Ghosts Of The Dead

The moment Asher took control, the lifeless doll transformed. Its wooden joints moved with an uncanny smoothness, mirroring the grace and fluidity of a living being. 

It unsteadily hopped off the shelf, landing on the wooden floor with a soft thud. Despite the diminutive size of the body he was controlling, Asher's every movement exuded an unmistakable authority and dominance, albeit amusing in his present form.

Once on the floor, the doll stood still for a moment, the eerie emerald light in its eyes flickering like tiny, contained infernos, "Why am I in a different room?" Asher mumbled to himself in a voice that sounded like soft wind chimes, the words emanating from the small figure before him.

His bewilderment made him guess, "Did Grace move me for dusting or something?" he mumbled, his voice tiny.

With a determined nod to himself, Asher made the doll's wooden limbs move, beginning the long journey across the vast landscape of the room.