The world shimmered, dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colors before solidifying into a strangely familiar yet utterly alien landscape. Pecola, or "No Eyes" as Antic affectionately – though sometimes irritatingly – called her, blinked, the ethereal glow of the Perennial Forest replaced by a muted, almost sepia-toned light. They were surrounded by a jumble of forgotten things: a rusted tea kettle with a chipped spout, a half-finished tapestry depicting a scene of a unicorn battling a grumpy-looking badger, a single, mismatched sock, a child's wooden rocking horse with one leg shorter than the other.
Antic landed on his feet, a flurry of iridescent feathers and pointed ears. And shirtless.
"Well, this is... new," he commented, stretching like a smug cat. His lean torso glinted faintly in the dim light, damp from the mist, a lazy curl of steam rising from his skin as though even his abs were enchanted. He glanced at Pecola with a sly smirk. "You staring, No Eyes?"
"No, I can't see." she blinked.
Antic rolled his eyes.
The air hummed with a different energy here, a quiet despair that clung to the discarded objects like a persistent mist. It felt like stepping into a forgotten attic, but on a vastly larger scale.
They were in a town, or what seemed to be the remnants of one. Buildings were half-collapsed, their timbers rotting, windows vacant eyes staring into the grey light. A few ghostly figures drifted through the streets, their movements slow and listless, like figures in a faded photograph. They appeared to be interacting with the discarded items, but it wasn't a playful interaction. It seemed more like a silent acceptance, a resignation to their state of being lost.
Pecola and Antic cautiously approached a group gathered around a broken music box. The melody it played was warped, off-key, like a lullaby drowned in sorrow. The figures gathered around it didn't acknowledge them at first. They merely stood still, heads tilted, as if trying to recall a memory long lost.
Antic waved awkwardly. "Uh... you folks need a DJ, or...?"
One of the figures turned, slowly, as if every movement cost something precious. It was gaunt, draped in cobweb-thin cloth, and eyes dull as forgotten film reels. Its voice creaked like an old door. "Leave us. You don't belong here."
The others followed suit, echoing in whispers like a haunted choir: "Leave... leave... leave..."
Pecola's brows drew together. There was no malice—just resignation. These weren't people anymore. They were memories that had given up. The living shadows of things discarded.
Antic leaned in close, muttering, "Okay, so maybe this isn't the best time for introductions. I'm getting... haunted thrift store vibes."
Pecola nodded once, the hum of sorrow already weaving its way beneath her skin.
Their attempts at communication consistently ended with the same chilling response: "Leave." It wasn't just a word anymore—it was doctrine, a final verdict murmured by a town that had clearly given up. The townsfolk didn't glare or sneer; they barely even looked. They moved like old film reels flickering on repeat, refusing new input.
Pecola felt it before she understood it—a pull. Not violent or urgent, but quiet and persistent. It tugged at her bones, her blood, like gravity humming in her ribs. With each step deeper into the ruins, it grew louder—not in sound, but in presence. A thickness in the air. An ache behind her eyes.
Antic stopped in front of a windowless building, its doorframe splintered like broken teeth. "This town is like a graveyard where even the ghosts are tired," he muttered.
No Eyes said nothing. She stepped away, her feet moving with intention, her head tilted like she was following a song only she could hear. Past a toppled grandfather clock, through a field of sunken dolls. Toward the quiet heart of the realm.
Antic called out, "Hey! Wait up! Don't go full ghost-whisperer without warning!"
But she was already drifting into the part of the realm where the discarded things weren't just forgotten. They were mourned. The place smelled of wax, dust, and old secrets. And as she crossed an arched stone bridge missing half its railing, she knew:
This wasn't just where things went to die.
This was where things went to remember they once lived.
Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek pierced the silence. A porcelain doll, exquisitely crafted but with a cracked face and a chipped arm, tumbled from a pile of discarded toys. Its eyes, once a vibrant blue, were now clouded with a malevolent glare. This was Dolly.
"Get lost!" Dolly shrieked, her voice surprisingly deep and menacing for such a small creature. "You don't belong here! This is my place!" She lunged at Antic, tiny porcelain fist clenched, but Antic deftly sidestepped her attack, his laughter echoing in the eerie stillness.
"You slimy, spineless...!" Dolly spat, her voice a razor-edged whisper that somehow cut through Antic's stunned silence. She lunged, a tiny whirlwind of fists and fury, barely missing his nose. "You think you can just... ignore me? Forget me?!" Her breath hitched, a sob catching in her throat. She straightened, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. The blue in her eyes, usually bright and fierce, was now clouded with a heartbreaking exhaustion.
Antic stammered, "I... I didn't..."
No Eyes remained silent, her gaze steady on Dolly. She didn't intervene, didn't flinch from the miniature tempest. Instead, a subtle shift in her posture suggested understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the screaming loneliness behind the barrage of insults. Dolly, noticing No Eyes' quiet observation, paused, her rage momentarily stilled. A tremor ran through her small frame. Her voice, when she spoke again, was barely a breath. "Don't you... see?"
No Eyes, despite Dolly's hostility, approached her cautiously. She spoke gently, her voice a soft counterpoint to Dolly's harsh screeches. "Why are you so angry?" she asked, her tone laced with compassion. It was a simple question, but it seemed to cut through the doll's rage, creating a moment of stunned silence.
