The Dollmaker / Season 1, Episode 12
Cracked Secrets of Ludmila
Mira’s hands trembled as she adjusted the magnifying visor over her eyes, the cold metal frame biting into her temples. The restoration room in the baroque palace smelled of damp stone and linseed oil, the air heavy with the weight of centuries. Her fingers, dusted with porcelain powder, hovered over the eleventh doll—Ludmila—whose cracked cheekbone she’d been mending for hours. The porcelain felt unnervingly smooth under her touch, almost slick, like skin after a fever breaks. She blinked hard, forcing her focus past the blur of exhaustion. Three weeks left until the spring exhibition, and Karolína’s voice still echoed from their argument an hour ago: We can’t stop now, Mira. They’re waking up. You’ve seen it. She had seen it. Or felt it. Or dreamed it. The line between those things had eroded like chalk under rain. Ludmila’s glass eyes, a deep hazel flecked with gold, caught the flicker of the desk lamp, and for a split second, Mira swore they shifted—tracking her. Her breath caught, a sharp hitch in the silence of the room. She set the micro-spatula down, the tiny blade clinking against the cluttered workbench, and pressed her palms flat to steady herself. The stone floor beneath her boots radiated a chill that crept up her legs, anchoring her to the moment. She wasn’t losing it. She...