No one remembers her origin. No records, no maker’s mark. Only the doll, the cold silence around her, and that dreadful song...
 
Mercy is a deeply unsettling doll whose craftsmanship invites scrutiny and whose condition suggests long years spent somewhere she was not meant to be.
 
Her body is delicate and decayed. Her face is riddled with fine fractures that spread like veins from beneath her eyes and across her tiny, grasping hands. Her hair, once soft, is now patchy, torn, and matted. Most of it is gone, pulled out in clumps. Whether by time or by trembling hands, we do not know.
 
Her dead glass eyes open and close with movement, snapping open when upright, fluttering shut when laid down. Blank, wide, and unblinking. The effect is jarring and unnerving.
 
Inside her chest rests a mechanical music box, still functional after all this time. A corroded metal key juts from her left side. Turn it slowly, and Mercy's melody creaks forth—distorted, slow, and unmistakably sad. The tune is familiar in a way you can’t quite place, like something you might have heard once in childhood, in a place you never meant to return to.
 
Bring Mercy home today.
 
Measures about 19" long.