The sky above the Dollhouse was no longer static. It rippled like water, bleeding hues of red and violet. The walls, once pristine, were peeling away, exposing rooms behind rooms—memories tucked inside memories.
Mikael, Elise, and Lina stood at the heart of it all.
"This place is unraveling," Elise said quietly, her eyes scanning the corridors that pulsed like a living thing. "It's not just breaking. It's remembering."
"Remembering what?" Mikael asked.
"Us," Lina whispered.
They stepped through the doorway that hadn't been there a moment ago. Inside, they found a nursery, untouched by time. Rocking horses. Porcelain dolls. A crib that held only dust. On the wall, a mural—faded but familiar.
Mikael touched the painting.
It was of three children. One boy, two girls. Their faces blurry, but the posture, the way they stood close…
"Is this… us?" he asked.
Before anyone could answer, one of the porcelain dolls snapped its head toward them. Then another. And another.
Dozens of dolls turned, eyes wide, mouths painted into permanent smiles.
Then they began to speak.
"You left."
"You forgot."
"You were supposed to stay."
Mikael backed away, but Elise stepped forward.
"No," she said firmly. "We were taken. We didn't forget. We were made to."
The dolls froze.
Then one stepped off the shelf.
Not walked—stepped.
This one was different. Cracked. Eyeless. It held a broken music box in its hands.
"This one… this one knew you would come back," it whispered.
The music box clicked open.
A lullaby played. Familiar. Haunting. And suddenly, Mikael remembered a name.
His real name.
The Dollhouse shuddered violently. Walls collapsed. Light poured in.
The dolls didn't attack. Instead, they bowed.
One by one, they whispered, "Awakened."
And disappeared.
Lina took Mikael's hand.
"What did you remember?" she asked.
"…My sister's name," he said. "Not Elise. Not Lina. A third."
Elise looked startled. "Then… one of us is missing."
Mikael nodded slowly.
"And we have to find her."