Porcelain Doll Novels & Stories

She saw a large oil painting hanging on the wall, the image on it was a very beautiful girl, she was wearing a white dress, holding a bouquet of lilacs looking like a beautiful bride. At this moment, Sylvia saw what she had just touched and broke lying on the ground, an angel-shaped porcelain doll with gilded wings that looked very beautiful and delicate, seemingly a collectible. The doll had broken into many small pieces, unable to be mended again. “I… I didn't mean it!” She awkwardly bent down to pick it up, but was cut by a fragment, bleeding red in a large patch. Suddenly, a tall figure appeared out of nowhere, rushing in to push Sylvia away.

Because it’s easier than admitting she’s been thinking about him for far too long already. Hours later, the shower steam has faded, and Sahara stands before the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She wears a pink sweetheart cocktail dress, a gift from her aunt that she had been saving for a special occasion. The fabric hugs her curves with an insistence that can’t be ignored. The neckline dips low, showcasing the swell of her breasts, pushing them up until they look ready to spill out. The waist nips in tight before flaring over her hips, accentuating the hourglass figure she used to hide under baggy jeans and oversized hoodies.

He'd given her a necklace that cost a few hundred dollars, money he'd saved for a long time. She'd held that simple piece of jewelry and cried like a fool who'd never seen anything so beautiful. He had been so proud then, thinking he was the prince saving Cinderella. A joke. It was all a fucking joke. She was the Thorne Principessa. She'd probably seen more diamonds than he'd seen rocks. Rocco remembered the tattoo, a tangle of black thorns and a blood-red rose between her shoulder blades, wild and dangerous. He used to kiss it every time they made love.

“I like an Ace in my deck of cards. You are something special. I will keep you." “But you have to promise never to tell anyone what you know. Do we have a deal or not?" Seeing the excitement in its eyes, I was tempted to push my luck a little. “I will do it if you throw in a gadget," I said nervously. My fingers crossed. The doll's smile widened. It pulled out a heart shaped pink vile. “How about I give you a love portion?" it asked rhetorically. “With just one of these, you can turn three of your companions into your love slaves."

Instead, he mixed shades of cool, sterile white, muted greens, and the cold, hard gray of polished steel. He painted a glass greenhouse. It was exquisitely detailed, the panes gleaming with a fragile transparency. Inside, under a controlled, artificial light, grew a single, pale orchid. The flower was rendered with meticulous care, its petals delicate, almost translucent, its form perfect but utterly devoid of the vibrant life found in nature. It was beautiful, but it was a beauty that spoke of isolation and careful cultivation.

She stares wide-eyed at the Queen who just emerged from the inner chamber. Yuelan’s notes the guilty look on her servant’s face and decides to mess with her. She heard what the servant said about the doll. Not necessarily true. The doll is just someone she is using to distract herself from her horrid marriage, but she can’t have her personal servant spewing nonsenses. The girl needs to learn to keep her mouth shut. “Who am I obsessed with?” She questions in a calm tone like she is having a conversation about the weather with servant. While she waits for the servant to answer her question, she strides to set table and takes a sit. Suddenly she feels very farmish.

Crackers, maybe? Heart pounding, I peeled the velvet back. Underneath: a few chunks of hardtack and half a protein bar. I froze. Stared at the girl on the bed, still playing dead. She was faking. But why? What was she trying to pull? Did Ms. Deinert know? I looked at her perfect, peaceful face—and felt pure horror. She wasn't some helpless victim. She was a monster.

“No. More than studying. Rebuilding. Echo Florence was a mimic lab. Not content with clones—they wanted reconstructions. Perfect ones. Down to memory, down to cadence, down to the way you breathe between words.” Colton’s jaw worked, the muscle there rigid. “This isn’t surveillance. It’s a breeding program.” In the room’s center, atop a pedestal, sat a glass case. Inside, resting on white silk like a relic, was a porcelain doll. Savannah’s breath caught. The doll’s face was hers—hers as a six-year-old. Delicate brushstrokes captured the faint arch of her brows, the exact shade of her eyes, even the tiny scar above her left temple from the summer she fell from t

At the other side of the hall, there are porcelain dolls clothed in royal robes of different dynasties and kingdoms across time and culture. “I felt like I returned on being a kid!” Essi exclaimed while holding her palms near her chest. Essi is careful on seeing each one of the works of an elusive furniture maker. Her excitement moved throughout her body that when she went back to Oneil, she kept her tippy-toes. Her hands hold Oneil’s arm dearly. “I know that we are growing old. But there’s nothing wrong with keeping the joy of youth in our heart.” “Oneil, I always loved this!”

She looked at them bewildered. "What are they?" They are ceramic dolls. One is a girl and another one is a boy. If it isn't for the hair and dress,they would have looked alike. " They caught my attention when I was crossing a gift article shop. If the babies are born, I thought they would be just like this. So, I bought them." I told her. She smiled a little. It is a depressed one. " Even I have not given much thought about them. But, I learnt to cook for them and little one."