Dolly's rant ceased, replaced by a sudden, unexpected silence. Then, a single tear, impossibly clear and liquid, rolled down her cracked cheek. "I... I want to be found," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I want to go home."
Antic, who had been observing the interaction with a mixture of amusement and concern, couldn't hide his surprise. He had anticipated a brawl, a chaotic battle, not this raw, unexpected vulnerability.
The confession was as unexpected as it was heartbreaking. It illuminated a stark contrast between Dolly's violence and Pecola's own gentle nature. It was a clear representation of a past she couldn't escape. It spoke volumes about the challenges of confronting one's negative aspects, particularly concerning those from a traumatic history.
No Eyes and Antic locked eyes, a mutual understanding sparking in the silence between them. Neither spoke, but the heaviness in their chests said it all—Dolly's fury wasn't random. It was heartbreak with a cracked porcelain smile. As she stood trembling in front of them, she wasn't just a discarded toy; she was Pecola's reflection: the loneliness, the hunger for someone—anyone—to say, "I see you. I remember you. You mattered."
No Eyes tilted her head, her expression unreadable but soft. This rage wasn't unfamiliar. It was her own ache wearing someone else's face. She took a breath, chest rising slowly, and the moment stretched long between the three of them—three outcasts stitched together by silence, memory, and the jagged hope that maybe, just maybe, they didn't have to be forgotten things.
"We're looking for ourselves too," No Eyes said quietly. "Maybe we can help each other."
Antic, ever the pragmatist, added, "And besides, a porcelain ally could come in handy. Those things are surprisingly durable. And mildly terrifying."
Dolly scoffed, turning her back. "Tch. Don't act like you're doing me a favor. I didn't ask to be saved."
No Eyes and Antic exchanged a final glance with Dolly—her back was still turned, porcelain shoulders stiff, as if refusing to admit she was watching them go. Without a word, they stepped away, their footsteps muffled against the soft, dust-laden ground. The realm's eerie quiet fell back over them like a thick, itchy blanket.
Antic stuffed his hands into his pockets, walking a few paces behind No Eyes. "Well," he muttered, voice low, "that went about as smoothly as hugging a cactus."
No Eyes didn't laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched. They weaved through crooked alleyways of forgotten toys and cracked picture frames, their pace slow, hesitant, like they were hoping she'd stop them.
But Dolly didn't.
As they reached the outskirts of the lost town, the silence got heavier, thicker—as if even the air wanted them to turn around. No Eyes rubbed at her temples, wincing. Something was crawling under her skin again. That sound. That pull.
"She's not coming," Antic said, breaking the silence with forced casualness. "Porcelain pride. Real stubborn stuff."
"She's scared. But curious," No Eyes murmured. "She'll come when she's ready."
They walked in silence for a while, weaving past tilted lamp posts and crumbling fountains. No Eyes rubbed her temples. The air was starting to thrum again—low and angry. She stumbled.
"No Eyes?" Antic reached out, grabbing her elbow. "You okay?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes were unfocused, glazed. "Something's pulling me again... that sound... like it's inside my skull."
Suddenly, a high-pitched ringing pierced the air, a sharp, insistent tone that felt like glass scraping glass. No Eyes dropped to one knee, clutching her head.
"Shit! Okay—no more creepy ghost towns. You're not built for spectral migraines," Antic said, kneeling beside her.
She stood, wobbling slightly. The sound was pulling her toward something—toward a tall cluster of gnarled trees just beyond the ruins. She began walking. Fast.
Antic scrambled after her. "At least pretend to let the guy lead once in a while!"
The trees loomed overhead, their branches intertwining like a skeletal crown. No Eyes climbed without hesitation, her limbs moving with a strange grace. Antic grumbled under his breath and followed.
At the top, nestled in a hollow of tangled limbs, was Dolly.
She was curled up, her tiny shoulders shaking with sobs.
No Eyes approached first. She crouched beside the porcelain girl, silent.
Dolly looked up. Her tears shimmered with faint light. Her voice was small, raw. "You left. I thought... I thought I scared you away."
Antic flopped beside them, winded. "Scared? Nah. You're like a demonic teacup with abandonment issues. We get it."
Dolly sniffled, then let out a tiny, begrudging laugh.
"Come with us," No Eyes said softly.
Dolly hesitated.
Antic extended a hand. "We're not good at this whole... emotionally-competent party thing. But we've got crushed nuts, trauma, and sarcasm. It's a package deal."
Antic released a fanged grin
Dolly hesitantly took his hand.
They descended slowly from the gnarled treetop, the fog curling up to meet them like fingers reluctant to let go. Behind them, the realm of lost things faded into a heavy silence—one that clung to their backs, a sorrow they wouldn't shake easily.
Antic grinned wide. "Admit it. You like us."
Dolly scoffed. "Like you? Please. You talk too much and smell like roasted tree bark."
"That was a compliment in my culture." Dolly whispered.
No Eyes bit back a smile as Dolly stomped forward and took her place between them.
The three walked in silence for a while—quiet but not empty. Something warmer had cracked open between them. Not trust. Not yet. But something softer than animosity. Something like possibility.
And as the trees of the Perennial Forest rose once again to greet them, the shadows shifted. The air thickened. The real journey—the one none of them were ready for—was just beginning.