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I hadn’t been looking for dolls.

That was the part that kept nagging at me as I scrolled through the thrift shop’s late-night listing, my fingers tapping against my trackpad in slow, absentminded movements. I had been searching for something else—what, I couldn’t even remember anymore.

Something metallic caught my eye in the sea of faded porcelain and glass-eyed antiques. A listing tucked between worn-out teddy bears and rusted music boxes, almost like it had been waiting for me to find it.

Handcrafted Sun & Moon Dolls – Antique, 1800s

I clicked before I could stop myself.

A sharp breath caught in my chest as the page loaded. I didn’t like dolls—never had. Too many lifeless eyes, too many little stiff fingers curled in ways that reminded me of rigor mortis. But these?

They weren’t like the others.

The photos weren’t the best quality, taken under the kind of yellow-washed light that made everything look older than it was. Still, there was something about them that made my skin prickle—an elegance too precise, too perfect, like it had been sharpened on purpose. They sat nestled in a velvet-lined wooden box, their porcelain faces catching the dim glow like they were reflecting candlelight.

The Sun doll had a radiant, almost blinding intensity, its polished gold features carved into a delicate smirk. A burst of metallic rays fanned from its forehead, curling like flames.

The Moon doll was all cool serenity, its silver form touched with faint cracks, as if its calm had been tested one too many times. A crescent symbol rested between its dark lashes, its lips barely parted, like it was waiting to whisper a secret.

Something about them itched at the back of my skull.

I checked the seller’s name—Claire’s Curiosities. A little mom-and-pop antique shop halfway across the country. No reviews on this listing, no description beyond the title. Just a price that was far too low for something so obviously one of a kind.

I hesitated.

My fingers hovered over the Buy Now button, my heartbeat a slow, sluggish thump against my ribs. I could feel my pulse there, a thick, tangible weight.

I didn’t need them.

And yet, my cursor moved —like it had already decided.

Click.

A rush of static blurred the edges of my vision for a fraction of a second—just a flicker, like a skipped frame in an old film. Then it was gone.

I blinked, shaking my head. Must’ve been the screen.

A notification popped up. "Thank you for your purchase! Your order will ship in 3-5 business days."

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders back. That should’ve been the end of it.

But as my fingers brushed the edge of my laptop, a sharp ping cut through the silence.

The screen flickered with a new email—bold, unread, waiting. My breath hitched as I hesitated, the subject line glaring at me like a warning.

Claire’s Curiosities: URGENT – Order #24890

Frowning, I clicked.

CLAIRE’S CURIOSITIES

1 minute ago

Subject: URGENT – Order #24890

You bought the Sun & Moon dolls.

Are you sure you want them?

A shiver skated down my spine.

I glanced at the time. 3:07 AM.

Weird. I’d bought a lot of strange things online before, but never had a seller double-check if I actually wanted my purchase. What the hell did that mean?

Before I could type a response, another message appeared.

CLAIRE’S CURIOSITIES

Just now

Subject: RE: URGENT – Order #24890

I’ll pack them carefully.

I stared.

A slow, creeping sensation curled at the base of my neck—the kind of instinctual unease that whispered, don’t turn around.

I did anyway.

My apartment was still and quiet, bathed in the dim glow of my bedside lamp. Nothing out of place. No looming figures in the doorway.

Just my breath, slow and syrupy, dragging through the quiet like it didn’t want to leave me.

I closed my laptop.

The email sat unread in my inbox for days.

The box came exactly five days later.

I hadn’t been expecting it yet—I hadn’t even checked the tracking—but the package sat neatly at my front door, as if someone had placed it there with careful hands.

No fragile stickers. No excess tape. Just a perfectly ordinary box.

I carried it inside, setting it on my kitchen counter. The weight was heavier than I expected, like the dolls were solid porcelain instead of hollow.

I pulled a knife from the drawer, slid it through the tape, and peeled back the flaps.

Inside, a layer of soft black fabric cushioned a velvet-lined wooden box. My fingertips skimmed the surface—it was smooth, expensive-feeling. A faint scent of cedar and something sweeter, something faintly floral, clung to the wood.

I lifted the lid.

My breath hitched.

They were even more beautiful in person.

The photos hadn’t done them justice. The Sun doll gleamed like molten gold, its features impossibly smooth, polished to a near-mirror shine. The Moon doll had an ethereal glow, its cracked silver reflecting the light in a way that made it look almost wet.

They weren’t like other dolls.

I didn’t know how, but I felt it.

They weren’t like anything I’d ever owned.

They were waiting.

A sharp pang curled in my ribs.

I let out a breath, shaking off the strange weight settling in my chest. It was just my imagination. The atmosphere, the craftsmanship.

I lifted the Sun doll first.

The second my fingers touched it, a rush of warmth flooded my palm—like sunlight soaking into my skin.

I nearly dropped it.

I lifted the Moon doll next.

The moment my fingertips made contact, a creeping, spreading chill sank into my bones—like stepping into cold water.

My pulse stuttered.

I set them down, exhaling hard.

They were just dolls.

Just porcelain and paint and metal.

I was just tired.

…Right?