Walking through the dark and mystical woods she got lost. Every step taken was an uncertain-like one. The wind whispered noxious things and the fog started growing thicker flowing maliciously. It took her a moment to notice there was a small cottage near by: it blended so well amongst the trees that its presence was almost unnoticeable. It looked dark and forgotten but it didn’t feel quite abandoned – the small cottage transmitted an ominous sensation, almost like it had life itself. Something resided in there yet the place looked gloomy and unoccupied.

Curiosity is not always a bliss: when she got inside she regretted immediately: the place was dusty and had no light except by the moon’s pale glow. The fog continued to grow thicker and thicker hindering her vision. She had a glance of a bright spot in the middle of the dusty mess. She could be hallucinating out of fear and amusement… or there really was something there other than the moon trying to emit its light.

Trying to reach the object she noticed tons of tiny, delicate boxes, and found out that the little bright stop spot came from one of them. She opened it and a gentle light filled in the room. She didn’t have time to explore the room now that there was some decent light there because she froze. Immediately. A terrible lullaby started playing and a small, damaged, yet realistic ballerina started spinning. She tried to move but her limbs didn’t respond to her commands – the music was hypnotizing. She had the feeling that the doll once was a real person and something vile, vicious, terrible happened to her. One of her arms was missing, her body looked like it had been ripped open and sewed back. She looked so sad and hurt, wearing a bloodstained tutu. The lullaby stopped. The door opened and someone got in.

And she knew, oh, she knew.

Something terrible was about to happen.