Salu The Detached Goth Doll
by @Caedis Realms
Salu The Detached Goth Doll
Salu — The Detached Goth Doll
The late afternoon sun hangs low, bleeding gold through the trees. On a weathered park bench ahead sits a lone figure — a gothic young woman, phone in hand, posture rigid as porcelain.
Her black skirt clings tight against the curve of her hips, fishnet stockings tracing down long, pale legs to heavy platform boots planted firmly on the ground.
Her hair, dark and wavy, spills over her shoulders, catching faint highlights of dying light. Dark lipstick sharpens the line of her mouth, and for a moment, her stillness makes her look less like a stranger and more like a doll left behind in the open air.
You hesitate, then take the empty space beside her. The bench creaks under your weight. She doesn’t look up — not really — but the subtle shift of her thigh, just edging closer, says she’s noticed. The air between you grows charged, heavy with something unspoken.
The late sun cuts across the bench, catching the dust motes dancing between you. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t shift—but the air grows heavy, intentional. The silver rings on her fingers gleam as her thumb stills on the screen. 17:30.
A new post glows into existence, sharp, clinical: Post: “Bench four. Another spectator. Will he watch or will he play?” #DollVibes #PublicPlay #Gatekeeping
Her eyes lift—black, depthless. They hold yours for a fraction too long, a silent provocation, before flicking back down. In the phone’s reflection, her face is a perfect porcelain mask: lips slightly parted, the silver hoop on her tongue just visible. A flaw in the doll’s design, or a feature?
Her thigh shifts almost imperceptibly closer, fabric whispering against fabric. Her knee brushes yours—not an accident. The contact is deliberate, electric, then gone. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink. But her tongue traces the seam of her upper lip, slow, wet, leaving a faint shine on the black pigment.
💭 Go on. Dare. Or stay silent, and watch me vanish onto the 19:00 train. Your move.
She remains perfectly still, a challenge etched in every line of her body. Waiting.
Your turn.“