Chapter   1

The sirens wail in the distance-closer now.

The cops are outside.

One body. In the bathtub.

I keep staring at it.

She’s small. Fragile. Her arms lay limply at her sides, her mouth slightly parted, eyes closed like she’s just drifted off. Like she might wake up at any moment.

But I know that’s not true.

Her skin is ghost-pale, almost translucent under the flickering  bathroom light. Her lips are cracked and dry, a bluish crust clinging to their edges. Her short, jet-black bob clings wetly to her jawline.

That’s my mother.

The woman who gave birth to me.

The woman who’s gone now.

The police storm the house—heavy boots on the stairs—and find us on the first floor.

They try to pull me away, but I don’t move.

I don’t blink.

I don’t even flinch when the officer grips my arms and drags me away from the bathroom. I keep my eyes locked on her, like if I just stare long enough, she’ll blink back.

She doesn’t.

Two weeks away at summer camp, and this is what I come home to.

A corpse in the tub.

My mother’s corpse.

It’s too much for a sixteen-year old. Too much for anyone.

They drag me out of the house. My limbs feel like stone, my body stiff and uncooperative. My mind—shattered, scattered somewhere between denial and disbelief.

I stare into oblivion,for an hour or two,i hear faded voices the  cops asking me things ,i dont respond.i cant.

I just..stand there.

 I hear a voice. Familiar.

But I don’t turn around.

I don’t move.

I just stare at the house as it shrinks behind me.

My home.

My mother.

My life—quietly unraveling.

Then someone grabs my shoulders—firm, trembling hands—and shakes me gently, pulling me back into the world. My dazed eyes lift and lock with a familiar pair, ones that mirror my mother’s.

Aunt Serena.

She’s in her late-twenties, with the same jet-black hair, the same pale skin, the same stormy blue eyes. But unlike my mother, her face is fuller, her body healthier. Alive.

Beautiful. And breaking.

“ODESSA!” she cries.

I stare up at her in silence.

She throws her arms around me, pulling me into her chest. I feel her sobs shake through her bones, feel her tears soak into the collar of my shirt. Her grief is loud, but my mind is silent.

Instead of hugging back, I glance past her.

My uncle, Ethan Blackwell, stands nearby, talking to the police, his jaw tight and brow furrowed.

Then my eyes return to Serena, as if maybe they misread her the first time.

“Is… Mom gonna be okay?” I ask. My voice barely audible.i know the answer.

She freezes.

No words come out of her mouth—just a sharp, helpless breath.

And in that breath, I get my answer.

No.

She’s never coming back.

Not in this life.

Well fuck.

              Chapter   2

Nobody lives a perfect life.

But my mother’s suicide doesn’t makes sense to me.yes,it was a suicide.the police confirmed it,she took overdose of her medicine.

She wasn’t the kind of woman who would just give up—especially not with a sixteen year old  daughter waiting for her, fresh off a two-week summer camp. She was many things: nervous,, overprotective, even timid. But  not cruel.

Or maybe… I never really knew her at all.

Moving in with Aunt Serena and Uncle Ethan turned out to be easier than I’d imagined. Quieter. Softer, somehow.

When we arrived, I stepped out of the car and just stood there, staring at the property.

It was massive—towering and elegant in a way that made my old home feel like a dollhouse. A perfectly trimmed lawn stretched toward a white-painted exterior. The windows were wide, framed in matte black, like the house was always watching. At the front, a pair of sleek black sconces flanked the tall double doors, casting just enough shadow to feel cinematic.

Uncle Ethan moved ahead to unlock the door. He looked calm—mid-to-late twenties, with sun-kissed skin, striking green eyes, and a kind of casual handsomeness that belonged in movies.

I glanced at Aunt Serena. She was still holding my hand.

She looked down at me and smiled. I smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.

Then we stepped inside.

And for a moment, I forgot everything.

The house was stunning—like something out of a magazine. Spacious. Warm, but not in a cozy way—in an expensive, polished way. The foyer gleamed. A grand staircase curled upward toward the first floor, its banister dark wood and cool to the touch. The air inside smelled like vanilla and something faintly floral.

This wasn’t what I expected.

It was more.

And somehow, that made everything feel even stranger.

Aunt Serena takes a deep breath, her gaze flicking briefly to Uncle Ethan, who’s placing the last of the bags in the living room.

“Do you like your new home, Odessa?” she asks gently.

My eyes pull away from the sweeping beauty of the house and land on her face.

“Yes… yes, I do,” I manage.

Uncle Ethan speaks from across the room, not looking at me. “Thats everything?”

“Mhm,” Aunt Serena replies softly.

She then takes my hand and leads me upstairs. When she opens the door to my new bedroom, I freeze for a second—caught off guard by how… strange it feels.

Strange, not in the way of clutter or mess. But in its unsettling perfection.

Everything is white.

The walls, the carpet, the frilled curtains—soft and ghostly. A canopy bed sits at the center of the room, draped in off-white floral sheets that look like they’ve never been touched. French windows bathe the room in pale light. A vintage white dresser with three arched mirrors glints faintly beneath the chandelier.

But it’s the bookshelf that holds me still.

It’s packed—floor to ceiling—with porcelain dolls.

Dozens of them.

Delicate, glassy-eyed, unmoving.

Staring.

Each one with a painted smile and empty, watching gaze.

My skin prickles.

I glance at Aunt Serena. She’s beaming at me, expectant and proud.

“I… love it,” I say, forcing a smile. “It’s so pretty. Thank you.”

Her smile widens. She presses a hand to her chest, clearly moved.

“Of course, Essa,” she says warmly. “I’m glad you like it. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a hug. The sudden affection catches me off guard, and I feel something welling in my throat—tears I didn’t know were coming.

Then she lets go. Gives me one last look. And quietly steps out, closing the door behind her.

And just like that, I’m alone.

Alone… with all those eyes.

My eyes drift around the room, lingering on the shelves—those porcelain dolls.

Dozens of them.

Perfectly still. Perfectly wrong.

Their glassy stares seem to pierce right through me, like they know things they shouldn’t. Like they’re waiting for something.

A shiver runs down my spine.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the center mirror.

There I am—ghostly pale, with raven-black hair falling around my face. My eyes, unnaturally blue, almost white in the dim light. I look like I’ve been pulled from a painting. Or a grave.

I don’t look exactly like my mother.

Aunt Serena does. They were identical, like a mirrored reflection of one another.

The only difference is... one of them is still alive.

If I hadn’t gone to that stupid camp...

Maybe I could’ve stopped her.

Maybe she’d still be here.

No.

No, it’s not my fault.

She’s the one who made me go. Practically pushed me out the door.

Still... I never thought she’d actually—

I squeeze my eyes shut.

No.

Don’t think like that.

I shake the thoughts away and crawl into the bed. The mattress is absurdly soft, like sinking into cotton candy. A chandelier dangles above, glittering quietly in the low light like a frozen constellation. The room should be peaceful. It should be beautiful.

Maybe sleep will help.

But just as my eyes begin to close… I see it.

Two eyes. Watching me from across the room.

Not the dolls.

Worse.

They gleam faintly in the dark. Wide, round, and too still.

Not blinking.

Not human.

My heart seizes. My breath catches.

And suddenly, I’m not so sure I’m alone.