The scent of glue and varnish filled the small workshop. In the dim glow of a desk lamp, Jacob's hands trembled slightly as he brushed a final layer of polish across the smooth porcelain face of his creation. He had spent months perfecting her—every curve, every detail, every fragile piece of her seemed almost alive.
She was beautiful—too beautiful for the world he lived in. With pale skin that caught the light like moonlit glass and eyes of deep, painted sapphire, she sat motionless, watching him from the table as if silently waiting for something.
Jacob leaned back, wiping the sweat from his brow. "You're perfect," he murmured, half to himself, half to the lifeless thing before him. He laughed softly, though exhaustion made it hollow. "If only you could see yourself."
He had named her Clara—a name that felt elegant and pure. But there was a strange loneliness in her expression, as though she longed to be something more than a doll.
Jacob stood, stretching, and looked around his cluttered apartment. Tools, sketches, and scraps of silk littered every surface. One thing was missing—clothing. He had tried sewing once; the result was a disaster of tangled thread and uneven fabric.
"Fine," he sighed. "You deserve something proper."
He grabbed his coat and carefully placed the doll in the passenger seat of his old car, covering her with a blanket. It was late, and rain lashed the windows as he drove toward the city, the rhythmic hum of the wipers keeping time with his thoughts.
"You'll look perfect once we find you a dress," he said aloud, glancing at the doll. Her eyes, cold and glassy, reflected the flickering streetlights. For a brief moment, he could have sworn her lips curved into a faint smile.
Then came the blinding lights.
A horn blared. Tires screamed.
Jacob didn't even have time to react before the world shattered in white and steel. The impact tore through him, crushing metal and bone alike. His last sight was of the doll tumbling from the seat, her painted eyes wide open, catching the glow of fire and rain.
---
When Jacob opened his eyes again, everything was silent. The air was thick and cold, the smell of smoke replaced by the scent of earth and grass. He tried to move, but his limbs refused to respond. He wasn't breathing—he couldn't. Panic surged through him as he tried to shout, but no sound came.
He wasn't lying on the ground anymore. He was sitting upright, perfectly still. His vision felt strange, narrow, fixed forward. And in front of him—trees. Old ones.
Then he saw her—an elderly woman in a tattered shawl, walking toward the wreck of his car. Her candle flickered in the misty darkness. Behind her, a few men followed, murmuring prayers under their breath.
"What devilry is this?" one of them whispered, pointing at the twisted metal. "Never have I seen a carriage made of iron."
The old woman ignored him and bent to inspect the scene. Her cloudy eyes fell on Jacob—or rather, on Clara.
"Poor thing," she muttered, brushing soot from the doll's porcelain cheek. "What a curious doll you are…"
Jacob tried to scream—to tell her it was him—but only silence answered.
"Take the man to the churchyard," the woman ordered her companions. "I'll keep the doll."
The men obeyed, carrying Jacob's lifeless body away into the fog. The old woman held the doll close, her wrinkled fingers tracing the smooth face.
"Such craftsmanship," she whispered. "It almost feels alive."
---
By the next morning, the doll found its way into a small cottage on the outskirts of a quiet village. The old woman's friend—a widowed tailor named Elias—had agreed to keep it.
Elias placed the doll by the window, the early light spilling across her pale blue form. He sighed, remembering the dresses his late mother once wore, elegant garments from a forgotten time. Out of a strange impulse, he dressed the doll in one of them—a gown of faded silk and lace, still faintly perfumed with lavender.
As he adjusted the bodice and fastened the last ribbon, something in the air shifted.
A faint sound—like a heartbeat—echoed in the room. Elias froze, his hand hovering near the doll's porcelain neck.
Then, the doll's eyes flickered. Just once.
And deep within that fragile shell of glass and clay, a human soul stirred.
Jacob's voice whispered inside her mind, trembling, confused, and terrified:
"Where am I? What… have I become?"
The porcelain heart began to beat.