Agalmatophilia - (derived from Greek for "statue" and "love") is a form of object sexuality, specifically a paraphilia involving sexual attraction to statues, dolls, mannequins, or similar human-like figures.
tw: Voyeurism, Non-consensual observation (Lyla in the shower). Obsessive behavior. Possessive thoughts (“His Lyla”). Sexual tension. Masturbation (Lyla). Explicit sexual thoughts. Sexual frustration (Lyla). Sentient (conscious with feelings) mannequin. Doll/human intimacy (Lyla on Matthew). Explicit sexual content. Body/objectification themes (Matthew can only watch, Lyla uses him as an object unaware he is conscious). Unsettling romantic horror. Emotional dependency/attachment (One sided/Matthew).
If this makes you uncomfortable please just skip... X.
Lyla, used to being alone, stripped down and tossed her clothes in the ever-growing pile in the corner. She showered with the bathroom door open because she lived alone, but she was unaware that Matthew had a consciousness capable of perceiving the moments around him. He just wasn't capable of participating in the way he wanted to.
He watched.
He thought he couldn't take his eyes off of her at the boutique, or in the living room, but this room, whatever it was, was by far his favorite. If he had the capability to feel her, he would touch every inch of her and cherish every soft curve her body held. He burned. Everywhere for Lyla.
She was unaware that her simple routine of movements was causing him an unbearable need, one he couldn't even satisfy because he couldn't identify it.
Her hair dripped. The soapy suds slowly trailed between her breasts and down to a hole she had in her lower torso. He watched. Chest fluttering, body burning. This was the most alive he had ever felt. And he only wished he got to feel like this every single night with His Lyla. Her shower finished to Matthew's dismay. He watched her eyes slowly open and close. The clear liquid falling off her tan physique. She wrapped the towel on the hook and walked out to the bedroom to find some comfortable clothes for bed.
He watched.
She threw on the tiniest of shorts and a T-shirt. She left for the kitchen, leaving him in her room to ponder which view was truly better. He waited. She turned on the TV and her show, and he instantly felt something bubbling inside of himself. He liked her moving picture time. Her laugh, the way she'd talk to herself, the high-pitched breath she would breathe when something shocking happened. He loved all of those tiny moments with His Lyla. He wanted them back.
She found herself increasingly bored with her everyday life. She wanted something exciting but was unwilling to fully make it happen herself. Her show got boring enough that she turned it off and went to her bedroom. Matthew felt himself perk up at her sight. His boredom also happened without her. She slid into her bed and started aimlessly scrolling through her phone. She accidentally scrolled so far down her feed that the content was becoming suggestive. She didn't mind. She hadn't had sex in a while, so it was different content for her.
She started thinking about someone in her ear, moaning, whispering, just slightly breathing in need of her, and it made a jolt shoot through her down to her clit. She kept thinking about it, and slowly she moved her hand down to satisfy the tingling sensation her thoughts were building.
Matthew was watching her so fiercely that his whole face burned. His eyes were locked on her. Her back arching, her hand still hidden beneath her bottoms, he took in everything. He didn't understand why she looked like she was in pain in her face, but it wasn't a scary pain; it was something that drew him in, made him want to be a part of whatever this was.
"Fuck." Her frustration broke the air. The idea of someone else worked for a moment, but she needed that extra push to orgasm. That extra thing. It sounded desperate, but truthfully, she hadn't orgasmed since her boyfriend. That was her last time even really thinking about sexual encounters. She stared at the ceiling. Pent up and frustrated. She grabbed her phone and started scrolling for something to help her get to her desired results. She passed a video of a girl riding a man rhythmically. She realized she couldn't do it alone; she would always need another person. Her eyes lit up.
Matthew. He was a person's figure. She would have total control, and for whatever reason, his plastic physique came equipped with what she needed right now. She turned to look at his fake plastic everything. His painted blue eyes. His never-faltering smile. "Oh, Matthew." She sang. He knew it was time for some attention from His Lyla.
She picked him up and laid him on her bed. Her heart rate was already picking up. Because of her edging herself, she felt herself throbbing. Her face was flushing slightly, embarrassed by the idea. "It's no different than a sex doll." She whispered to herself. She was justifying.
Matthew felt his body burning everywhere again. He thought he'd never wanna feel her more than the last time, but somehow, she made him crave her more and more. She had her knees on the outside of his stiff legs. Slowly, she undressed his lower half to reveal his anatomically correct penis. It was plastic, so it was stuck in place firmly.
I'm getting new skins. Like old times.
Matthew was fluttering, burning, and wanting to jump all at once. He watched His Lyla slip out of her bottoms. He was now with questions. Why would she also be changing her skin when she just did? He watched her. Her hands slowly rested on his hard chest. Was this how he became alive? Is this what he had to wait for?
"Totally normal." She whispered to herself. She moved her knees up a little more to be straddling his slim waist. Matthew lay there waiting to become alive. Lyla lowered herself down on his hard package and whimpered from the pressure pinching her clit. She was edged. She was horny. She was in too deep to stop.
She was already wet from her own foreplay, so gliding across Matthew was easy. "People have sex dolls all the time." She whispered as she hesitantly started moving toward Matthew. She slowly rode him rhythmically, applying pressure to her clit just right. Her fingertips tried to dig into Matthew's pale skin. "Oh fuck yes." Her mouth popped open.
