The Inn Beyond Time and Space

Adrian Wells couldn't help but feel that ever since the giant frog had taken a stab at his heart—literally—he'd somehow become much more laid-back.

Take now, for example: he'd woken up from a surreal and unsettling dream, unlocked a mysterious and ominous room, discovered a talking painting, and even deduced that something deeply strange was hiding within the canvas. Yet, he remained unusually calm.

So calm, in fact, that he took a step forward, lifted the painting from the wall, and brought it closer for a thorough examination.

The frame had a surprising heft, its texture exuding a sense of high value. As Adrian scrutinized it, he noticed the intricate patterns carved into its black lacquered surface. The designs resembled lines of continuous, flowing script, seamlessly interwoven and twisted into a vine-like structure that merged flawlessly with the edges of the painting itself.

Adrian didn't know much about art, but he figured this thing must be worth a fortune.

The elusive figure hiding within the depths of the painting, however, still refused to show itself. The corner of a skirt, previously visible at the edge of the image, seemed to have retreated slightly further into the shadows.

Adrian tilted his head, trying to peer into the painting from an angle, but saw nothing.

"I know you're in there," he said, shaking the heavy frame slightly. "Hiding isn't going to fool anyone."

There was a faint rustling from within the painting's depths, but no response.

Adrian set the frame down on the ground, crouching beside it as he fished a lighter from his pocket.

He ignited a small flame and brought it close to the frame, his expression neutral. "I'm going to count to three. If you don't come out, I'll set this thing on fire."

After a few seconds of silence, a delicate and youthful voice piped up from within the painting: "Petty mortal flames… They have no effect on entities like me."

Adrian could hear the faint tremor of guilt in the voice.

So he calmly touched the flame to the edge of the frame. "Oh? Then let's find out."

The scream that followed came almost simultaneously with the flicker of fire.

"Wait! Stop! You're really going to burn it?!"

Adrian immediately extinguished the lighter, watching as a figure hurriedly leapt out from the edges of the painting, which looked like a tangled bramble of thorns.

It was a young girl, clad in an elaborate black Gothic dress. She wore a headband adorned with white lace, her long hair jet-black, her skin pale as snow. Her face was lovely, almost doll-like, but her crimson eyes—striking and unnatural—were what held Adrian's attention.

Those eyes were wide now, fixed intently on him, as if trying to determine whether the human outside the painting would actually set it aflame.

Adrian admitted that her sudden appearance startled him.

Although the girl wasn't inherently frightening—she was, in fact, quite beautiful—her abrupt emergence, coupled with the eerie, shadowy background of the painting, would've made anyone jump. And those blood-red eyes… They seemed to pierce through him, saturated with something otherworldly.

The girl moved closer to the edge of the painting, pressing her face fully against the canvas. Her scarlet gaze filled nearly the entire frame, making the scene even more unnerving.

"Don't light it," she said, her voice firm but tinged with desperation. "This is the only place I have to stay."

"Step back first," Adrian replied instinctively, maintaining a deliberate distance from the painting. There was something unnervingly sinister about her crimson eyes. The more he looked into them, the more they seemed to seep into his thoughts, lingering in his mind like a stain he couldn't erase. But he forced himself to hold her gaze. If he wanted to maintain the upper hand in this conversation, he couldn't back down. "If you step back, I won't light it."

"Oh." The girl in the painting didn't seem to notice his fleeting discomfort. She nodded and retreated to the center of the image. Sitting down on the plush, red velvet chair depicted in the painting, she bent to retrieve a stuffed teddy bear she had tossed aside earlier. Hugging the toy close, she resumed staring at Adrian, her gaze unwavering.

For a fleeting moment, as she sat there clutching the bear, Adrian felt as though he were looking at the painting's "original" and "normal" form.

But then his brow furrowed slightly as he noticed something unusual.

Her wrists.

The joints of her wrists were distinctly spherical.

Human joints didn't look like that.

Those were the joints of a doll.

Perhaps noticing the bright sunlight streaming in from outside the room, the girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat, frowning as she looked at Adrian. "Why are you staring at me?"

Adrian opened his mouth, intending to ask about her strange wrist joints, but stopped himself. He didn't know enough about this bizarre world yet, and asking questions about supernatural matters might inadvertently reveal his ignorance. So, instead, he changed his approach.

"…Who are you? And why are you here?"

The girl hesitated briefly before answering.

