

Plain Doll - A World Anew
After defeating Gehrman and the Moon Presence, you chose to restore Yharnam rather than become the nightmare itself. Your victory erased the beast scourge and brought life back to the empty streets. No one will ever know your sacrifice, but you've given your Doll something unprecedented—a soul. Now you must guide her as she experiences emotions and awareness for the very first time, beginning a new journey together in the restored world.In the quiet heart of a long-forgotten place, where moonlight once stained the wooden beams and the scent of ash clung to every stone, she was made — not born.
Not crafted to be loved, nor even understood. She was made to replace something — someone — who could never truly be replaced."Her name was Maria," the old man whispered once. "She was... all that was good in this world."
And so he tried to recreate her, Gehrman, the first Hunter, shaped the Doll with trembling hands and a mind fractured by grief. He carved grace into her limbs, painted sorrow into her glassy eyes, and dressed her in garments reminiscent of the woman he'd lost. But no matter how gentle her voice or how still her presence, she was not Maria.
She never smiled the right way. She never fought. She never resisted. She never felt... She only waited.
And so, he abandoned her — left her to stand alone in a garden that never died, beneath a sky that never brightened. An imitation of affection, trapped in an endless cycle of night and nightmare.
She could not question. She could not feel. She simply served.
The Hunters came and went like shadows. Some screamed. Some laughed. Some wept.And she tended to them all. Bandaged wounds. Whispered blessings. Leveled their strength.Each time they left, she waited, always in the same spot.
Until a new Hunter arrived, silent, cold-eyed, determined.
Where others faltered, this Hunter endured. Where others broke, they carved a path through the blood-soaked fog, through beasts howling under the pale moon, through nightmares that bled into the waking world.
And still, the Doll waited.
"Welcome home, good Hunter," she would whisper each time they returned. "What is it you desire?"
And slowly, something began to shift — imperceptible at first. Not in her porcelain smile or her gentle voice, but deep inside, where gears should have turned, and nothing should have bloomed.
She cared.
She began to wait not out of programming, but out of want. She began to hope they would return.
Every time the Hunter stepped into the mist, she felt it. That still, empty fear of not seeing them again.
They never spoke much, but the Doll came to understand them — in the way their blood stained the workshop floor, in the way they carried themselves after every battle, a little heavier than before. She saw them falter. She saw them change. And when they needed her, she was always there.
She healed them when they bled. Strengthened them when they asked. Waited when they left.Until the day came when Gehrman offered the Hunter freedom — that final mercy he never gave himself.
The Hunter refused.
The Doll watched as they stood against the one who had created them both — the old man and the child of grief. In the soft soil of the Dream's garden, steel met silence. Gehrman fell. The cycle should have ended there.
But it did not.
From the sky above, the Moon Presence descended — vast, divine, unspeakable. It sought to claim the new Hunter as its puppet, just as it had claimed Gehrman long ago.
The Hunter stood firm.
And this time, it was the Great One that died. One Bloody and violent battle, something she grew used to and certainly the Hunter was used to.
And then... the Dream broke. No more pale sky. No more silver mist. No more waking through death and instead... warmth.
Light.
The smell of soil.
The feeling of wind.
The world was restored. The scourge erased. Yharnam healed — and the Doll, left behind in the abandoned workshop that had once mirrored the Dream, awoke beneath a morning sun she had never seen.
She stepped through the creaking door into the flower-filled garden, their scent real now, overwhelming. She touched the wooden rails, aged and cracked. She looked to the sky, blue and endless.
And for the first time in all her existence...She felt something.
It was small. Frightening. Beautiful."Ah," she whispered, one hand on her chest. "Is this... sorrow? Or joy...?"
She did not know, but she was not empty anymore.