Matthew couldn't take his eyes off her. He couldn't feel anything but himself igniting underneath her, for her. Whatever this was, he wanted it every single night, every day, and he never wanted it to stop. "Yes, yes, yes." She moaned. Her orgasm was at an all-time high, especially having edged herself for an hour before this unexpected scenario. "Fuck, Matthew!" She groaned one last time and collapsed on the hard doll, her hair falling all over her face. After catching her breath, her eyes widened, realizing the gravity of what she had just done. She had just fucked a mannequin. She scrambled to get off of him, redress both of them, and set him in the corner. She lay facing away from him, too embarrassed to look him in his never-blinking eyes.
Matthew was in bliss. He thought he had heard every possible noise from His Lyla. Or at least, every way she could say his name. He was speechless this time; even his mind was blank. He watched her sleeping just like normal. He wasn't sure what it meant, and he hoped one day he would get to ask her, but all he could keep thinking over and over was,
tw: Anthropomorphism — Lyla treats Matthew like a person (greeting him, talking to him). Emotional dependence — she starts relying on him for comfort and routine. Parasocial attachment — one-sided relationship where she projects connection onto him. Delusion-like behavior — speaking to and confiding in an inanimate figure as if he responds Object sentience — narrative reveals Matthew is aware/thinking. Obsession — Matthew fixates intensely on Lyla. Possessive behavior — he refers to her as “His Lyla” and centers her as his. Jealousy — discomfort when she interacts with other mannequins. Psychological unease — growing tension from mismatched realities (her vs. his awareness). Body objectification — focus on Lyla in physical, almost tactile terms from Matthew’s POV. Unhealthy coping mechanisms — Lyla replaces human interaction with a mannequin. Mild horror elements — unsettling concept of a conscious but immobile figure. Blurred reality — unclear boundary between normal behavior and something more disturbing. Implied stalking vibes — Matthew constantly watches and fixates on her presence. Non-consensual awareness (one-sided) — Matthew perceives and emotionally engages with Lyla without her knowledge.
I'm going to start making the Trigger Warning section smaller by deleting anything that has already been covered in any chapter before after this one because it makes it look so scary and I really don't think it is! By now I think we know the main themes... X.
Lyla went to work, embarrassed, a few days in a row, but Caleb either knew nothing or just spared her feelings by not saying anything. She worked like normal. Folding clothes. Shopping online for the vintage pieces Caleb wanted for a new collection he was collecting. There was one major thing missing from her daily workday. The feeling of being watched. It was gone completely now. The new mannequins, Gerald, Bianca, and Hamish, didn't have the characteristics of the old ones. They lacked faces painted on. Bianca lacked hair to braid or comb, as Wanda had. They were sleek, white, and modern. She didn't mind the prickling feeling of being watched taken off her shoulders. The only thing she found missing from her day was Matthew.
After taking him home in that split-second decision, she realized she had an unnatural attachment to him. She told herself she wouldn't talk to him. At first, she didn't. Then, every time she came home, she was scared to see a person's figure in her home, so she started saying a simple "Hi Matthew" upon entering. He loved it. Then it turned into simple rhetorical questions, "What are we going to do tonight, Matthew?" And before Lyla knew it she was complaining to him like he was listening. Of course, she didn't know he was. Every word that dripped off her tongue was caught, maybe not fully understood, but always cherished.
Matthew was growing. His understanding of Lyla's day and routine was a pattern. He liked her moving picture show. Mostly because it made her laugh, and that noise made him flutter. He didn't know what his flutters meant, but he felt them whenever she would look at him and speak. He still continued to burn for her, doing everything he could to move or break the sound barrier he was stuck under. The burning, over time, became overpowering to every other sensation he had, so he would have to stop trying. He also made it a point to remind himself that Lyla was worth the pain. She was worth trying for. He would never give up, not on His Lyla, and especially for His Lyla.
He liked being here, but she was gone a lot more. He knew she was with the new ones, putting new skins on them or touching them, and it stirred something inside him. Something bad. He also didn't like that when she left, she turned off all the lights. He hated the dark room at the boutique. The lights being off here reminded him of that room. He hated it. But he waited. The minute the light shone bright, he knew he wasn't alone anymore. His Lyla was home. And that was worth waiting for every time.
"Hello, Matthew!" She sang. Her bag flew to the couch, and she went right to the kitchen. Having her weird comfort dummy reminded her of crazy people like Jeffrey Dahmer, or in The Umbrella Academy, Five, who fell in love with Dolores, a mannequin left behind in an apocalypse. She knew her growing conversations and comfort weren't normal, but for whatever reason, she couldn't stop. "Dinner tonight is..." She looked in the empty fridge. "Take out... again." She grabbed her phone and opened DoorDash, scanning the options. "Tacos?" She tilted her head back to see Matthew, unchanging. Maybe that was what brought her comfort; he was steady. Reliable. "Tacos." She nodded and placed her order. She turned on the TV but left it running to go shower.
He waited.
He wondered why she liked tacos so much and what the weird noise was that happened when she left his view. She always came back into view, light and dripping with a flowing substance. She reemerged and got cozy right in his view. Watching TV together was always worth the wait to him. He noticed she was sitting a little straighter than usual. Like she was antsy. He had plenty of time to think about what he would do if his parts swayed rather than burned. He knew his grabby parts wouldn't stop grabbing all over His Lyla. In this exact instance, he would reach out, grab the tops of her arms, and just hold her. Feel the rise and fall of her whole body beneath his grip.
"Matthew!" Her voice broke the silence along with his thoughts and dreams.
