After working overtime until 2:00 a.m., Arthur walked past an antique shop called \u201cThe Forgotten Corner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The shop was lit by a dim, yellow glow, and the display window was filled with all sorts of strange objects. Arthur\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat doll\u2014how much is it?\u201d Arthur asked, pointing to the display case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The shopkeeper was a hunched-over old woman. She looked up, her eyes cloudy: \u201cThat one? That one isn\u2019t for sale. It\u2026 has an owner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBut I really like it,\u201d Arthur said, pulling out his wallet. \u201cI\u2019ll pay double the price.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The old woman hesitated for a long time before finally sighing: \u201cAll right, young man. But you must remember, some things, once taken away, can never be brought back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Arthur didn\u2019t take her words to heart. He brought the doll home and placed it on a shelf in his study.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Over the next few days, subtle changes began to take place in Arthur\u2019s life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He found himself increasingly reluctant to go to work. Whenever he sat at his desk, the doll\u2019s vacant gaze would always pop into his mind. He began taking frequent days off, shutting himself away at home and talking to the doll.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou look tired, Arthur.\u201d He felt as if he could hear the doll\u2019s voice\u2014soft yet cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes, I\u2019m tired,\u201d Arthur muttered to himself. \u201cThe pressure at work is too much; I\u2019m about to break down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThen rest,\u201d the doll\u2019s voice grew clearer. \u201cQuit your job and stay here with me. It\u2019s quiet here; no one will disturb us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Arthur actually quit his job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His friends all thought he\u2019d gone mad and urged him to see a doctor. But Arthur didn\u2019t 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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
His complexion grew paler and paler, and his eyes became increasingly vacant, just like the doll\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Until one day, Arthur suddenly realized something: he hadn\u2019t eaten in a long time, yet he didn\u2019t feel hungry. He touched his face; it felt cold and hard, just like porcelain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He jerked his head toward the doll on the bookshelf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That spot was empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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\u2014he couldn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He finally understood what the old woman had meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Some things, once taken away, can never be recovered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because that doll was never actually bought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It had come to find a substitute.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Old Doll in the Storefront Window<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":694,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[18],"class_list":["post-693","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-anecdote","tag-story"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/693","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=693"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/693\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":695,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/693\/revisions\/695"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/694"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=693"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=693"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storyrecyclebin.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=693"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}