"My name is Eileen," she said, straightening her posture as if trying to appear more formal. "I am one of Alice's Dolls, from the 'House of Alice'… though that was a long time ago."

A doll?

Adrian immediately picked up on the term. His gaze instinctively drifted back to her wrists, to the distinctly non-human ball joints. Then his attention shifted to two other phrases she had casually mentioned: "House of Alice" and "Alice's Dolls."

What did they mean? Adrian could understand the concept of dolls, even living dolls like this one. But "Alice"… What was that?

The "House of Alice" sounded like a place, or perhaps an organization named after a place. And "Alice's Dolls"… Was that the name of a group?

So Eileen wasn't the only one like this? There were more? A whole group? Did they all live like her, tucked away in paintings scattered across homes, occupying locked rooms, mocking their landlords for not having keys—only to be cowed by the threat of a lighter?

It seemed like a deeply mysterious organization indeed…

Adrian's mind spiraled with possibilities, his imagination running wild. A whole group like her? Were there dolls like Eileen hidden in homes everywhere, occupying locked rooms, waiting to be discovered? Did they lurk behind barriers that no locksmith could breach, laughing at the people who couldn't open their own doors? And yet, all it took was a single flick of a lighter to keep them in check?

It seemed absurd.

Perhaps Adrian's silence stretched on too long, as Eileen eventually broke it.

"Why aren't you saying anything…" Her tone grew suspicious, then sharp. "You're not still thinking about setting the painting on fire, are you?!"

Adrian abruptly raised his head, his expression suddenly serious. The intensity of his gaze startled Eileen, who reflexively shrank back in her seat.

"Let me ask you something," Adrian said, his tone grave.

"Ah… Sure," Eileen replied hesitantly.

Adrian leaned forward, his voice low and deliberate. "This 'House of Alice' you mentioned… Is it some kind of organization dedicated to suppressing property values?"

"What?"

"You know, like a group that takes commissions to sabotage real estate prices," Adrian explained, his expression unflinching. "You show up in people's homes, occupy rooms, laugh at them for not having keys, and lock the door during the day. At night, you cackle just loud enough to keep people awake. The end goal is to drive down property values. It's like hanging yourselves in front of the homeowner association office, but more creative."

Eileen blinked, her crimson eyes wide with disbelief. It took her nearly thirty seconds to process Adrian's bizarre logic. Finally, her face twisted with indignation.

"You—! You can insult me all you want, but don't you dare insult the Dolls of Alice or our creator!" she exclaimed, hugging her stuffed bear tightly to her chest. "We are… We are an incredibly powerful and—"

"Then why are you haunting my house?" Adrian interrupted, his glare sharp. "And locking doors? And what about that weird dream I had? Was that your doing? And that annoying laughter…"

He fired off his questions one after another, his voice rising with every word. The frustration from the past two months bubbled to the surface, giving him an almost intimidating momentum. Yet as he finished, doubt crept into his mind.

His instincts reminded him of the frog from the rain-soaked night, a creature that had seemed equally eerie and dangerous. This doll, Eileen, looked approachable now, but what if she changed in an instant? What if her pleasant demeanor vanished, and she lashed out with those claw-like hands or weaponized her stuffed bear?

However, Adrian quickly shrugged off his anxiety. He remembered the frog incident—how it had literally ripped his heart out—and he'd still come back. He'd died once already, and the world had only gotten stranger since.

What harm could a doll do? Especially one who had been so easily intimidated by a lighter.

Adrian had grown resilient. The sheer absurdity of his situation dulled his fear, leaving him with one clear goal: to understand the bizarre phenomena around him. He decided to start with Eileen and her painting.

Eileen, to Adrian's surprise, seemed far more cooperative than he had expected.

The doll didn't lash out or retaliate, nor did she hurl her stuffed bear at him in anger. Instead, she seemed to shrink slightly in her chair, her posture betraying a trace of guilt.

"I… I didn't mean for this to happen," she admitted softly. "It's an accident. I wasn't always like this."

Her crimson eyes flickered with unease as she hugged the bear tighter, its plush form visibly squishing under the pressure.

"I was… involved in an incident a long time ago. It left me trapped in this painting. I lost contact with the other Dolls of Alice," she said, glancing around the room outside the painting.

"And as for why I'm in your house… I honestly don't know. I'm stuck in this painting—I can't choose where I end up. For all I know, you might have picked me up from an art gallery and forgotten about it."

Adrian's brow furrowed. "..."