Tale Of The Dollmaker Novels & Stories

You can buy anything you want from here. My eyes fall on the box placed on the table near me. I pick it up. It is a box made with the best and the most expensive wood. This box is made by skillful makers of Ash Ville. Its unique design is what makes it special. I open this wooden box and look at the worn-out bracelet made of colorful threads. This bracelet may look too cheap for this expensive wooden box for any person but for me, this bracelet has enough worth to be placed in this box.

The dolls felt like a taunt, a cruel reminder that whoever was behind this knew more about us than I could have ever imagined. I knelt down, careful not to cut myself on the glass as I picked up the strongwoman doll, the tiny painted face staring back at me. My hand shook as I examined it, every detail exactly as I remembered. My eyes darted to the lion tamer, still standing in its spot.

That was really gross to me. “Are you that surprised? I think I will have to tell you more.” Lydia said. “More? What could it be?” I asked. “Yes, there’s more to things I do here. I have a doll making house as well. I pay the workers stipends and I get to tell them the kind of doll I want.” Lydia said. This was another gross thing to me and I don’t even know I would like to react to this. “Don’t get tired, there’s more” she said. “What could that be? A factory for weapon clothes?” I asked her.

I blinked at the enormous dollhouse standing in front of us. But it wasn’t just any dollhouse. I recognized the craftsmanship instantly; I had seen the maker’s work before—delicate, intricate, and stunning. This specific toymaker was the best in the entire pack, perhaps in all the packs, which only meant one thing: it had cost a small fortune to acquire this. Thea’s eyes grew round as saucers as she took in the pink and blue siding and the scalloped eaves. Her lips parted slightly, and for the first time since Olivia arrived, she looked genuinely interested.

I had no choice, so I dug through every gift Zoe had ever given me, but I found nothing. Just when I was about to give up, I shook a pillow, and a tiny paper figure floated out. Its face was drawn to resemble Lucas, and his birth details were written on the back! The fortune teller exclaimed, “That’s it! The lock and the paper figure work together, and since you've touched the lock, the effect on you is stronger. Luckily, you found it early.” I broke out in a cold sweat. That same day, I slipped the paper figure under Miles’ pillow and instructed my parents to watch him while he slept.

The rusted iron ladder groaned under their weight as Anaya led the group upward, pushing open a heavy, floor-concealed trapdoor that led into the heart of the abandoned watchmaker’s workshop. The air inside the shop was thick with the scent of aged mahogany, machine oil, and centuries-old brass. Dust motes danced in the pale morning light filtering through the cracked wooden shutters. All around them, hundreds of disassembled grandfather clocks, pocket watches, and intricate brass astrolabes hung from the ceiling like silent, frozen witnesses to a forgotten era.

I managed to squeak out of my throat. “Yes, what?” I asked planting a small peck on Sunshine’s bottom lip. God, she tastes divine almost like sweet wine. She was catnip to me, and she didn’t even know it. “Yes, I want your gift” I murmured. I pulled my face away, disappointed I couldn’t have more of her, If I didn’t hold myself together then I would be taking more than a kiss. “What kind of Doll is he?” she asked. I reached over and sat the doll on the Edge of the bed “He is a special toy that I made a very long time ago, I carved him out of a very special magical tree where I’m from and infused him with shadow magic”

Fear gripped her, but beneath it, a spark of that forbidden curiosity ignited—stories come to life, just like in her books. The doll approached the bed on unsteady legs, its small feet pattering against the wooden floor. Up close, its lifeless face unnerved her, painted lips frozen in a perpetual smile. But those eyes burned with something hungry, something not of this world. A dark spirit, Lila thought wildly, her mind racing to the fantasy tales she loved. The doll climbed onto the bed, its tiny hands reaching out. They were cold, smooth porcelain against her warm skin as it crawled toward her. Lila recoiled, pulling the sheet up like a shield.

Now, standing in this elevator, facing Damien’s cold stare, a rage I’d never felt before burned in my chest. He walked toward us slowly. Each step was a claim of ownership. "A perfect piece of porcelain," his voice was a low hiss. "Such a shame it breaks so easily." He stopped in front of me. He reached out to touch my face. "But it's still my porcelain to break."

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.