—
The wind howled outside the cabin, branches scraping against the windows as if the forest itself were alive. Inside, Rody Lamoree worked in near silence, the only sound the faint clink of his tools as he delicately added finishing touches to his latest creation. The cabin, far from any town or curious passerby, was his sanctuary. Every surface was cluttered with dolls-perfect, lifeless dolls with expressionless faces, each a testament to his obsession with beauty.
Humans had always disgusted him. They were imperfect, flawed in every way that mattered. They broke easily, aged, grew ugly with time. Dolls didn’t. Dolls were pure, unchanging. Rody had long ago decided he would rather live among them than with other people, retreating to this isolated cabin to craft beauty from porcelain, cloth, and glass.
But lately, something had shifted inside him. He had grown bored with these lifeless figures. Their stillness no longer satisfied him, their silence too complete. Rody had begun to wonder: What if he could create something more? A doll that was alive. A doll that could move, breathe, and even beg-yet remain just as beautiful, just as perfect.
As these thoughts swirled in his mind, the rhythmic knock at the door jolted him from his reverie.
Rody frowned. No one ever came out here. His cabin was miles away from the nearest town, hidden deep within the forest. Visitors were not expected, nor welcome. His heart thudded in his chest as he stood, curious and annoyed, and moved toward the door. Who would be out here, in the dead of night?
He opened the door slowly, and there, standing in the dim glow of the porch light, were two strangers: a man and a woman.
The woman spoke first, her voice shaky with exhaustion. “Please, we’re lost. Our car broke down, and we’ve been walking for hours. Can we stay the night? Just until morning?”
Rody’s eyes barely registered her words. His attention had been seized by the man standing beside her-a figure so striking, so perfect, that Rody’s breath caught in his throat. The man was tall, with flawless pale skin, high cheekbones, and dark, glossy hair that fell just above his eyes. His face was serene, almost angelic, and his posture graceful in a way that no human should possess.
He was perfect-more perfect than any doll Rody had ever crafted. Rody could feel his pulse quicken, a deep, dark desire stirring within him. He had always dreamed of creating a living doll, but he never imagined such perfection could exist on its own, right before his eyes.
The woman, however, was nothing like him. Her face was worn with fatigue, her hair frizzy and unkempt, her voice grating. She was an ugly blemish standing beside this man-this masterpiece. Rody’s mind whirled. The man needed to be preserved, to be his, but the woman… she had to go.
“Come in,” Rody said, his voice barely a whisper, eyes fixed on the man. He stepped aside to let them enter, the man walking past him with a slow, effortless grace, while the woman staggered behind, too weary to notice the intensity of Rody’s stare.
The cabin was dimly lit by the fire crackling in the hearth, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls, where countless dolls watched from their shelves. The woman looked around, unsettled by the strange atmosphere, but the man remained quiet, his gaze distant as he took in the room.
“You can stay,” Rody said softly, eyes never leaving the man. “I’ll prepare something for you.”
As he moved toward the kitchen, he could hear the woman murmuring to the man, her voice low and concerned, but he didn’t care. His mind was already working, the gears turning as his dark plan began to form. The woman was irrelevant. She had no place here. The man, though… he would be his most prized possession. The ultimate doll.
—
Later that night, Rody stood outside their room, listening carefully. The woman’s breathing was slow and steady-she had fallen asleep quickly, exhausted from their journey. But the man… the man was still awake. Rody could hear him shifting, restless, in the bed. His heart pounded with excitement, the thought of what he would do next sending a shiver down his spine.
With quiet, deliberate movements, Rody slipped into the room. The man was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his perfect features illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. For a moment, Rody was frozen, simply watching, mesmerized by how beautiful he was.
Then the woman stirred, and Rody’s calm shattered. He couldn’t risk waking her. She had to be dealt with-quickly, quietly. His hand tightened around the knife he had brought with him. He moved toward her with the same precision he used in his craft, and in one swift motion, he pressed the blade to her throat and sliced deep. She barely made a sound, her eyes wide with terror for only a moment before her body went limp, blood pooling around her neck.
The man turned, his eyes widening in shock and horror as he saw the bloodied knife, the lifeless body of the woman next to him. “W-What did you do?” His voice trembled, fear flashing across his perfect face.
Rody smiled, a cold, detached expression. “She wasn’t meant to be here. But you… you’re different.”