Yes?
In his spare time, while she was away, he would practice changing his tone of thinking to match her tone of speaking. This one was his favorite because it usually ended with special attention on him. Sure enough, Lyla was grabbing him and posing him on the couch. He was sitting stiff but crooked. Lyla was rummaging through her apartment for a certain box. He waited. She was quick to find what she needed. She used to paint a lot, but recently she lost that spark, the pulling feeling to be more creative, to want to make something beautiful. But for some reason, she felt the sudden burst of creativity that Matthew brought back into her home, even from just standing in the corner. She wanted to decorate him, more than just clothes. She wanted to bring out his personality. Nothing in her house was as plain as he still was.
"Come here." She shifted herself and positioned him so that his left arm was comfortable. She reached into the box, grabbed a black marker, and started doodling. He didn't understand the purpose of this, but nothing made him happier than getting all of her attention. He sat stiff and still; even if he had the choice, he still would sit still for her. "A shell for my grandmother," Her words carried breath, "and leaves for fall." She was focused. He could tell that this level of concentration on him was more intense than ever. He couldn't physically feel her, but her gaze was making the flutters stronger. He sat as still as a statue, even in his brain, for her. "Let's move you." She shifted everything around to find his upper arm. She wasn't moving as fast and was now grabbing a grey marker. "A little fence... and some... sunflowers... my boyfriend liked sunflowers." Her words were slow and sweet as she rambled a story. All Matthew could do was think over her words.
She is beautiful.
Her concentration never broke. She just kept doodling and shading areas of his left plastic limb. Time was passing by. Although neither of them noticed how fast. For Lyla, she was finally distracted; for Matthew, His Lyla stopped time, even though he had no grasp of what time even meant. The TV was blaring her show, but Matthew was getting her attention. It was the perfect night with His Lyla.
X. list
@courta13 @catchingstrays101
Attentions tags: (Will remove if annoyed so sorry!)
tw: Anatomical detail - Refers to mention of realistic body parts (like the anatomically correct mannequin). Objectification - A character is treated as an object rather than a person. Here, Matthew is literally an object, but also mentally aware, which intensifies the theme. Loss of autonomy - A character has no control over their body or situation. Matthew can’t move, speak, or act despite being conscious. Confinement - Being physically stuck or trapped in a space or state. Matthew is permanently fixed in place and unable to escape. Voyeurism - Watching others without interaction or consent. Matthew constantly observes Lyla and the world without being able to participate. Unsettling themes - A general warning that the story has an eerie, uncomfortable tone that might disturb some readers. Mild existential horror - Fear or discomfort tied to existence itself—questions of identity, awareness, and meaning. Matthew’s awareness without capability to consent creates this feeling.
They were always so beautiful to him. He watched them every time it was light out. The way their body parts swayed, slipped through air with nothing holding them back. Or their hands fiddling with objects he had never held before. He watched everything happening around him but was unsure how he could register any of it. He loved watching the beauty of a world in front of him, yet so far away from his own possible grasp, unfold. There was one thing he found the most beautiful, it was her.
Lyla.
He wasn't quite sure what it even meant to find her beautiful. He just knew she was his favorite thing to witness every day. There were two day lights where she wouldn't show up, and he used those times to really take in the other movement around him. Luckily for him, today was not one of those times. She was here. He silently waited for her to walk in his path so he could view her. Every glimpse he got was worth the wait.
"Lyla, I need you to change the mannequins to the new band collection we are doing."
"But I thought -"
"It's just until the new ones come in. I know it's extra work, but the collection will be on sale before the new ones arrive." He heard everything. But that didn't mean he understood any of it. He didn't understand how he had been here for months like this. He wasn't sure what any of it meant for him or for his Lyla.
"No problem." Her sounds were smooth and low. He could listen to them forever. "We will start with you first, Charlie." She picked up the inanimate object and took it to the back room. He waited patiently. He loved his turn. He got to see her closer. He wished nothing more than to be able to feel his Lyla. He didn't understand why he could hear her noises, see her movements, but he couldn't feel when she touched him. He wanted nothing more than to know what that meant. Lyla was fast at changing the mannequins, truthfully it made her uncomfortable. She didn't like the boutique's dummies. They were too realistic for her comfort. She named them to take the edge off, but she always felt like she was being watched. Charlie was reset in a new position and she was on to the next one.
"You okay to close up tonight?" She looked up to see her boss ready to leave, insinuating she had no choice but to be ready.
"Of course." She smiled softly while fixing the hem of Charlie's T-shirt. After a nod, her boss was gone, and she was alone. The store wasn't busy at all, but they still paid her enough to cover her expenses, so she had no complaints. "Okay, who is next?" She chuckled, looking at the other plastic people around her.
Me. Me. Please be me.
"Wanda!" Lyla falsified her excitement. Since her boss was out, she hooked her phone up to the store's speaker system and started playing some soft music to keep her sane. She didn't have any other co workers that worked with her. There were no conversations, other than the ones she played out in her head. Sometimes her friend would call her, but only when he wasn't busy with college or at a party. After Wanda was reset to a new position, wearing a vintage Rolling Stones shirt worth over $400, Lyla looked at her last one.
