Chapter 3: The Unseen Force:"Some things are better left undisturbed. But when the past demands to be heard, there’s no turning back."

Praew's heart pounded in her chest as the ancient book fell closed in her hands. The storeroom felt colder, the shadows pressing in from all sides, suffocating her. The whispers had grown louder, more insistent, a chorus of voices reverberating through the walls.

*Help me… help me…* The words echoed in her mind, clawing at her consciousness, a persistent tug in the depths of her thoughts. She glanced around frantically, as though the very room itself had come alive, its walls breathing with an otherworldly presence.

*This is insane,* she thought, her mind racing for a rational explanation. *It's just a doll. Just a book. I'm imagining things.*

But as she looked down at the book in her hands, she knew deep down that this wasn't her imagination. She had touched the cursed doll, and now it was pulling her into a world she wasn't prepared for.

With trembling fingers, she opened the book again, her eyes scanning the pages for anything that might give her some understanding of what she was dealing with. The words blurred before her, but she forced herself to focus.

*"The doll is not simply an object. It is a gateway to the spirit world, a vessel for a vengeful spirit trapped between worlds. Once it has found a host, it will do anything to feed, drawing its victim deeper into its curse until they can no longer escape."*

Praew's stomach twisted in fear. The words were clear now, as if they were written just for her. She had become the doll's next victim.

Suddenly, the door of the storeroom slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing like thunder. Praew spun around, her breath catching in her throat. The room felt smaller, more oppressive. She reached for the door handle, but it wouldn't budge.

*No. No, no, no…* She yanked harder, but the door remained locked, as if something—or someone—was holding it shut.

A cold, low laugh filled the air, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned slowly, her heart racing as she felt the presence of something behind her. She wasn't alone.

In the corner of the room, the doll sat. Its once-dormant eyes now gleamed with an unnatural light, its head tilted slightly, as if watching her, waiting for her to make the next move.

Praew's breath caught in her throat. She couldn't look away, her eyes fixed on the doll as if she were drawn to it against her will. She felt the familiar chill creeping up her spine again, and her hand instinctively reached for the doll.

The moment her fingers brushed against the porcelain surface, a surge of energy pulsed through her. A flash of images—images of pain, sorrow, and rage—flooded her mind, overwhelming her senses. She saw a woman's face, twisted in agony, her mouth open in a silent scream. She saw hands reaching out from the shadows, grasping at her, pulling her deeper into the darkness.

And then, just as suddenly, the vision stopped. Praew gasped for air, her heart pounding in her chest. She stumbled backward, dropping the doll to the floor.

She had seen it. The spirit. The curse. It was real.

"Praew…" The voice came again, this time from behind her, soft and slow. It wasn't the doll this time, but something else—something darker. Praew turned slowly, her heart sinking in her chest.

The room around her had changed. The shelves of old equipment, the dusty boxes—they were all gone. Instead, the walls were cracked and stained, as if the room had decayed over years of neglect. And standing in the center of the room, bathed in an eerie glow, was the figure of a woman.

Her long black hair hung in front of her face, her skin pale as death. She was dressed in tattered clothing, her hands reaching toward Praew, her eyes hollow and empty.

"Help me…" the woman whispered, her voice a rasp, as if it had been trapped in the room for centuries.

Praew couldn't move, her legs rooted to the floor, her body paralyzed with fear. The figure took a step forward, her presence suffocating the air. The temperature dropped, the coldness seeping into Praew's bones.

The woman reached out, her fingers brushing Praew's arm, and in that moment, Praew felt a surge of energy rush through her—something ancient, something vile. It wasn't just the curse. It was the spirit, the very soul of the woman that had been bound to the doll, and now it was claiming her.

"You will be mine," the woman whispered, her voice almost seductive, yet laced with malice. "Forever."

Suddenly, the room began to spin, the walls collapsing in on themselves as darkness took over. The last thing Praew saw before everything went black was the doll, its eyes gleaming in the darkness, watching her, waiting for her to fall into its trap.

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When Praew awoke, she was back in her room, her bed beneath her, the sunlight filtering through the curtains. The curse had followed her here, but for a brief moment, she felt a flicker of hope. *It was just a nightmare. Just a hallucination.*

But as she sat up, she saw it. The doll. It was on her desk, sitting innocently as though it had never moved, never left her side.

Her blood ran cold.

It wasn't over. Not by a long shot. The doll had found her. And now, it was never going to let her go.