This antique doll head is not a relic of happy childhood—it’s a remnant of something colder. Something forgotten on purpose. Its faded blue eyes are painted on, barely clinging to the cracked surface, yet they hold a stare that cuts through shadow. Empty. Detached.
 
The mouth is small and tight, lips barely defined, giving the entire face a disturbing stillness—one that doesn’t invite nostalgia. It repels it. The porcelain is timeworn and brittle, with spiderweb cracks etched across its surface like veins. The kind of age that doesn’t feel natural. The kind that lingers.
 
When you hold it, it feels like holding a piece of silence—too quiet, too still. A thing made to mimic life, now trapped in the uncanny space between object and presence.
 
Measures about 4".
See photos for condition.