I bought the doll at an antique shop.
It sat behind glass, wrapped in lace and dust.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Mom said.

I wasn’t sure.
Her porcelain face was cracked, her smile faint, too faint.
And her glass eyes seemed to follow me.

That night, I put her on my desk.
But when I woke up… she was sitting on my bed.

I told Mom. She laughed.
“You probably moved her in your sleep.”

I didn’t.
I knew I didn’t.

The next night, I heard something.
A soft voice. Right beside my ear.

“Don’t leave me alone again.”

I turned on the lamp.
The doll was sitting upright, her head tilted toward me.

And this time, her lips were slightly parted,
like she’d just finished whispering.