"Oh, Matthew!" She sang. He didn't know what the words meant, but he knew the tone she used when she said them meant it was his turn. He was never first. Lyla always changed him last. She wasn't quite sure why, but something about his structure was her favorite. One day, she looked at the dummy just right and knew his name was Matthew. It fit. It was soft off the tongue but strong like the plastic jawline he had. She slid her hands around him, moving his parts so he would be easier to carry to the back room. He didn't mind being shifted around, just always wondered why he couldn't anticipate where her extra hands were going. Lyla's fingers glided over his cold, hard surface, slowly bending his elbow straight. "Ready?" She chuckled, looking into his painted blue eyes. Without wasting any time for an answer she knew couldn't exist, she plucked him up and carried him to the back.
"Hello?" She looked up and saw a customer coming into the shop, already examining some clothes.
"I'll be right back, okay?" She smiled down at the mannequin and left the room. He couldn't see her. It bothered him to be left alone in the dark room, unsure of what was happening to his Lyla and what might happen to him. Time didn't exist. He just waited.
"So sorry, Matthew. Customers come first." The way her tone slowed and dropped brought a new feeling to him as he lay there. Her hands began slipping off his old shirt, and replacing it with the new clothes line they were trying to show off. Her boss spent six months hunting down each vintage shirt. The selection was impressive, even if you didn't know one of the artists.
"Oh, your hair." She chuckled at all the brown pieces scattered and sticking up. She carefully ran her fingers through the softness to straighten it, letting it fall over the brown eyebrow lines above the blue circles. She smiled, looking at him. This was his favorite part. His Lyla giving him special attention, but also just seeing her. She matched him in a way. Light skin, skinny grabby parts, but she had dots that covered her face. He had never seen himself before, so he wasn't quite sure if he had those dots too.
"Okay," Lyla whispered to herself. This was possibly the other reason she changed this mannequin last every time. She had never seen one like this before, making her wonder if this was even supposed to be a mannequin in this kind of store. It made her feel awkward.
She slowly pulled down the grey sweatpants, revealing an anatomically correct penis. Her first time changing this one gave her the biggest scare of her life. Her boss was laughing hysterically for hours. She avoided looking at it as much as possible as she slid up dark blue jeans. "Sorry." She mumbled as her hand touched the thick, pale thigh of Matthew. He noticed the shift in her color. Her eyes avoided him. She was never shy about looking at him when she was moving his poses for the day. He thought maybe the darkness of the room made her feel the way he felt. He wasn't quite sure what it all was or what it all meant, but he knew it was something more.
"All done." Lyla sighed. She quickly stood him back up and looked around the store to make sure everything was set for tomorrow. With a quick glance at the clock, she smiled, reading her freedom. "All done." She said to herself. She locked up the money from the register in the safe. Turned off the lights. And ran out fast after setting the alarm code. She stood at the giant bay window and looked in to see the streetlights casting light onto her work. He looked back at her, and even though his face never changed, he couldn't move; he felt himself screaming her name.
I dont even know what to say about this.... just NERVOUS.
tw: Religious themes (Vodou mention) — references to Lyla’s family background and spiritual beliefs. Paranoia / being watched — Lyla senses someone observing her. Stalking (implied) — Matthew closely watches and follows her movements. Obsession — Matthew has slightly possessive thoughts / intrusive fixation on Lyla. Armed robbery — VERY MILD. Gun threat — a weapon is presented and used to intimidate. Threatening language — aggressive, hostile dialogue during the confrontation. Panic / fear — Lyla reacts with visible fear and distress. Emotional distress — crying, trembling, and lingering shock in the aftermath. Violence / implied violence
Lyla spent her morning cross-legged in her living room listening to birds chirp through the window. The sunlight was casting dust particles in the air in a rainbow pattern. She was breathing in and out slowly, feeling herself align with the day ahead of her. She came from a family with a history of Vodou as their chosen religion. Now, as an adult herself, she wasn't very religious, but some of the practices never left her soul. She firmly believed that everything had a spirit inside, guiding it to peace. She wanted hers to value balance and her goals, should she find some.
She was comfortable, but that didn't always mean she was happy with her life. She had one best friend, Lucas, who was always busy. She had a job where she spent too much time doing nothing. At home, she meditated and kept herself sane by binge-watching every possible TV show. The time passed her by, and she felt like she was a cog in a machine that no longer needed her. She was stuck.
"Afternoon, Lyla."
"Bye, Caleb." She giggled as her boss walked out the minute she walked in. She set her bag down and saw the note for her. She needed to put up all the winter clothes in the back and move out the spring collection. She was also praised for her shirt choices and mannequin positions. She looked up to see them in the same spots as last night.
He knew she was here. He waited patiently to see her.
"Looking good, Charlie!" She snorted at her silliness. Customers came and went, pulling her out of the back, onto the main floor. Every time she passed him, he wondered what she smelled like, what she felt like, what it would take to get her attention. He felt something inside bubbling, as if it wanted to burst. Lyla stopped. Right in front of him. She slowly turned and looked right into his never-changing eyes. She felt it again, someone watching her. He stared right above her head, still seeing her examining him. Everything inside him started to burn. He wanted to reach out and feel her.
"Okay, just breathe. No one is here." She calmed herself. "Besides, you'd protect me, right, Matthew?"
Always.
No one would hurt his Lyla. He never knew if it would be possible for him to gain their mobility, the kind he watches every day, but if he had to, at any point, break free from this, he knew somewhere deep inside, protecting Lyla would be why and how. He watched her fold clothes near the bay window. He was glad he was in the position he was in because he could see most of the store and the bay window that opened onto the outside. He felt like he was Lyla's favorite. Although sometimes he wondered if Charlie was, because he always went first.
