Reborn Dolls With Blinking Eyes Novels & Stories

"Oh, shit, it's all over now. Dorothy didn't keep it with her tonight, and now, Laura's stolen it!" "There's no way Laura knows how to use it. An ordinary woman like her couldn't have figured it out." "Wait, she's pressing the button… She's forcibly waking up Dorothy!" "Oh, hell, no! Dorothy's physically in bed at her place. She'll be forced to resonate with the doll!" I ignored the comments and watched as the doll slowly opened her eyes. Her silicone eyes suddenly gleamed, the pupils focusing on me as fear flooded her gaze. "Who… Who are you?" the doll parted her lips and asked in a tiny voice.

10%. The pupils of the dolls began to pulse, expanding and contracting in a rhythmic, hypnotic dance. They were learning to adapt. They were becoming used to the LED glare. As the light dimmed, their black pupils bloomed like dark flowers, filling their eyes until they were nothing but voids. I watched, paralyzed, as the Bride reached out and took the phone from my hand. She didn't break it. She turned it around, pointing the light directly into my own eyes.

Freezes. Then slowly looks up at me. “You,” he breathes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why are you everywhere? In person, online… even in my dreams?” Everything clicks. “Tell me the dream,” I say quietly. He hesitates. “Wait… does that mean you’ve been reborn too?” The word settles between us. Reborn. Impossible. Yet the only thing that makes sense. “I don’t know,” I whisper. But I do. It hits me all at once.

He emerged from behind one of the stone pillars, rubbing blood from a cut above his eyebrow. “They’re gone.” I looked around. There were no bodies. No weapons. Nothing. As if they had never been there. Only one thing remained. It was a black cloth lying on the floor. I picked it up and observed it. It wasn’t part of a mask. It was a sleeve. Embroidered onto the cuff was a silver crest. A wolf surrounded by three stars. The same symbol from the pendant, the same symbol carved above the mausoleum. Henry stared at it.

She caught herself on a drifting shard of something that might once have been a window. Inside the fissure, a single eye stared back at her. Pale. No pupil. Human-shaped, but wrong—too still, too empty, too bright. It blinked. Elaria’s breath stopped. That blink was not Kael’s. Not Draven’s. Not the Gate. This was something that remained outside the rewrite—something that had not been reborn or reshaped with the world. Something that had been waiting. The seam widened. The eye was joined by a face—half-formed, like a mask of white clay with no mouth yet, but with long silver cracks running across it. Its features reassembled piece by piece, as if sculpting itself in real time just to look at

Roxanne's POV Before I was reborn, I already knew that my time was limited. Once I resolved Stefano's regrets, I would return to my own world. The moment I opened my eyes, I found myself still at the bottom of the sea. All I could see was pitch-black darkness as seawater flooded my nose. People all around were shouting my name, and the onlookers on the shore weren't indifferent either. They were all reaching out and straining in my direction.

The lights of the penthouse flickered as Olivia stepped through the revolving doors, her heels clicking softly against polished marble. Rain streaked down the windows behind her, catching in the city skyline like liquid silver. She paused for a moment, feeling the black ring on her finger pulse, tight and insistent. It reminded her that she wasn’t just here as Olivia Monroe Castillo. She was the Reborn, someone whose past and present had been stitched together by blood, power, and Jessica’s lingering influence.

At this time, the other person had entered the store, standing in front of a glass case full of porcelain dolls. Oralie followed her and saw that what Selina was staring at was a very beautiful doll. The doll has bright red lips, just like this vampire's red lips. The doll has long, straight brown hair, and her eyes are adorned with green, which is a bright color, but this bright color gives it an extremely cold look. The combination of arrogance and nobility emanating from it was beautiful. The more delicately crafted clothes that brought out that pretentiousness, the more nobility emanated from them.

And since it was, how we played made all the difference. I felt something brush up against my leg the moment Kizzy built up the courage to speak. It was one of the dolls - the eyeless, mouthless dolls that only had symbols on their clothed stomachs. The one doll touching my ankle had a pentagram on their belly, drawn in red. Aside from yarned hair on their head, everything else was bare. If they had stories to tell, they wouldn't be able to tell them.