She Buried Her Mistakes...

The dollmaker never expected her garden to remember. For decades, she buried her failed

creations beneath the roses, thinking the earth would claim them. But this spring,

something changed. Porcelain petals pushed through the soil, faces frozen in

silent screams blooming where tulips should be. At night, she hears them whisper

her name, begging to be remade, promising they'll be perfect this time.

The garden crawls closer to her workshop each morning, leaving trails of cracked clay and

shattered limbs. Yesterday, she found a vine made of tiny porcelain hands reaching through

her window. They touched her face while she slept, measuring. The dolls remember