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— Yes, mommy! Coming! — yelled Jennifer, holding two dolls in her hands. Her blonde hair bounced off her shoulders as she dashed to the door. She carefully set the dolls down on a tiny couch in the miniature living room inside the antique dollhouse:
— Okay, listen up, my sweeties! — she said theatrically, raising a finger. — Grace, you're the nanny. You're so strict and beautiful. You’ve got a boyfriend who's about to show up, but for now, you’re watching this... — she pointed at the boy, — ...this cuuute little Oliver who's totally obsessed with you! He's madly in love and ready to drop everything just to get your attention!
Jennifer giggled, then adjusted the ribbon on her head as she looked at them. The dolls, of course, didn’t react — their eyes remained empty, dead, staring into nothing.
— I’ll be quick, just helping mom with dinner! — she shouted, and with a slam of the door, she was gone.
Silence fell in the room... Then, in that stillness, a faint but distinct click.
— Ugh… — whispered Grace, slowly lowering her plastic eyes to her tiny, inhuman palms. — Finally, she’s gone. I hate it when I can’t move...
— H-hi... — came a voice from the side. It was boyish, but with an uneasy tremble, almost a vibration. — Grace... you... you look... wow...
She slowly turned her head. Oliver was sitting next to her on the little couch, legs crossed, staring at her with wide-open eyes. His small hands trembled on his knees like he was fighting something inside.
— Uhh... Aunt Olivia, what the hell is up with you now? — Grace — not long ago still Greg, Olivia's son’s best friend — leaned forward, her hair slipping gently off her shoulders as she stared at Oliver. Her voice — low, almost lulling, with a rasp but clearly feminine — wavered with irony she tried to mask. Though she herself could barely hold back her own tension.
— I... I don't know, — Oliver (once a mature, commanding Olivia) looked away, as if suddenly everything around became unbearably fascinating. — You just look... totally different today...
— Oh yeah? — Grace’s lips twitched in a smirk as she slightly lifted her knees, pushing her skirt up a bit. — Must be because your daughter decided I’m a “beautiful nanny waiting for her boyfriend.” And you, as you can see, are in love with me. How’s that for you, Miss... I mean, Mister Oliver?
— Stop it, — he whispered, shrinking back like every glance from her sent a shiver through him. — I’m not okay when you talk like that...
— She’s lost her mind. Yesterday I was a schoolgirl, today — “a nanny waiting for her boyfriend.” What’s next? “A seduced housewife in distress”? — She spat. — What kind of fantasies does your daughter have?!
— I don’t know, — Oliver whispered, and without looking away, added, — but right now... I just want to be near you. I... I’m hoping you’ll hug me. Or spank me. Or tell me I’m a bad boy. I can’t stop.
— W-what?.. — Grace nearly fell off the miniature couch. She jerked back until her spine hit the tiny backrest of the toy armchair. — Do you hear yourself?! We should be thinking how to get out of here, not playing along with every stupid game that dumb girl comes up with!
Oliver lowered his gaze, his cheeks flushed red, and his shoulders slumped. He clenched his fists on his knees, and for a moment, a nearly oppressive silence filled the room — only the faint creaking of the dollhouse’s wooden walls and, it seemed, the distant breathing of the very magic watching them.
– She’s not stupid... – he finally mumbled without looking up. – She’s just playing... don’t call her that.
– Wait... are you seriously defending her? – Grace’s voice carried both surprise and a subtle, growing panic. – Oh right... a mother will always defend her daughter. But you have to see how all of this is... messed up!...Full story (10 100 characters - 3 parts) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon