With pursed lips and eyes half closed, there sat an idiosyncratic nymphet in one corner of the room, which was lit with lavender-scented candles and touched with serenity. Blessed with a curvaceous body, a birthmark on her chin, a pair of big doe orbs, and dark, luscious locks that reached her delicate shoulders. Doll. She was his pretty doll. Her troubled eyes wandered across the vacant room, searching for him. She tilts her head from side to side, batting her eyelashes every other second. Barely able to move, it was assumed that she needed support, like a doll who is dependent upon her owner. And a doll doesn't cry, right? Yet she could feel her toy heart pumping against her fragile chest. A drop of tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. This feeling was, unbeknownst to her, quite new and uneasy. Her limbs had no life in them, and all she could do was stare blankly into nothing. The drop dead silence was soon disturbed by the dolorous melody of her wails. A doll shouldn't cry. She wept and mourned, longing for him. But, she was just his toy after all. And a toy mustn't feel anything for its owners, right?
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Ingénue
Short StoryWhen innocent love evolves into desperation, a pure mind is corrupted with lunatic thoughts. Nothing is at peace. A broken heart can cut you deep with its sharp edges, even if it's just the heart of a toy. Triggered warning : mature and sensitive th...
