa was venomous and mowed down the leaves of trees that come into direct contact with its concrete pillars. People also construed a terrifying presumption that whoever tries to enter the house will never make it out alive because there is something inside that you would never dare to see with your very own eyes. Whatever was real or not, it was unmistakably foreshadowing, exponentially cold and savage at a hundredth of a thousand glances. A breathtaking doll sat competently on a rocking chair inside the house. Waiting complacently for someone brave and heroic enough to unravel the abominable and ghoulish mystery and paradox behind her enchanting, spine-chilling smile.