Doll of Fate
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 1: The Market at Dawn
Seren hadn’t planned on stopping. She was driving home from a night shift, her mind foggy, her thoughts drifting like dust through sunlight. But her daughter, little Orla—two years old and full of wordless enthusiasm—had spotted the rows of tents along the fairgrounds and squealed until Seren eased the car into the gravel lot.
They walked slowly through the half-awake market. Vendors were still arranging their tables, stretching their backs, sipping burnt coffee from paper cups. Orla toddled ahead in her uneven, determined way, pointing at everything: old lamps, postcards, boxes of tarnished jewelry. Seren followed, hugging her cardigan around herself against the early chill.
That was when she saw it.
A plastic doll, propped upright among a jumble of toys on a sun-faded blanket. Not new—its limbs were slightly scuffed, and its hair was tied back in a fraying ribbon—but its face was unusually detailed for a toy that clearly wasn’t collector’s quality.
Seren crouched down.
It struck her, with a kind of mild surprise, that the doll’s face looked a little like her own. A similar jawline, the same gentle curve at the eyelids. Not uncanny—just familiar in an oddly pleasing way, like recognizing a faint family resemblance in an old photograph.
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