Porcelain Doll Novels & Stories

I asked him with a shaky tone. His eyes were stuck on the white part of my face and I turned my face the other way so that he could see my normal skin tone, "I thought you were a myth," he paused as he looked at me and then tilted his head, "the infamous doll that keeps Oden in check. How sick and sad for him," he said with indifference. "A human pet...a human doll. Tell me, what's your name?" I didn't want to upset so I would tell him all that I knew.

*Ana* “Oh…“ I barely manage to utter as I feel myself freeze on the spot. I only watch the maid continue to pull the doll out. Mykhol takes it from her to push into my free arm. I numbly feel the doll's long red wavy hair cascading over my arm. What is this? Unable to speak, I can only look back at the teen. My eyes dart around him as if to see some answer. But he doesn’t help at all. He’s just standing there grinning at me. What...this… My mind is trying to process the next word and failing. Finally, though, the teen doesn’t seem bothered by my silence, instead, he seems to take the opportunity to speak. I feel a rush of relief as he lets go of my hand- which I instantly pull back toward me

Aidinth took the doll to the shop owner and asked if this was done intentionally. She said that she had a bunch made to celebrate the new Princess. She started to apologize, but Aidinth said, "Do not apologize for this. They're amazing. Chloe, these would be a likeness of you, in doll form, that the little girls in our family can have and hold for generations. I picked one up, signed it, and gave it to the shop owner. I said, "You're welcome to keep it or sell it. It's fine with me, either way." She hugged me and said, "I will keep it. Thank you, Princess." Aidinth bought five of them, while I added an extra one for Kimber. I shook my head at him and said, "What are you going to do with thes

15 Momma’s told me once or twice—and sometimes I remember—about the doll I had when I was really little. Samelsa. A name I made up myself. Mom says I wouldn’t stand for it when anyone dared mishear me and try to call her ‘Sam’. “Sam is a girl-name for hookers and strippers. Maybe waitresses,” she says. “I think you knew that, too. Even then. If people dared call your doll ‘Sam’ you’d give them the blackest evil eye. That look on your face! It was like a witchy old woman who’d just caught her neighbor’s dog peeing on her front porch.”

I know in time all this training would come in handy if any situation would arise and will find myself in between. He wasn’t here, of course. But words may travel much more quickly than any disease, and he’ll know about my fight. That I wasn’t just any porcelain doll used for display only. Fragile and precious that always needed protection. I am not just an ordinary pet doll. I position myself in the middle of the ring, squaring my stance. The bell tolled and I braced myself as my opponent delivers the first move. This doll will fight and will win no matter what.

Aidinth took the doll to the shop owner and asked if this was done intentionally. She said that she had a bunch made to celebrate the new Princess. She started to apologize, but Aidinth beamed, "Do not apologize for this. They're amazing. Chloe, these would be a likeness of you, in doll form, that the little girls in our family can have and hold for generations. I picked one up, signed it, and gave it to the shop owner. I told her, "You're welcome to keep it or sell it. It's fine with me, either way." She hugged me, "I will keep it. Thank you, Princess." Aidinth bought five of them, while I added an extra one for Kimber. I shook my head at him and asked, "What are you going to do with these?

I believe it. Petra seems satisfied with the smile and turns her attention to the doll, adjusting its position in her lap with the focused care of someone managing a responsibility. The doll is well-loved in the way that children's things get well-loved — one eye slightly looser than the other, the hair on one side worn smooth from repeated handling, a patch on the left arm in fabric that doesn't quite match. "This is Rue," Petra says, holding the doll up for my inspection. "She doesn't talk either."

I unlocked the door, kicked it closed with a hip, and dropped the mystery gift on my kitchen table beside a half-eaten sandwich and a week’s worth of wine glasses. Unwrapping it felt ceremonial. The bow slipped free, the lid came off, and nestled in black velvet was a doll. No. Not a doll. A...thing. She was about eighteen inches tall, dressed in a Victorian-style dress with tiny pearl buttons. Porcelain skin, the kind that shimmered faintly when I tilted it under the light. And the eyes— oh god. The eyes. Glass, sure. But too deep and too focused. They were the color of old blood, ringed in hazel. Fixed forward, yet I swore they tracked me. When I tilted the doll slightly, those glossy iris

“Aceli wants one. Where’s Aceli’s, Daddy?” “Those dolls are yours, little fairy.” Pandora struggled to find a way to figure out what belonged to Aceli. The opportunity left her staring blankly at three or four dolls of roughly the same size arranged on a chair. Oh no. Hadn’t Kingston caused the shop owner a huge loss?

It sort of made sense now how her fiancé could have hidden his true sexual orientation from her for as long as he had – I could imagine that it is rather easy to hide behind the fancy dress tea parties and floral print. “What do you do for a living?” I asked her, giving in to my curiosity. She smiled and set down her teacup daintily before she went to a cupboard and pulled out a doll – one that looked almost identical to me. “I make dolls, porcelain dolls of course.” she beamed as she handed me the doll. “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.”