Miriam's apartment was no longer hers. Shadows moved along the walls like crawling ink. The air smelled of smoke and damp soil. Candles that she hadn't lit glimmered faintly, throwing fractured light across the room.
The doll had returned. Not in a static way, but in glimpses — a hand reaching from a corner, a reflection in the mirror that wasn't hers. Its glass eyes glimmered with a depth that felt alive, observing her every heartbeat.
Miriam's hands trembled as she picked up a silver cross from her necklace. "Leave me alone!" she cried, her voice quivering.
The doll froze. Shadows lengthened across the room. But then a whisper emerged, layered and overlapping, almost omnipresent:
"Do you pray because you believe… or because you fear?"
Fear and guilt rose inside her like poison. Memories of childhood sins, moments of cowardice, and moments of selfishness weighed down her chest. Tears streamed down her face as she knelt, clasping the cross tightly.
"I… I pray because I don't know how to live without it," she admitted, voice breaking.
The doll tilted its head. Its porcelain lips parted wider than possible, cracks spreading along the edges. Shadows of children appeared in corners — faceless, silent, kneeling, watching her.
It shrieked, a sound that was neither human nor porcelain. The air vibrated with pain and rage. Objects flew from shelves, rattling against walls. The room itself seemed alive, folding and stretching in impossible ways.
Miriam whispered each broken prayer she could summon — confessions, fears, hopes, regrets — and the doll recoiled. Its form cracked further, black smoke curling from its body. Shadows writhed, screaming in whispers.
For the first time, light pierced the darkness. Rays of sunlight cut through broken windows, scattering shadows. The doll's voice, layered with dozens of children's whispers, screamed, "NO! NOT WITHOUT FAITH!"
Then silence.
The doll had shattered. Porcelain shards lay scattered across the floor. Shadows evaporated. The air felt lighter, yet still carried a faint, sweet smell of burnt wax and rain.
Miriam fell to the floor, trembling. She thought it was over. But somewhere deep inside, she felt a pulse, as if something had escaped the shattered porcelain — patient, watching, waiting.