After working overtime until 2:00 a.m., Arthur walked past an antique shop called “The Forgotten Corner.”
The shop was lit by a dim, yellow glow, and the display window was filled with all sorts of strange objects. Arthur’s gaze was drawn to an old doll. It was a porcelain doll wearing a Victorian lace dress, with pale skin and eyes like two deep obsidian stones, staring intently at the street.
Arthur felt an inexplicable chill, but at the same time, he was drawn to it in a strange way. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“That doll—how much is it?” Arthur asked, pointing to the display case.
The shopkeeper was a hunched-over old woman. She looked up, her eyes cloudy: “That one? That one isn’t for sale. It… has an owner.”
“But I really like it,” Arthur said, pulling out his wallet. “I’ll pay double the price.”
The old woman hesitated for a long time before finally sighing: “All right, young man. But you must remember, some things, once taken away, can never be brought back.”
Arthur didn’t take her words to heart. He brought the doll home and placed it on a shelf in his study.
Over the next few days, subtle changes began to take place in Arthur’s life.
He found himself increasingly reluctant to go to work. Whenever he sat at his desk, the doll’s vacant gaze would always pop into his mind. He began taking frequent days off, shutting himself away at home and talking to the doll.
“You look tired, Arthur.” He felt as if he could hear the doll’s voice—soft yet cold.
“Yes, I’m tired,” Arthur muttered to himself. “The pressure at work is too much; I’m about to break down.”
“Then rest,” the doll’s voice grew clearer. “Quit your job and stay here with me. It’s quiet here; no one will disturb us.”
Arthur actually quit his job.
His friends all thought he’d gone mad and urged him to see a doctor. But Arthur didn’t care. He felt that only the doll understood him. He stopped going out and socializing, spending his days sitting in his study, staring at the porcelain doll.
His complexion grew paler and paler, and his eyes became increasingly vacant, just like the doll’s.
Until one day, Arthur suddenly realized something: he hadn’t eaten in a long time, yet he didn’t feel hungry. He touched his face; it felt cold and hard, just like porcelain.
He looked into the mirror in horror. In the reflection, his skin was as pale as paper, and his eyes had turned into two deep, obsidian orbs.
He jerked his head toward the doll on the bookshelf.
That spot was empty.
Arthur wanted to scream, but no sound came out. He wanted to run away, but his legs felt as if they were nailed to the floor—he couldn’t move.
He finally understood what the old woman had meant.
Some things, once taken away, can never be recovered.
Because that doll was never actually bought.
It had come to find a substitute.
Now, Arthur had become the old doll displayed in the shop window, while whatever had once been trapped inside the doll was now wearing his clothes, stepping out the door to experience everything Arthur had once possessed.
Arthur wanted to cry, but no tears could flow from his porcelain eyes. He could only stand there forever, staring intently at the street with those obsidian eyes, waiting for the next prey to be lured in.
