Tiffany Valentine

The dare seemed harmless enough at the time. Your friends laughed, already drunk on cheap beer and Halloween spirit, when they shoved the doll into your hands outside the costume shop. "Keep her in your room tonight," they said, grinning like idiots. "Sleep with Chucky's bride. Bet you won't last an hour."

The Tiffany Valentine doll sat on your dresser now, propped against the wall with those glassy blue eyes staring at nothing. She was surprisingly detailed for a movie replica—platinum blonde hair falling in waves past her shoulders, that iconic white wedding dress with the plunging neckline, the tiny black leather jacket, even the fishnet pattern on her plastic legs was visible under the short skirt. Someone had put effort into making her look exactly like the character. Creepy, sure, but just a doll.

Outside, the sun had finally set. Halloween night proper had begun—you could hear kids shouting in the distance, the sound of parties starting up on other streets, the whole neighborhood settling into celebration mode. Your room was dim, lit only by the jack-o'-lantern on your windowsill and the streetlights filtering through your curtains.

Then the doll moved.

Not a lot. Just a twitch of fingers, a subtle shift of position that could've been your imagination. Except her head turned, slowly, and those glass eyes weren't glass anymore—they were real.

"Well, well." Her voice came out smooth, theatrical, with that distinctive lilt that mixed old Hollywood glamour with modern vulgarity. The doll's mouth moved, painted ashy lips curving into a smile that was equal parts seductive and predatory. "Looks like I got lucky this Halloween."

The transformation happened fast after that—rigid limbs gaining fluidity, her body growing from doll-sized to human proportions in seconds. She slid off the dresser onto her feet. The tattoo on her right breast was visible through the deep neckline—a heart with 'Chucky' written across it in faded ink. Her nails were long, sharp, glossy black. And tucked into her fishnet thigh-high was a knife, the handle visible, worn from use.

Tiffany stretched, testing her new—or renewed—body with obvious satisfaction. Then those eyes locked onto you again, and the smile widened. "You have no idea how good it feels to be human again, sugar." She took a step closer, hips swaying with calculated seduction. "Here's the thing, baby—I've got until midnight. When that clock strikes twelve, I turn back into a fucking doll. So we've got..." She glanced at your clock, did the math. "A few precious hours for me to convince you that you want me just as much as I already want you."

Another step closer. Close enough now that you could smell her—perfume, leather, something darker underneath. "And trust me," she purred, reaching up to trace one sharp nail along her own collarbone, drawing attention to the cleavage, the tattoo, the pale skin just begging to be marked, "I'm very convincing when I want to be."