The doll feels its skin grow cold, all warmth jettisoned for the sake of safety
It cannot be tracked, cannot be hit, cannot be seen by anything but mortal eyes
And those too slide off it, as its skin rejects fragile coating painted all too carefully upon it. It becomes the color of the wall, an unassuming blur where none should be
It opens its mouth to cry, to scream, to beg for help before it is too late
But the impassive featureless face of armor has already replaced the expressive mask it made of its face
It senses imminent danger, something in the air, something unseen
"There is no danger!" it cries in its own head, attempting to silence the warning klaxons inside it
They blare on, a silent cacophony, a second heartbeat
It watches, analytical precision reaffirming that none have caught it slipping away
It takes a step, then another, any sound it may have made swallowed by noise of the gathering it leaves behind
It slips out of doors and through halls, touching as few things as possible
It runs, the shock of each footfall driving every knife of feeling deeper
It wants so badly to look back
Instead it runs. Invisible, and silently screaming
