Page 15 of Tainted Serenity

Naya

Walking through the desolatedhalls of the dollhouse, thoughts scatter inside me like a deadly whirlwind, making me lose grip of reality. The mere memory of those replica dolls in the forest makes my mind wander to the edge of insanity. Grey’s doll indicated he was buried underground, which makes me feel as though a knife is being twisted inside me. There’s a dangerous piece of me that wishes Arthur lied about Grey, one that insists he is still alive, waiting for me to rejoin in his arms again.

It’s weird how much I could care about anyone other than myself. Half a year ago, I wouldn’t have cared at all. Hell, if I had the chance, I would have burned up Grimhill Manor with everyone still inside, if only it meant I was freed from its chains. Grey made me realize that caring for another human isn’t a weakness, but now, in the festering darkness that haunts me, I’m starting to doubt that what he said is true. If only I had escaped by myself, then maybe I would have survived and not been stuck in these chains again tied around my heart.

But I can’t say I regret everything because it gave me him.

Arthur drags me behind him, forcing me to keep moving, despite every muscle in my body protesting. I barely remember anything after I witnessed Jaqueline’s lifeless body yesterday; everything is a distant blur.

“You have no freedom,” Arthur starts, his voice booming through the walls. “All dolls are to be locked inside their room until the doors automatically open when it is time for meals, games, or doctor’s appointments.”

There’s an icy chill running down my spine when he speaks.

“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are served in the dining room or your respective rooms. The meals are a privilege earned by obedience, not an entitlement.”

I swallow what feels like molten lava, wondering how the fuck I could have ended up in this situation with my freedom restricted all over again.

We arrive at a pair of stairs leading upstairs, and traces of the shattered walls lie scrapped among the dust, thickly coating every surface, making my nose itch. The railings on the spiral staircase are not intact; instead, they lie in tatters on the floor below.

Chaos and destruction are everywhere, precisely like the emotions within me. Arthur leads me further through the corridor, up the spiral staircase, where the walls are even more shattered. It isn’t until we arrive at the second floor that I realize the walls are made of some kind of brick and that there are loose bricks scattered all around. The roof even gives the feeling as if it will collapse at any moment, burying us underneath its structure.

My survival instinct takes over any rational thoughts, compelling me to seek an escape route. Yet I know he will catch up to me in an instant if I manage to break free from his iron grip.

As much as I hate to admit it, my body is too weak right now, which renders me the perfect target for any potential predators out there, with the most menacing of them all being the man who refuses to let go of my wrist.

It’s completely empty in the corridor, and that’s something that sets my nerves on edge. The silence is palpable, and before I know it, we’ve reached the end of the corridor. I have no idea what’s happening here or why I’m here. A weathered sign hangs above the door, leaving a cryptic message as to what lies beyond the imposing door that commands my attention.

A subtle touch of unease envelops me because those doors never mean anything good. Arthur turns to me, pushing me against the wall until my head hits the hardened surface, but I don’t make a sound. He gives me a grave expression before he leans closer, and I can feel his breath against my face—a smell that strikes like a pungent gust.

His old, fat fingers grip my hip, his nails digging into my skin. I look into his eyes, punctuating him and letting him feel my spitefulness toward him. If my body wasn’t lifeless from energy, bound by pain, I would have kicked his balls, if only to give him a fracture of the pain I feel now. I am like an emotionless shell, exactly like he planned me to become.

When he notices the distasteful glance I’m giving him, an evil glint shines in his eyes before he places his palm against my abdomen, pressing into the wound. The twisting pain shoots through my stomach like a million knives stabbing me over again, and sweat forms on my forehead as I close my eyes shut, trying to breathe through my nose.

I try not to whimper, but when he keeps pressing down, letting his fingernails scrape against the skin surrounding my ripped flesh, that’s when the pain becomes unbearable. The scream flies out of my throat as if it were a bird in flight, as I feel my insides being turned inside out. He might as well have stabbed me again; the pain is equally excruciating, if not more so.

It’s a wailing scream out of pure agony, and the fucker smiles. He fucking smiles, crooked teeth showing.

Then, without me having time to prepare myself for the agonizing, scrutinizing exertion of my body, he pushes me harder into the wall.

“You will meet the doctor here, and you shall obey his orders like the good little girl you are.”

He pushes me inside the door that has opened ajar, letting me into an unknown room, which causes my bones to rattle. A loud thud echoes through the distinct room as the door closes.

My eyes slide over the room in a slow gesture, noticing how clinically clean everything is, making it look almost manically tidy. Despite the cleanliness, there’s an unsettling vibe that permeates it. Disturbance and distrust linger in the air, mingling with the cold appearance, creating a strange atmosphere.

In the corner of the room, a person sits with a long white coat draped across their body while a similar mask covers their mouth. His eyes slide over to me as he stands up from the metal stool before moving toward me by the door. There’s something about him—an indescribable feeling that makes malice ooze from him until my feet compel me to turn and run, but my body is frozen.

A dreary silence settles between us while we exchange no words, which only fuels my discomfort.

His jaw clenches, making the mouth mask fit snugly over his chin. From the hidden light in the room, his eyes are perceived as almost black; the darkness mixing with the brown, making his eyes all the more threatening. I take a step back, then another, until I’m met with the cold, hard door hitting my back.

I’m stuck.

Despite wearing a mask that conceals the features of his mouth, I still discern the way he grins from the slight lift in his eyes. I swallow down a mouthful of saliva gathering in my mouth from apprehension as I observe his every move.

He fixes the gloves on his hands, and after minutes of silence where I contemplate putting up a fight against him, he finally speaks up.

“Lay down on the chair, and we will get started.”

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