The man scrambled out of bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but before he could make it to the door, Rody was on him, tackling him to the floor with a strength that surprised him. The man struggled, but Rody was stronger. He pinned the man’s arms down, feeling the frantic pulse beneath his skin.
“I won’t hurt you,” Rody whispered, his face inches from the man’s. “Not the way I hurt her. I just need to make sure you can’t leave me.”
The man’s eyes darted around wildly, desperate for a way out. “Please,” he gasped. “Please don’t-“
But Rody wasn’t listening. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a syringe filled with a potent sedative. Before the man could scream, Rody plunged the needle into his thigh, the liquid quickly taking effect. The man’s struggles weakened, his limbs growing heavy and uncooperative. He tried to speak, but his words slurred into incoherence.
“Shh,” Rody cooed, brushing the man’s hair away from his forehead. “You’ll be fine. You’re going to be perfect.”
—
When Vincent awoke, it was to pain.
His legs were on fire, but when he tried to move them, he found they wouldn’t respond. His arms were bound, tightly secured to the chair he was sitting in, and panic surged through him. His breathing became frantic as he tugged at the restraints, but it was no use. He was trapped.
“Good, you’re awake,” Rody’s voice came from the shadows. He stepped into the dim light of the basement, his face calm and almost tender, as if he had just completed one of his dolls. “I was worried the sedative might have kept you under for too long.”
Vincent’s eyes widened in horror as Rody knelt beside him, his hands gently caressing Vincent’s unresponsive legs. “Don’t try to move. You won’t be able to,” Rody said softly, almost kindly. “I had to cut some of your nerve endings. It was the only way to make sure you couldn’t run. I couldn’t risk damaging those beautiful legs of yours… but I had to make sure you’d stay with me.”
Vincent’s heart raced, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin. “Why?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with fear.
Rody’s eyes lit up, his expression one of pure adoration. “Because you’re perfect. More perfect than any doll I’ve ever made. I couldn’t let you leave. I couldn’t let anyone else have you.”
He moved behind Vincent, carefully arranging the limp, lifeless legs on the chair, straightening Vincent’s posture like one of his dolls. “I’m going to take care of you now,” Rody whispered, his voice reverent. “You’ll be my masterpiece.”
Vincent’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with terror. “You’re insane…”
Rody didn’t seem to hear him. He was too engrossed in his work, too absorbed in the idea of making Vincent his living doll. “I’ve always wanted this,” Rody murmured. “A doll that could move, that could feel… and you, you’re the one. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Vincent’s tears began to fall, but Rody only smiled, wiping them away with a tenderness that twisted something dark inside him.
“Don’t cry,” Rody whispered, leaning down to kiss Vincent’s forehead. “You’re home now.”
Vincent whimpered, his voice cracking, but he knew-deep down, in the darkest parts of his soul-that Rody was never going to let him go.
Rody’s obsession deepened as the days passed, and Vincent’s existence in the cabin became a living nightmare. Each morning, Rody would tend to him, adjusting his posture in the ornate chair, brushing his hair with delicate hands, dressing him in finely tailored clothes as though Vincent were nothing more than a prized doll to be admired.
But Vincent was still human-despite Rody’s attempts to make him otherwise. The pain in his legs was unbearable at first, sharp and constant, but worse was the realization that he would never walk again. He could barely move at all, left paralyzed and dependent on the whims of a man who viewed him as an object to control.
Rody, however, seemed oblivious to Vincent’s suffering. To him, Vincent was perfect. He had succeeded in creating what he had always wanted: a living doll, unable to leave him, forever under his care.
“Look at you,” Rody whispered one evening, running his fingers through Vincent’s dark hair. He had dressed Vincent in a sleek, black suit that night, like some elegant display in a luxury boutique. “You’re beautiful.”
Vincent flinched at the touch, but he couldn’t pull away. His arms were bound, his legs useless, and Rody always kept him sedated enough to dull his strength. He was helpless, trapped in this waking nightmare, his once-strong body reduced to a mere vessel for Rody’s deranged fantasies.
“Please,” Vincent rasped, his voice hoarse from days of screaming, pleading, and crying. “Let me go.”
Rody smiled gently, as if Vincent had said something sweet. “You don’t understand yet,” he said, smoothing down Vincent’s collar. “This is what’s best for you. For us. Out there, people would only hurt you, ruin you. But here, with me… you’ll always be perfect.”
