Sofia found an antique doll at a flea market, porcelain face cracked but smiling sweetly. She placed it on her shelf. That night, she woke to faint footsteps. The doll was gone. She found it sitting on her desk chair, head tilted. She put it back. At dawn, it was on her pillow, its smile wider. On the third night, Sana locked it in a box. At 3 a.m., the lid creaked open. She froze as tiny hands gripped the edge. The doll climbed onto her chest, smile stretching unnaturally. Its glass eyes blinked. “Now it’s my turn to play,” it whispered.