The Doll's House

3

Evelyn whirled around, eyes wide, and faced a teenage girl, probably around nineteen. She had ebony black hair cascading over her shoulders in a mix of waves and curls, her eyes dark, chocolatey brown. Her skin was alabaster pale, like flawless china and just as lifeless, a blue silk dress gracing her figure and highlighting her thin waist and impressive height. She was definitely taller than Evelyn, who stood at five foot six. She was probably even taller than Will, who was around five nine.

But it was the look in her eyes that scared Evelyn the most. They were cold, dark, and analytical, lacking a shred of empathy. She wanted to back away from the girl, but found herself frozen in place, unable to move.

The girl reached out and touched her cheek, her skin cold like ice. "You'll do," she said, dropping her hand. The voice was the same one Evelyn had heard singing those eerie words from the music box. "It's not like I have much of a choice, do I?" She spread her arms out, her face filled with a cold beauty. "The Doll House is always in need of occupants, particularly for its dearest resident."

"Who are you?" Evelyn whispered, finally finding her voice.

"Bianca Owens," the girl said, her voice cold but not necessarily hostile. "Last of the Owens line and heiress to the Hope Estate."

"Am I really in 1899?" Evelyn asked, barely concealing a whimper. She already knew the answer. She had heard of Bianca Owens, the girl called "Doll" behind her back for her lifeless complexion and features. The heiress had been described as cold and deliberate, possessing an icy ruthlessness. But she had died, on the last day of 1899.

"Not for much longer," Bianca observed. "It is the afternoon on New Year's Eve." She caught the puzzlement on Evelyn's face and laughed harshly. "The newspaper I will assume you perused is from yesterday. It is December 31st. It's not like there's anything interesting in either paper, though. No, it is tomorrow's headlines which will hold the story."

Evelyn felt her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to breathe. December 31st. The last day of 1899. The day Bianca Owens set her world on fire and perished a pyromaniac.

Was there any way out of this nightmare?

Bianca tilted her head, still watching Evelyn with her cold gaze. "Of course I know what tomorrow's story will be. This day repeats itself always. You are stuck in one of the few dead zones of time. Which means that, although the historic event at the end of the night will always occur, I am free to do whatever I want throughout the rest of the day. And time plays in a constant loop."

Dead zone?

Evelyn thought to the way the fire and the wallpaper had both changed before her eyes before flipping back to its original state. Was that an effect of this being a so-called dead zone? The first version of what she saw was how it had been in 1899, the second version being how it was now?

If this is the Hope Estate, it's been sitting undisturbed since the early 1900s.

Bianca smiled coldly at Evelyn. "So, Cynthia, if you will come with me?"

Evelyn drew back. "That's not my name."

"It is now," Bianca asserted. "You see, I am the only one who can give a name to one of my dolls. You are Cynthia. Come along, now. I have a funeral pyre to burn."

Evelyn yanked away from her, staggering for the exit. She almost expected the heiress to dart after her, but Bianca didn't move, only laughed softly as Evelyn ran out of the Doll House and sprinted away from the building. She just wanted to get out of this place as fast as possible.

A warm breeze touched her skin as she fled, stumbling occasionally as the pink silk dress tangled about her legs. Hitching it up, Evelyn put on all the speed she could as she veered off the path, cresting a hill and collapsing in the cool grass, her sides heaving.