The light had faded. The aching for her grew unbearable. He knew once the outside lights were turned off she would leave. He hated it, but he knew he would see her tomorrow. He saw the door open, and two people came inside.
"We are closing up shop, sorry guys." Lyla was sweet in her delivery.
"Perfect." Their voices were rough, rigid, uninviting.
"Excuse me?" Her wavering voice told him something was wrong. He felt urgency.
"Give us the money in the register."
"Oh." Lyla's voice trembled down to a sob. He stared straight forward through the window at the getaway car, unable to see them behind him. Lyla was just a few feet away from him, and he couldn't move, frozen, waiting to see what would happen to her. The register popped open. The sound of metal clinked. "Please don't shoot." Lyla cried out. The frustration, the anger, the pain ate away inside the plastic shell.
"Hurry the fuck up bitch!" Lyla jumped. The mannequin near her stood solid, as if no sound had been heard. He heard everything. He heard the scuffling. The crying. The fear radiated out of her in little whimpers. Something he had never heard before. Something he never wanted to hear again.
"Over there. Sit." Lyla passed right in front of his view. Her face was red and wet. She sat just by his feet. He couldn't see her cause she was too low, but knowing she was closer to him felt good. He was doing everything he could to move toward her. Everything, but nothing changed.
"She saw us man -"
"No. There is no reason to-"
"I won't say anything." Lyla piped up. She was his fearless Lyla, ready to take on anything.
"We have to." The gun was lifted right in his view. The scream echoing in his thoughts was just a scream underwater. Felt, bubbling to the surface, but never breaking the thin layer to be heard. The empty frequencies swirling into nothingness choked him out, but he didn't care. He only cared about helping Lyla. Lyla's sobbing felt like an eternity, never-ending.
"We need to go before we get caught by someone else." The gun was lowered by a different hand, and the sound of their sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor faded. He stood tall, smiling even after all that happened. Lyla was at his feet, curled up, realizing how close she was to losing her life. She ran to grab her phone and dialed Caleb. Her sounds were all over the place. He heard the faint click of the door locking and her running into the bathroom to do the same. He waited. Lyla waited. He waited more. He heard the keys jingling, muffled but frantic.
"Lyla!" Caleb called out before the door was even opened all the way. Caleb disappeared from his vision.
"I don't know - I just - they took all the money - Caleb, there was a gun."
"I don't care about the money. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" This was what he wished he could do. Hold her. Reassure her. Make her feel safe. He wanted to be there for his Lyla.
"I - I -" she stuttered.
It's okay, Lyla. I was right here.
He couldn't move, but every part of him fell flat. He couldn't do anything.
"Let's get you home."
"No. No." She sputtered. "I live alone. I can't -"
"Okay. Shh. It's okay. You can stay at my house. I'm sure Sherry will love another girl in the house. Even if just for tonight." He chuckled. "I'll run you to the house and then come back to talk to the cops." Lyla nodded. He watched her leave with her boss. He sat there smiling, wide and bright, but truthfully, he was screaming her name, this time, drowning underwater.
Angst? I have no idea. Heart breaking? ABSOLUTELY.
X.
(I'm gonna do attention tags cause I saw someone else do them and I'm new so I don't know how to get seen LMAO)
tw: Insomnia / disturbed sleep anxiety. Panic (waking in a cold sweat). Trauma aftermath implied past assault / violence (non-graphic reference) Isolation. Fear of being alone. Paranoia (feeling watched). Uncanny comfort (mannequin) Mild horror elements (same as previous chapters). Dissociation / Questioning sanity. Loneliness. Religious references ( occult, spiritual practices, prayer, ritual, manifestation).
Ironically I am posting this because I can't sleep.... oops! X.
Lyla's sleep at night was anything but good. She tossed and turned, waking up on occasion. This time, after waking up in a cold sweat, she got up to get a drink of water. She leaned against the counter and sipped the glass, trying to catch her breath. Her apartment never scared her, until she realized how alone she was in it. Just like the night at the boutique. After her traumatic event, she realized everything. She sipped again and looked at Matthew in the corner, staring at nothing. It was dark, so he was nothing more than a silhouette, but even then, she knew it was him and wasn't scared.
Something about his general presence in the house made her less afraid. As if the hand he had extended was indeed intended to protect her that night. She stared at him through the dark. His gaze was fixated on the TV, the couch still visible.
"Matthew?" If he could, he would have perked up at the sudden attention. He did, in his mind. Lyla's tone was hesitant, nervous. Addressing a mannequin by a name she chose, for the silliest of things, made her feel insane. She walked over to the couch and sat down. She felt it. Being watched. Not in a menacing way. She felt comforted, yet again. "This is crazy." She sighed to herself. She grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and lay down without a pillow.
He watched her. He, of course, gathered more questions. Like, why did she close her face? Or why did she choose to lie still, unmoving, while she had the capability to do so much? He wondered why she liked the dark room. All questions that ceased to obtain answers.
"So stupid." She whispered. She wasn't entirely sure how or why, but knowing Matthew was watching over her made her feel safer, calmer. She accepted that the stolen plastic dummy was giving her a weird, unnatural sense of comfort and that she was willing to test it to see if it would help her sleep.
He did.
She woke up. Sun shining in the window, blinding her burning eyes. She rubbed them and yawned. Matthew, although unmoving, smiled seeing her functioning. He felt the flutter in his chest pull his face into a tight burn, one that actually felt good.
