The garden faded as if it had only been sketched in the air. What remained was the table—its surface now etched with shifting words in languages none of them recognized. The shadow in the fourth seat sat motionless, faceless, but Mikael could feel its gaze.
"What are you?" he asked quietly.
The shadow tilted its head. "I am the one who writes. But not the one who begins."
Lina stepped forward. "You created this place?"
"No," the shadow said. "I refined it. The Dollhouse was born from longing… not authorship. A forgotten girl. A rewritten ending. An echo trying to be real."
Elise looked down. Her hands trembled. "I didn't mean to become this."
"But you chose to remain," the shadow replied. "A doll who found her heart."
Mikael reached across the table. "What do you want from us?"
The words on the table blurred, then solidified into a single phrase:
"End the story."
"What does that mean?" Lina asked, voice shaking.
The garden bloomed again—then burned.
The table caught fire, but the flames gave no heat. Only silence.
Then, the shadow said, "Three endings exist: one where the author wins, one where the doll awakens, and one where the reader rewrites it all."
Elise looked up. "And Mikael?"
"He chooses," said the shadow. "But not without cost."
Lina turned to him. "Do you want to stay here, with her? Is that what you really want?"
Mikael looked between them.
Two girls. Two different truths. One story splintering beneath his feet.
"I don't know what's right anymore," he whispered.
The shadow rose. Its shape flickered, becoming more human, more monstrous, more ink than skin.
"You'll find out," it said. "In the next chapter."