Dolls Kill Blouse Novels & Stories

One Week Later – Gala Night The dress hung in front of the mirror like a threat. Black. Skimming the floorboards of my bedroom. The neckline dipped low enough to make Grandpa Belsky cough into his fist, but still safe for any glossy magazine spread. Daniella nailed the brief: slim, dangerous, maybe capable of hiding a pocketknife.

Sunlight streamed in through big windows, making the place feel warm and cosy. Amara giggled when she noticed the overall aesthetic matched her dress- a simple maxi dress with spaghetti straps. With blue base colour and yellow and pink flowers over it. A bow on each shoulders. On the counters, there were big bunches of roses, lilies, and daisies, all smelling amazing. Tall vases showed off orchids and tulips, looking super fancy. The florist greeted them warmly.

“What would she like?” She went to every kids' store but none of it captured her attention until she stopped by to grab a smoothie. Nuala saw a classic doll toy shop next to the dress shop she just walked out of. “I think Alice would like this.” She smiled as she remembered the kid’s cute chubby cheeks. It was a 16 inches bunny plush doll in a red polka dot dress with chocolate standing ears. After buying the doll, she went straight to Flynn’s pet clinic and waited for him to finish the operation.

“He hung me up, I think. My throat’s been weird this whole morning. I thought I was coming down with something, but it felt kind of suffocating? So I think the doll probably got hung from something.” “Like those sunny dolls? What kind of kink is that?” I frowned and softly touched the doll’s neck. There was a sewing crease there, so it made sense for wrinkles to appear around that area. I could imagine the doll being tied up and hanging like a sunny doll. The more I looked, the more the sight of the crease began to irritate me. It almost looked like someone had wrapped a rope around its neck. I wanted nothing more than to smooth it out.

The live chat was losing its mind, frustrated beyond belief. 【Lady, open your damn eyes! That’s one of the bosses from the House of Death! That “wet red dress” isn’t wet!! It’s soaked in the blood of her victims!】 【And that smell of blood? It’s not because she’s hurt. It’s because her dress is covered in pieces of the players she’s killed.】 【Just wait till the other one gets home. She’s a goner for sure.】 Unfortunately, I couldn’t see any of that. Still holding the little girl in my arms, I walked into the apartment and gently took off her red dress. From her pretty pink princess room, I found a clean white one and helped her put it on.

It was another beautiful evening, Blaire looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the delicate fabric of her dress. It was a simple, elegant piece, a soft blush-pink cocktail dress that hugged her figure in just the right places and flared out gently at the waist. The dress held a special place in her heart; her mother had given it to her as a rare gift, something beautiful from her modest life that reminded her of simpler, kinder moments. Blaire touched the soft fabric with a small smile, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement flutter in her chest.

“I sell them to collectors or to people who want to have a physical representation of their darling children to remember them by as they grow up.” I was actually quite impressed. The doll was flawless, although quite creepy since it was like looking down on the child-version of me. Ally Clark had plaited the doll’s chestnut hair into pigtails which hung down to her waist on either side of her dainty face. Her eyes were identical to mine – the pale shade of blue which looked even more ethereal in the face of the doll. The only thing that was out of place was the sailor’s uniform in which the doll had been dressed. I would never have worn that outfit. “This is amazing.” I said, handing the dol

The moment she lifted the lid, the stench of blood hit the room. Inside lay an old rag doll with a small dagger in its stomach, its belly soaked in blood. The doll's face was even more horrifying. A twisted smile had been sewn on with black thread, and a yellowed photo hung around its neck. The background showed the diving team's training hall, and her mother's face had been crossed out in red. There were a couple of words on the back of the photo. [You're next.] Rosalyn's breath hitched. "Ahh!" A female coworker screamed and stumbled back.

Vyom’s POV . . . I couldn’t help myself from stealing a glance of my doll. She had worn all-black outfits. Her eyes were fierce like she was about to kill everyone, her long hair was hidden because of the bun. She was wearing dark makeup, which was tempting me. .

My barely-there black sequin dress caught the light of the disco ball. My makeup was sharp and aggressive: blood-red lips and smoky, winged eyeliner that formed a seductive cat-eye. I imagined Rocco's frown, the disgusted look in his eyes he'd give me before telling me to go back and change. But this was the real me, Rosalie Thorne, the Thorn Principessa, who never had to dull her edges for anyone. Just like now. Julian had booked us the prime circular booth in the center of the club. Across from me, a male model, barely twenty, was blushing as he stared at my collarbone.