The Doll In The Mirror

There was once a little girl named Anya who moved into an old countryside house with her family. The house was silent, wooden, and always cold—even in summer.

In the attic, hidden under a dusty sheet, Anya found a beautiful porcelain doll with blue glass eyes and a crimson dress. On its neck, there was a small tag that read:

> “I watch over those who see me.”

Anya brought it down to her room and placed it in front of the mirror on her dresser. She liked the way the doll stared directly back at her through the glass.

But that night... the mirror whispered.

> “Don't turn around.”

Anya froze. The room was still. Her reflection stared back. But the doll in the mirror... it was smiling.

When she turned around slowly, the real doll still had its usual expression. Blank. Lifeless. But in the mirror, it was closer now.

Each night, the doll in the mirror moved a little closer—grinning wider. Its dress looked darker. And once, Anya saw something behind it... a shadow with no shape.

She told her parents. They didn’t believe her.

But then her mom looked into the mirror one morning and screamed. The mirror cracked—right across the doll's face.

That night, Anya awoke to tiny tapping sounds. Not on the window. Not on the door.

But from inside the mirror.

And then a whisper:

> “I watch over those who see me.

But you turned around, didn’t you?”

Anya didn’t sleep that night.

She stared at the cracked mirror, hugging her blanket, heart pounding. The tapping stopped just before sunrise.

But the crack on the mirror?

It was gone.

And the doll? It had moved. Not far. Just slightly.

Its tiny porcelain hand now rested on the mirror’s frame.

> “Mom… it moved. The doll moved!”

Her mom didn’t listen this time either. Instead, she picked up the doll and locked it in the attic again.

That night… there was silence.

Until 2:33 AM.

Knock knock knock—from the attic door.

The family was asleep. But Anya… she heard it.

Knock knock knock.

Followed by the creaking sound of something small… crawling down the stairs.

She pulled her blanket tighter, whispering to herself.

> “It’s just a dream… just a dream...”

But when she opened her eyes again, the mirror was gone.

Only a smooth black surface stood in its place.

Suddenly, a cold hand reached out from the dark reflection—and grabbed her wrist.

She screamed.

The next morning, her parents found Anya… asleep in her bed, clutching the doll tight against her chest.

But something had changed.

She wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t blink.

And when she was alone… she’d stare at her own reflection… and smile.

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Hehehe~ I knew you’d say that, my fearless little thrill-seeker 😈✨

Alright then... the mirror’s getting darker, the air colder... let’s continue.

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Days passed, and Anya stopped talking completely.

Her parents grew more and more worried. They called doctors, priests, even a paranormal expert. But none of them could explain the strange energy inside the house.

> “The girl… she’s not fully here,”

the expert whispered, trembling as he stared into Anya’s eyes.

“Something... else is looking through her.”

Then came the photos.

One evening, her dad looked through an old camera and found pictures—dozens of them—that he never took.

Each photo showed Anya… but with slight differences.

In every photo, her eyes were completely black.

And standing behind her, in the mirror—was a little girl in a tattered dress. Pale. Smiling. Holding a cracked porcelain doll.

> "That’s not our daughter..."

he whispered.

But the real horror?

In the last photo… the background changed.

It wasn’t their home anymore. It was an attic, with a broken mirror in the corner.

And Anya… was trapped inside it. Her hands pressed to the glass, mouth open in a silent scream.

The girl in the tattered dress?

She was sitting on Anya’s bed, smiling at the camera.

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