They called her Evelyn Ashthorne, a child of silence and secrets.
In the late 1800s, Evelyn was said to wander the garden paths of her family estate, always clutching her favorite doll. One stormy night, a fire consumed the manor. Only ashes remained—except for Evelyn’s doll, found sitting upright in the ruins, its face blackened, its dress stained crimson.
Since then, whispers tell of Evelyn’s spirit clinging to the doll, restless and watchful. Some claim she moves ever so slightly when left alone, others swear they’ve heard soft giggles in empty rooms.
