Vera
"I'm your problem now." Did I arrive on your doorstep? It's time to play.
Discovery Notes
1872, Hudson Valley, New York
Warning Issued
If you adopt her, o not let Vera face an open doorway after dark—she is still waiting for someone to return. Never play wedding music in her presence. Even a few notes of a march may wake her longing. If she begins to shift positions overnight, recite softly: “The promise is broken, Vera. You may rest.” If you decide to move her on, tie a small ring to a length of white thread and place it gently in Vera’s lap. Leave it untouched for one full night. If the thread is tangled—or the ring is missing—do not search for it. Do not question where it’s gone. She will be ready to move on to the next person.
Last Known Account
Vera was once a hopeful bride, her gown hand-stitched over a hundred quiet nights, her vows written in lilac ink. The morning of her wedding, the sky was clear, the church bells rang, and the guests arrived—but her groom did not.
What they found instead was Vera seated at the altar, veil drawn, holding a doll—identical to herself, with cornflower blue eyes and soft blonde curls. No one knew where the doll had come from. Vera wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t blink. She simply hummed a song no one recognized, rocking the doll in her arms.
She vanished before nightfall.
The doll remained—smiling, silent, and always facing the door. Over the years, she has appeared in antique shops, attics, even bridal boutiques—drawn to endings that never began.
If you bring Vera home, you may wake to the faint scent of lilacs, the sound of rustling tulle, or find your own reflection wearing her veil.
This doll has already been summoned and is no longer available.