Vincent’s chest tightened with despair. The weight of it was crushing, suffocating. He had been reduced to something less than human in Rody’s eyes-a plaything, a possession. He could barely remember what his life had been like before he and Manon had stumbled upon the cabin. It felt like a distant dream now, hazy and unreachable.
Manon. The thought of her was a knife twisting in his heart. He had watched her die, powerless to stop Rody’s knife as it sliced through her throat, her blood soaking the sheets beside him. He had been too weak, too terrified to act. And now… he was paying for his inaction. Every day in this cabin felt like a punishment for surviving when she hadn’t.
But there was no escape. Not now.
—
Rody’s routine was meticulous. He fed Vincent, cleaned him, dressed him, all with the same level of care and precision he had once reserved for his lifeless dolls. But this was different. This was better. Vincent could feel, could cry, could beg-and that was what made him so much more than a simple doll.
Every whimper from Vincent’s lips sent a thrill through Rody. Every tear that slipped down his perfect face was like a confirmation of Rody’s control, his success. He had taken something living and made it his.
“Don’t you see, Vincent?” Rody would often whisper, late at night when the firelight cast flickering shadows on the walls. “I’m the only one who can truly appreciate you. No one else sees how perfect you are. They’d ruin you out there.”
Vincent had long stopped responding to these speeches. There was no use. He had learned quickly that Rody didn’t care about his words, his pain. Rody only cared about his vision of perfection. And Vincent, broken and bound, was the centerpiece of that vision.
But even as Rody lavished his twisted affection on him, Vincent’s mind was fraying. The isolation, the constant fear, the sheer helplessness-it was all eroding his sense of self. He couldn’t fight back, couldn’t escape, and every day felt like it bled into the next, a never-ending loop of agony and submission.
The nights were the worst. That was when Rody would grow quieter, more possessive. He would sit by Vincent’s side, staring at him with an intensity that made Vincent’s skin crawl. Sometimes, Rody would dress him in clothes far too elaborate for the dark, cold cabin-gowns, intricate costumes, things that made Vincent feel like nothing more than a puppet in some twisted performance.
“How does that feel?” Rody would ask, adjusting the fabric, the shine in his eyes like that of a child showing off a prized toy.
Vincent would remain silent, his gaze dull, broken. He had no strength left to protest, no energy to scream. It was easier to stay quiet, to let Rody do what he wanted.
But even then, even as he sank deeper into despair, some small part of Vincent still clung to the memory of who he had been. Before the cabin. Before Rody. He hadn’t been perfect, but he had been free. He had been alive.
—
One night, as Rody gently traced the curve of Vincent’s jaw, the quiet of the cabin was interrupted by the sound of distant footsteps-faint, but unmistakable.
Rody stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the door. “Someone’s here,” he whispered, his voice low with irritation. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
Vincent’s heart leaped in his chest, hope flickering for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Someone had found the cabin. Someone might save him.
But Rody was already moving, his hand gripping Vincent’s chin firmly, forcing him to look into his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice soothing yet sinister. “No one is going to take you away from me.”
Vincent’s stomach churned with dread. He knew what Rody was capable of. If someone had come looking for them, they wouldn’t make it out alive.
—
Rody left the room, the door creaking as it shut behind him, and Vincent was plunged into silence. His mind raced, his body trembling with fear and exhaustion. This was it-his last chance.
He didn’t know who was out there, but he had to hope they could stop Rody before it was too late. For the first time since he had been captured, Vincent allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that he might escape this nightmare.
But as the minutes stretched into an unbearable eternity, the sounds outside grew fainter, and eventually, there was only silence once more.
Rody returned, his expression calm, but his eyes glimmering with satisfaction. “No one will bother us again,” he said softly, his tone laced with finality.
Vincent’s heart sank, his brief hope extinguished as quickly as it had sparked. He was alone again-alone with the man who had made him a living doll, alone with the man who would never let him go.
And in that moment, as Rody sat beside him, gently stroking his hair, Vincent knew that he would never escape. His body may have still been alive, but his soul had already withered in the cold, twisted grasp of Rody’s obsession.
—
In the flickering firelight, Rody smiled, content with the perfection he had crafted. Vincent was his masterpiece, his ultimate creation. No one else could have him. No one else could ever appreciate him the way Rody did.
And as Vincent’s silent tears slipped down his cheeks, Rody leaned in, whispering softly, “You’re mine. Forever.”
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