The Case of the Living Doll

A story of a human-like doll and her owner Undertaker.

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2. Chapter 2

A bell sounded as the Undertaker excitedly ran into his shop, a single hairpin in his hand. As usual all was quiet in the funeral home, although it wasn't just any silence: it was more eerie.

As expected of a place that had nothing but coffins placed in it, nothing stirred and all seemed to be almost normal, that was until your eyes would come to rest on one thing that stood out.

The life-like doll.

Just like she was the day before, she was still sat upon the very same coffin and hadn't moved an inch. Not that she could, even if she wanted to.

Undertaker being Undertaker, didn't want to move her. He wanted to leave her out in the open for everyone to see. Seeing their reactions would be interesting indeed and hilarious.

The silver-haired man did like a good joke after all.

After taking off his outdoor jacket, he sat next to the doll and turned to face her.

She really was a sight to behold. Porcelain skin, (e/c) eyes that anyone could get lost in and small lips that seemed almost tempting.

"Oh little dolly you're just as beautiful today as you were yesterday." He laughed into his sleeve and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with the other hand.

He picked up the hairpin that he had placed down just before taking of his jacket and turned her slightly so he could braid her hair, after putting it in a bun, he held it in place with the hairpin.

The hairpin was just as beautiful as the girl it now belonged to. Small, black roses were intricately woven around a red stone. It matched her (h/c) hair perfectly.

"I was right it does suit you." He chuckled and didn't fail to notice the blush that had risen to her cheeks.

Now he was definitely sure that she wasn't just an ordinary doll. Not that anyone would describe this girl as ordinary, mind you. This girl was definitely human, or had once been one.

Just how any why had she become a doll?

The Undertaker was just itching to find out and that was exactly what he was going to do now.

He stood up and picked up the 'doll' bridal style, then he carried her to his desk. He gently laid her down on it and preceded to take out his death scythe. All he needed to do was make the tiniest of cuts, not enough to accidentally send her soul to the afterlife.

For anyone else it might've been an impossible feat, but seeing as he owned a funeral home, it wouldn't be too difficult for the Undertaker.

He lifted his death scythe and bought it down on her.

That was when something quite like film reels shot out of her body, weaving themselves around Undertaker and filling his vision with nothing but her memories.

Memories of what had exactly happened to her.

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