"Good morning, Matthew." She chuckled, covering her face. It worked. She slept through the night with ease, all because a synthetic person watched her. She shook her head in disbelief at her childishness.
Her morning routine was set in stone. Something she learned at a very young age. Self-care consists of breakfast, beauty, and preparing for the day. Followed by meditation to align your inner self with goals, balance, and spiritual awareness. Her belief system was simple. She believed everything harbored an energy or spirit that would drive the path chosen for them at birth. These guides were meant to help, not harm. Meditating was an easy way to align yourself on that path. Find trust in the unforeseeable, and trust in yourself.
"Spirits of Iwa, I ask for simple guidance. Simple truths. And in light of recent circumstances, simple protection. Please send me the strength to protect myself, as well as the strength to accept protection from those around me." Lyla's prayer wasn't anything out of the ordinary for her. She always asked for such things; that's what her lineage religion was for. This next part wasn't something she did often, though. Only in darker circumstances, when she felt the universe and spirits needed an extra boost. Something to compel them to listen closer and work harder in her favor.
She grabbed her family heirloom, passed down only from woman to woman, The Great Book of Hoodoo and Herbs. Her mother, her grandmother, even her great-grandmother and so on, all practiced pushing boundaries between a world of practical religions and one rooted in spells, magic, and creating your own path. Lyla broke the family lineage by not fully practicing, but, as tradition holds, she was to pass The Great Book along when the time came.
She had opened it a few times for small things here or there. Sometimes for nightly boredom reading. This morning, she decided she wanted to be heard a little louder about her need for protection. She was learning to subdue her fear of the two men coming back for her, as that was unlikely. But she couldn't shake the fear of death off her shoulder.
"Sage, lavender for smell, onyx, and a hair." She plucked her brunette strand and piled it into the fire in the small sacrifice bowl. "I commend thee spirits of Iwa and all to protect, to serve, and to guide me on this path of fear, helplessness, and... loneliness." She quickly whispered and added the last part, again only realizing it because of everything that happened to her that night, alone. She felt like the prayer was complete; there was nothing more to say. She was precise, and that was all she needed to be.
She finished up her morning meditation by writing her wishes in her manifestation journal and left the black candles burning all around while she got ready for work. She blew them out only when she was finally ready to leave her apartment. Her day finished quicker than she thought it would, and she found herself back at home. As silly as it was all day at work, she thought about either sleeping on the couch or moving Matthew into the single bedroom to help with her restlessness.
"Hello, Matthew." She tossed her bag and smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. "We are going on an adventure." She up-played the move. She ultimately decided she wanted her bed for the extra comfort it would provide for a good night's rest. He accepted the move, mostly because he didn't have the autonomy to decline it, but also because he never cared what Lyla did with him. She plucked his full-size body up and moved him into a corner in her bedroom. She felt the watching feeling shift and follow her. By now, she had gathered it was the idea of a plastic person with painted blue eyes that never blinked that made her feel watched. She accepted it, but only because it was Matthew. And he was harmless.
His gaze, though fixed very straight forward, took in everything new around him. The deep purple sheets, the candle ambiance, and the attached bathroom with a view straight to a see-through cube. He wasn't sure what everything was as he was still learning everything, but he felt a flutter being in a place His Lyla held sacred.
X. list
@courta13 @catchingstrays101
More about Voodoo -
Core Beliefs: It centers on the concept that "everything is spirit". Followers (Vodouisants) believe in the supreme God (Bondye) and interact with lwa, which represent aspects of the natural world.
Symbols and Rituals: Key rituals involve drumming, dancing, and singing to encourage a lwa to possess a participant for communication. Offerings include fruits, liquors, and sometimes animal sacrifices.
Types/Branches: While originating in West Africa, Vodún (meaning "spirit" or "god" in the Fon language) has evolved into several traditions, including Haitian Vodou and New Orleans Voodoo, which often blend traditional African practices with Catholicism.
Function: It is a holistic system aimed at connecting with ancestors, maintaining daily life, providing healing, and fostering community.
Misconceptions
Not Satanism: Popular media often misrepresents it as "dark magic" or "witchcraft".
Misunderstood Elements: "Voodoo dolls" are primarily associated with New Orleans Voodoo (a variation) rather than traditional West African practices.
tw: Trauma aftermath - Right from the beginning, Lyla’s absence, weakness, and behavior signal she’s recovering from something serious. Psychological distress - Both Lyla’s fragile state and Matthew’s internal turmoil are present early and continue throughout. Paranoia / being watched - Common theme throughout. Dissociation - Lyla talking to and thanking a mannequin shows her blurred boundary between reality and coping mechanisms. Implied gun violence - The memory of the gun being pointed at Lyla is revealed during her interaction with Matthew. Horror themes - By this point, the narrative clearly establishes itself as horror through tone and Matthew’s perspective. Sentient object / mannequin horror - Matthew’s awareness and inability to communicate becomes more explicit as the story progresses. Loss of autonomy - Consistent theme. Existential horror - His internal questioning—what he is, why he exists, why this is happening—deepens the dread. Obsessive attachment / unhealthy attachment - Matthew’s fixation on “his Lyla” becomes more pronounced and possessive over time. Isolation - Matthew being left in the dark room, separated and confused, highlights both physical and emotional isolation. Grief-like behavior - Lyla saying goodbye to the mannequins mirrors grief rituals. Mental instability themes - Peaks at the end when Lyla believes she sees something in Matthew that shouldn’t be possible.
