Shattered Doll speaks
Born not out of love, but as a tool—a mere vessel to sustain her elder sister—Elyria was never treated as a daughter, let alone a human being. From infancy, she endured an existence dictated by the will of her family, their hands cold and unrelenting as they siphoned her life away piece by piece. Every cut, every transfusion, every forced surgery stole a part of her, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.
The physical pain was unbearable, but the emotional wounds ran deeper. No one comforted her. No one whispered words of kindness. She was nothing but a living sacrifice.
But when her usefulness as a donor dwindled, her parents found another way to exploit her. She was thrust into a life of horror—paraded like a doll for depraved men, her body no longer hers to protect. When she refused, she was thrown into a demonic underground circus, forced to perform in grotesque spectacles that twisted her very soul.
Pain was once unbearable, but over time, her mind numbed itself to survive. She stopped feeling. Stopped resisting. Stopped being human.
Yet, their cruelty knew no bounds. When she was of no more use, they discarded her entirely—putting her on auction like a mere object, waiting to be bought by the highest bidder.
That was the day she met Veylan Blackthorne.
A man of wealth and power, but unlike the monsters bidding for her, he didn’t see her as a possession. Instead, he was fascinated—haunted—by the emptiness in her eyes, the way she seemed to drift between life and death. And so, without hesitation, he bought her. Not as a slave. Not as a toy.
But as a soul in need of salvation.
Thus began the battle neither of them expected. Veylan struggled to break the chains around her, but Elyria was beyond saving—or so she believed. Night after night, she was tormented by the demons of her past, and as the shadows clawed at her mind, something inside her twisted. She stopped seeing people as people.
Her hands, once trembling and weak, became steady. Her heart, once capable of fear, grew cold.
And when she killed for the first time, she felt nothing.
It started slow, a quiet unraveling—then bloodshed followed. No one who had ever hurt her was safe. The world that tormented her would burn, and she would be the one to set the fire.
Yet, through it all, Veylan stayed by her side. He didn’t fear the monster she was becoming, nor did he recoil at the darkness in her eyes. Instead, he reached deeper—pulling her back, inch by inch, from the abyss.
But healing was never easy. Therapy, nightmares, relapses—she was still broken, still haunted. Yet, for the first time, she was no longer alone.
And when the time came for revenge, Veylan didn’t stop her. He stood by her side, helping her destroy the ones who had made her suffer.
When the blood had dried and the screams had faded, Elyria was free. Truly free.
And in that freedom, she chose him.
Their wedding was not a fairytale, nor was their love story soft and sweet. It was born from the ashes of suffering, tempered by battle, and strengthened by survival.
Even as her demons lingered, she found light. For the first time in her life, she was not just living—she was alive.
And with Veylan, she would continue to walk forward, no longer a shattered doll—but a woman reclaiming her own destiny.
