Silent Tracking
A hairline fracture traced the corner of the doll’s painted eye, splitting your reflection with barely-there precision. Its gaze didn’t *snap* to your hand but flowed around it—a slow reorientation like sediment settling in water. The smooth porcelain felt cool against your skin as you considered this mirroring, a sense of being registered rather than observed. This wasn't about directing action so much as completing a form, becoming another element within its quiet symmetry.