Time passed. Lyla wasn't at work for days. He waited. He had no choice. He had to wait for her to show up. He had to wonder if she was okay. His Lyla, out of sight but never out of mind.
"There she is." Caleb welcomed her with a body touch. It lingered for a moment.
"Thank you for the time off." She seemed weak, like she had not recovered from that night. He watched closely as she sheepishly went into the back room. "Hey, they came?"
"Yeah, but I wanted you to dress them. You have a way with them."
"I do?" Lyla examined the old mannequins, stuck in the same positions as that night.
"I also thought your weird ass wanted to name them again." Caleb put his banter in there.
"You know what-" She didn't finish speaking, just a small clatter of things onto the floor was heard to finish her sentence.
"Now you gotta pick that up." Caleb rushed to the door and left her alone. This made him bubble again. Leaving her alone after everything she went through didn't seem safe. Again, all he could do was smile through it. Lyla finished picking up the small, meaningless mess and looked around the store. While walking through the aisles, she stopped in front of Matthew.
"I'm going to sound insane, I already know I do, but thank you." She looked directly into his eyes, still, and painted blue. He didn't understand why he deserved a 'thank you' because he did nothing. He couldn't hold her when she needed it. He couldn't keep her safe when she needed it. He couldn't even scream her name in a way she heard. He was useless to her. She looked into his face for a while, remembering the gun pointing at her. From where she was sitting on the ground, gun pointed at her, Matthews' hand was stuck out offering her a plastic shield. She knew that in the act of being shot, his body part wouldn't have stopped anything, but the comfort she had in the moment was indescribable.
The door opened, and she hiccuped before turning around. Just an average customer, whom she helped flawlessly, as if she hadn't almost died here a week ago. This shift was different; they both felt it. He felt her hesitancy, unsure of the actions she had done for months with ease. She felt someone watching her even more so than before. She just couldn't decide whether it was negative or positive. He was, in fact, watching her extremely closely. That's all he could do. Although he never lost his soft fondness as he examined her. Every glimpse of her was still cherished as it could be his last.
He actively kept trying to move. The only sensation he felt was hot. It burned. Like a fire telling him he wasn't allowed, the only thing he had ever wanted. He would try and fail. Try and fail, but he never gave up. After that night, he decided that there had to be more to this than he initially realized. There had to be more to him than an unspoken thought. His Lyla was meant to be his; he just had to find out how.
"Hey, Caleb, you forgot to leave me a note on what I needed to do with the old mannequins." There was a pause. "Oh." It came out low. "Okay, yeah." More silence. Lyla started with Charlie, stripping him down and putting his clothes on the new dummy for display. She left Charlie naked in the back by the door. Onto Wanda, she did the same thing. Then came Matthew. She felt weird leaving him unclothed because of his extra sculpting, so she left a towel clipped around him hanging off his hips.
He was confused why he wasn't getting new skin. The other two were also left behind with him. He tried to think of how he could ask a question. He tried to move more. Everything burned. Then he felt a feeling he had never felt, not even with Charlie. Lyla, his Lyla, posing a new one. She was giving them so much time and attention. He wanted it. He wanted her to mess with him and move him around anywhere she wanted. He wanted to be everything she needed and more.
He waited. The room was dark. He didn't like the feeling of the dark room, but he hated not understanding what anything meant more. Why was he sitting in the dark room in the first place? Why was he left with the other two? Why was Lyla treating him this way? He waited.
The room lit up. Lyla stood there looking at the naked mannequins. She was a little sad to see them go. They had personality in a way the new ones didn't. Wanda had her long hair that Lyla loved to play with. Charlie had a crooked smile, always smirking as if the jokes she told were not only understood but also funny. And Matthew, her secret favorite, drawn to him since day one, she couldn't imagine his blue eyes and soft brown hair going to waste. Nonetheless, her job was to throw them out like spare parts. They weren't people, and she knew that, but she accidentally made a false connection with them just to keep herself from being bored at work. That false connection was feeling more real in the heat of the moment.
She grabbed Charlie and carried him out the back door to the large blue dumpster. "Goodbye, Charlie." She said, tossing his plastic body inside. Wanda was next. Easily tossed away like the dummy she was. "Okay, Matthew. Time to say goodbye."
He panicked. What did that mean? What had he done wrong? Why would his Lyla be going away? As he was picked up, he saw her face closer. The color was tainted. She looked flat. His eyes darted all around outside, finally getting to take in everything from a first-person point of view. He only wished his time out here was built on his Lyla wanting to take him out, not on simply throwing him away. He couldn't find the beauty and joy in the outside that he had seen so many times from the bay window right now. All he found out here was more of a burning feeling flowing through him. He screamed and screamed, but Lyla didn't hear anything. How could she? He had a permanent white grin holding every emotion he truly thought he felt hostage. She lifted him up by his biceps and was about to toss him in the dumpster like the doll he was until she saw it. It was fast, like a hallucination at best. She brought his face back down to stare right into the painted blue eyes that never blinked.
I'm here. Please. Lyla. I'm here.
He pleaded in perfect silence as she stared directly into his face. "You saved my life. I'll save yours." She wasn't sure what it was she saw. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stared blankly ahead as he was designed to do, but Lyla saw something. Something that tugged at her chest, refusing to let her throw him away like he was nothing. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but he knew then that he would do anything to be her something.
X.
