Porcelain Doll Oc Novels & Stories

The doll was custom made and had a face that was exact replica of Mahira’s face. Mahira somehow managed to look at the doll’s face, to her horror it was indeed a replica of herself in a belly dance costume, only this costume was more skimpy, 'was this some kind of joke?, was this really Tazz’s idea or Sonia’s?,’ she was flabbergasted , the face of the doll was indeed that of hers, she just realised how this ugly guy had just squeezed the doll’s breast, it was equivalent to have done it to her. She thought she’d had enough. “Mr. Goldwyn, you may please carry on with your celebrations, I have another official assignment to deal with,” saying so she turned to leave

“The organizations that bought your Omega, only means that the traffickers, who sold him have high connection around the government in that country, and sadly, It's pretty favored in most black market selling Omega for a hefty price, despite the government's protection” After setting back his eyes glasses, he took another sip from his mug to finish it. “Why do they keep my Omega in that state?” Rikko walked to his levitating bed and jumped back to Shaun's side, after taking something. Touching the screen and zooming the footage of his chip drones from the crystal coffin where Penelope was in. “This substance preserving your Omega has an expiration lasting in two months and half a month after

"Open it." Anna knelt, the concrete cold through the thin fabric of her dress. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the heavy lid. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, was an array of objects that made her breath catch in her throat. There was a small, silver vibrator, sleek and modern. A string of five smooth, black glass beads, each one slightly larger than the last. A black, silicone butt plug with a flared base and a sparkling purple jewel at the end. And a small, curved dildo made of pale pink glass. It was a toolkit for debauchery.

Lines intersecting like crossed threads. Marks I’d seen burned into shrine stones and etched into the little bone charm Kade had left me. My stomach turned. At the base of the trunk, nestled among roots, sat a small arrangement of objects. Dolls. Four of them. Each is no bigger than my palm. Made of twigs bound with hair and thin strips of leather. Faces drawn in rust‑colored pigment. Each had something pinned or tied to its chest. A scrap of cloth. A tiny wolf fang.

“This one is new My Lady. It’s hand painted and perfectly shaped.” Inside the box was a blue velvet cushion, and a… what is that? It’s definitely porcelain, and beautifully painted with flowers, but what is it for? “Josephine, this is a dildo. It is the same shape of a man’s member.” I looked at it more closely, she was right. It was cylindrical with a rounded bulb at the top. “Yes, I see it.” I replied. “I’d like to buy one for you, for your next bath.” Elodie mocked.

In his massive, clawed hand, he held something dripping thick with black sludge. Marcus came in close behind, clutching a silver broadsword like it was the only sensible thing left in the world. “What is that?” I asked, my voice tight, staring at the grotesque thing as it dripped onto the Persian rug. It was an effigy. A twisted, horrifying doll made from dried swamp vines, tied together with human hair, and crowned with the bleached skull of a wolf pup. Its eye sockets glowed with sickening, unnatural purple light.

He either didn’t need his glasses or needed a fresh pair because Jody watched him squint at a brochure on the local doll hospital. When Eric realized he had Jody’s attention, he commented to her, “Really, a hospital for dolls? Why not buy a new doll?” He chuckled at the concept of a shop that fixed old toys. It seemed a waste of time. “The wrong type of doll, actually. Hailey is an artist with making antique porcelain dolls look new. She works with antique dolls. You know, the creepy porcelain ones from the Victorian Era? She stitches, hides cracks, repaints and re-stuffs them. She even makes new clothing too. It all depends on what that specific doll needs. I believe she even works with ted

So much more important than thread and stuffing and glass eyes, wrapped in a half-torn dress. I still feel bad about that doll. The one I saved from a hooker name. A doll I carried around with me for years, and now remember only in flashes. Bare, bright impressions, like seeing something through burned retinas. Seared over everything in a glowing silhouette. The same as Loki. I barely met Loki, but when I remember him it’s with a sick stirring so deep and violent it’s like there’s a clawed hand rammed down my throat. Churning my guts around. Turning my insides into so much fine flesh confetti.

An hexagon-shaped space, a work desk took the head position of the office, situated directly opposite the door so that Dennis would presumably be able to see whoever came in through the door the moment they did; and perhaps see the other operatives at work too as the position guaranteed him a vantage point to do that. To the left side of the office stood a small cream-coloured ceramic shelf holding everything from a jar of cowries to a figurine playing the African talking drum, to even an almost life-size ivory mask that if Megan's little knowledge of the African culture served her well was from the Benin Kingdom of Nigeria. He was an avid collector, she noted as she perused through them wit

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.