Painted Doll Cradle Novels & Stories

Finally, she saves the best for last: the nursery. The moment we step inside, I feel my breath catch in my chest. The room is absolutely beautiful, filled with soft, muted colors, tiny little baby clothes already folded neatly on the dresser, and a crib waiting patiently in the corner. But the wall Piper wants me to paint is still bare, a blank canvas waiting for magic. Plastic sheets are already laid out neatly in front of the wall to protect the polished wood floors. Several cans of paint are lined up carefully nearby, and my fingers itch to dive in.

She would paint every day, though her paintings were mediocre, to say the least. Her subjects were babies, and every one of them looked alike. It baffled me why the rich would spend a fortune to buy Grandma's paintings. "It's done." Grandma set her brush on the table. I drew closer to take a look. As expected, it was yet another ugly painting. "Bring her in." She rose and brought the painting into a room without turning on the lights. The man hurried out and brought back a pretty young woman with him. He comforted her, "Hey, just go in."

"It converts into a toddler bed. It's sustainable wood. Greenguard Gold certified." "It's also the size of a boat," I pointed out. "It won't fit through the door." "We'll take the door off the hinges," he dismissed. "I like the sleek lines. It's modern." "I like the white one," I countered, pointing to a vintage-style iron crib. "It's classic. It looks like something out of a storybook." "It looks like a prison cell," Noah frowned. "Look at those bars. What if she gets her head stuck?"

He gives my hands a gentle squeeze, and the interior around us changes again, but this time what I see leaves me utterly speechless. I look around in awe, my heart racing as I take in the most remarkable nursery I have ever seen. The walls and ceiling are painted in a vibrant rainbow of colours, each one with an ombre effect to it, as black framework lines the walls and arches over the vaulted ceiling, making the walls create the illusion of stained glass between the framework. Light streams through a full-length cathedral window, framed by another two stained glass windows against a black feature wall. A plush, black carpet covers the floor, feeling soft beneath my feet as I walk over and r

What was a goddess doing living here when she could be in the palace with her own kind, and why had she employed such a frail servant? The crone pushed open a door to a room that was both a kitchen, a bedroom, a classroom, and a nursery. A full-sized tree stood in one corner, with branches that stretched across the ceiling, each holding little swings and life-sized mobiles of birds. One wall was painted sky blue with a few clouds. Paint pots and craft materials sat atop the high surfaces. I glanced at another corner, where a trio of plump toddlers lay sleeping in cots. She placed her fingers on her lips. “What do you want? I’ve just gotten them to sleep.”

My feet moved spontaneously and went inside it. Crib. Unisex wall decor. Toddler bedding. High Chair. Robots. Dolls. Milk Bottles. Blue and Pink Stroller. Clothes and Bedsheets. And lots of babies stuff. "W-What—" "You’ve opened the wrong door." I turned to the person who owned that voice. Wright was standing in the hallway and his gaze penetrated my body. My heart pounded as he began to walk closer to me. He passed me and went inside the room; his hand touched the crib. He rotates the toy attached to it and it started creating a lullaby song.

By the end of the week, the nursery was complete. Blush lavender walls, driftwood bookshelves in the form of clouds, a soft rug with stars scattered across it, and the sign "Raspberry" hanging in wood cursive above the crib. Vandaulf stood in the doorway, arms folded, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "We should get a crown for that crib." Lily, curled on the glider, rubbed her belly lightly. "Don't tempt Helena.

… Meanwhile, in the basement of a windowless villa, the only source of light came from a dust-coated oil lamp beside a small altar. The wick had been drawn thin, its flame trembling at the slightest draft. Long shadows stretched across the stained walls, resembling dried streaks of blood. The altar itself was made of oak, its smooth surface faintly glinting under the weak lamplight. At its center sat a Krowonian doll. The doll, barely half a foot tall, wore a silk robe that glimmered faintly in the dim glow. Frayed golden threads unraveled down the fabric, revealing a dark underlayer that resembled dried veins.

“It’s about the bloodline.” The room beyond was unlike the rest of the keep. Warmer. Older. The air was heavy with the scent of sage, rosewood, and ancient dust. At the center stood a cradle—carved from blackened stone, its edges inlaid with silver. Symbols of the moon phases circled its base. Veins of red crystal ran like roots through its surface, pulsing faintly with light. A child’s cradle. But no child had ever lain in it.

It was not just them raising their son because that was what family was for. Papa brought a large one over to them and told them that he could alter it however they wanted. Ezra removed the sheet, and Rachel gasped as she stood up to look at the beautiful handmade wooden cradle. It was made of a dark cherry wood and crafted with intricate designs. There were etches of wolves along the top and bottom. There was also a mobile hanging above it that had hand-carved wolves, full moons, and stars. A beautiful lullaby played when Rachel spun it. “This is perfect Zane. Thank you,” Ezra said as he looked to him with a sincere smile. Rachel agreed but could not take her eyes from it.