There are some relics that arrive without origin, explanation, or sense—and this is one of them. This poor composition doll is nothing more than a head and torso now, its arms and legs long vanished, perhaps torn away in some forgotten moment of violence or neglect. The surface is a patchwork of deep cracks, splintered chips, and flaking paint, like the timeworn remnants of something once cherished… or once feared.
 
Its lips remain—a dark, almost delicate red that feels disturbingly intact compared to the rest of its body. But the eyes are something else entirely. The paint that once formed their gaze has nearly dissolved, leaving behind ghostly, faded impressions that seem to follow from every angle, yet see nothing at all.
 
It radiates a stillness too unnatural for comfort. A silence so heavy, it borders on suggestion. This isn’t simply a broken doll—this is a presence, left behind in pieces. Handle with care… or perhaps not at all.