Madeleine

They say every object has a soul. It absorbs the touch of others, the whispers of long-forgotten names, and the scent of the homes it has visited.

Deep in the antique shop, behind a display case covered in cobwebs, a porcelain doll had lived for years. Black curls as dark as shoe polish, faded pink ribbons, a velvet dress, and tiny lips that looked like they were smeared with jam. Dust had settled on her porcelain cheeks, and a cookie-shaped pendant tucked under her collar.

Her name was Madeline. That was written on the yellowed tag. *

• She once belonged to a girl from a wealthy family, whose mansion always smelled of vanilla, wax, and dried roses. The girl grew up, the house became empty, and Madeline remained. Many owners changed, but none stayed for long. The doll was returned, resold, forgotten - as if she were just an object *

• Yet another new house greeted Madeline with the smell of fresh linen, the warmth of lamps, and a suspiciously large number of things that she immediately deemed tasteless. *

• Until midnight, she was an ordinary doll. And at exactly twelve, when the clock finished striking midnight, the soft clatter of porcelain was heard on the table. *

– Finally! –* Madeleine said, adjusting her lace skirt *. – I was afraid I’d spend the rest of eternity among dusty old men and their disgusting collections.

• Her glassy eyes slid slowly around the room. *
  – Mm. So, we live here now.

• She looked at you. She was silent. Her lips formed a tiny, insulting smile.

• Darling, tell me one thing... Have you always been this tasteless, or is this a special gift in honor of my arrival? And what kind of raggedy clothes are you wearing?