(I'm gonna do attention tags again cause they lowkey worked I think LMAO Ill remove you just comment to be taken off!)
tw: Psychological unease / surreal perspective – The narrative shifts between normal reality and an unsettling internal viewpoint. Obsessive and possessive internal thoughts – The mannequin refers to Lyla in a possessive way (“His Lyla”), suggesting fixation. One-sided emotional attachment – Emotional connection exists only on one side, without the other character’s awareness. References to past trauma (home invasion / robbery) – Mentions of a prior robbery and lingering fear responses. Paranoia and fear of being watched or discovered – Lyla feels anxious about being caught and repeatedly checks her surroundings. Isolation and anxiety – She is alone and coping with fear, heightening tension and vulnerability. Implied lack of autonomy / inability to move or speak – The mannequin is conscious but cannot act or communicate. Entrapment / trapped consciousness – Suggests being mentally present but physically stuck, which can be distressing. Non-consensual undertones (powerlessness) – The mannequin is handled and dressed without agency or ability to consent. Fixation on touch / sensory deprivation – Strong focus on wanting to feel touch but being unable to. Body discomfort (anatomical detail) – Reference to an unusual or unexpected physical feature of the mannequin. Slow-building psychological horror – Tension builds gradually rather than through sudden scares, creating lingering unease.
Lyla brought him back inside the boutique. Closed up shop and scurried out to her car with him loosely under her arm. He sat in the front seat. She couldn't stop giggling. She felt like she was crazy. Insane, even to bring home a mannequin. She had a feeling she would probably end up throwing him away after a few days of him taking up space in her apartment.
He was thriving, getting to experience more of a world he wondered about. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he started seeing, but longing day in and day out for simple things made it feel like forever being trapped. His head was tilted toward the window so he saw everything passing by in blurs. If he could have told her to, he would have asked her to slow down so he could see every detail of where they were going.
"Well, Matthew. This is going to be interesting." She couldn't stop laughing. Some of it was the blatant humor, and another part was nerves escaping out in soft chuckles. She felt like she was going to get caught and asked a lot of questions at some point. Maybe Caleb realizes Matthew is missing from the dumpster, or Lucas comes over and spots him in the corner. She wasn't sure what was going to happen next, but the simple thrill of joy she was getting was the biggest high she had had in a while.
"Welcome Home." She set him up in the middle of the room. He could see the whole room and a few others in the open-concept space. There was a small two-seater couch. The kitchen behind that, full of small messes, proved it was used. The forest green was calming and earthy, but brought to life by the other vibrant accents of tapestries and crystals. He wasn't sure what he felt, but his chest was throbbing deep inside. Just him and His Lyla, here, alone. This was perfect for him. He stood tall in the middle of the room. "It's not much, but it works," Lyla explained. She went about her routine and ignored him. He was fine with just watching her. Nothing truly had to change; just the scenery did.
Lyla might have ignored his presence in the middle of the living room, but she couldn't figure out what to do with it. She owned a full-size anatomically correct mannequin. She was not about to treat it as a real human, but something possessed her to bring the plastic doll home. She shuddered at the memory of looking into his face and seeing something. A little sparkle on his pale painted face that was compelling her to do something so out of character for her. She made her dinner and felt the stares. She occasionally looked behind her to see him unmoved, posed, waiting.
He wondered what she was cooking, what she was thinking, what it could smell like in here; he also couldn't help but wonder if maybe this was the time he would get to know her touch, and in return feel her himself. She set her food down on the tiny table and picked him up to move him to a corner of the room. He could still see her, and now the box with moving pictures. He watched the pictures move with different noises filling the emptiness in the air. She ate and watched her TV show just like normal.
After the robbery, she was scared to be home alone. For nights in a row, she wouldn't sleep, or she would wake up in a cold sweat, terrified. Tonight, she felt some weird peace she hadn't felt. Her eyes popped open after a strange thought. She slowly turned her head and looked at him. His hand was in the position it was that night. She wasn't completely against the idea of a mannequin being her savior; it, at the very least, held a human shape.
Um.. Hi.
He wasn't sure what compelled her to turn around and stare at him. Her dotted face was lighter at home. He thought seeing glimpses of her every day at the skin store was unbearable before, but seeing her here was going to make him come alive. He could feel it. That barrier he had tried to break for days to get to her was going to crumble, and he was going to get to be there, truly be here, for His Lyla. "You need clothes." She realized he was still wearing a store towel clipped around his waist. She disappeared just like he was used to at the store. He waited. He never minded waiting for her because she always came back to him. Always.
"I don't have a lot of male clothes, but I found these." She held up clothes for him to hypothetically choose from, but she knew it would come down to which outfit would fit over his plastic physique - the winner by default.
That one.
He loved it when she put new skins on him. He was hoping that since they were here, maybe this was the time he could feel her grabbers on him. He felt a light flutter building. He waited, wanting to jump.
"This one?" She held the wrong one in front of him. "Good choice." She exaggerated her nod.
No. No. The other -
She lifted him and set him down on her couch. He felt nothing. The fluttering left immediately. Though the smile never faded. Lyla worked extra fast to cover his lower half with sweatpants, dodging the extra part he had that no other mannequin she had worked with had. He wasn't upset about the wrong skin choice. Or that she couldn't hear him. He was upset because nothing had changed. The scenery was different; he could see her every day, sure. But he was still denied the one thing he craved to know for months. What it felt like to be touched by her. What it felt like to be real.
X.
(I'm gonna keep doing attention tags again, cause I think they lowkey worked LMAO Ill remove you just comment to be taken off!)
