She sat at her desk, painting a face made of ceramics. She had to constantly keep glancing at the girl slumped in the corner of her Creation Room. She was so pretty, with hair made of gold silk, and eyes made of melted chocolate. Lips of ruby, and skin of porcelain.
It was why Sally had picked the girl. She looked like a doll already, so all Sally had to do was shrink her down, let loose a little magic, and release the doll to roam free throughout her shop. The inhabitants of New Orleans thought it was mechanics, which was partially because most of her clients were foreigners, were not people who grew up here. The natives would not dare come into her shop, for they new what went on there. They knew what Sally did to the poor girls and boys, knew the truth of the killings and disappearances in the city, knew that she picked them out, one by one, and stole their souls, putting them into her only companions.
Her dolls.
She didn't only do it for her pleasure, no, though that was normally the case. Sometimes, on most unusual occasions, she'd get a customer, most commonly a voodoo priestess, asking for one or more souls in particular, for she, too had clients who desired souls. There were other ways to obtain the soul you require, but all of them demand trials and a very high price of which only the dead could pay. No one particularly liked coming to Sally for the souls, she was just the easiest way of obtaining one.
This girl had been a hard one to catch. She was for a client of Sally's, but Sally was having second thoughts, thinking of keeping the girl for herself. She'd had her eyes on this one for quite a while, waiting for her to grow, for her soul to become ripe for the picking, but it was no wonder that someone had beat her to it.
Sally had considered not taking the request for this soul, but the Fae lord had coughed up a handsome price, and, since she hadn't had many personal clients as of late and needed the money, she decided  she would accept. Now she was almost positive she'd made the wrong choice.
The girl's doll was almost done, all Sally needed to do was paint on the eyes, the windows to the soul, and drop the girls actual soul in through them. When she'd first recognized her talent for stealing souls and sealing them away, she'd hated herself, locked herself in her mortal room, refusing to come out. That had been probably around a couple hundred years ago. What she hadn't known then was tat along with the gift of stealing souls came immortality and Sight. Her parents had thought she'd been possessed, and she'd became one of the Afflicted, the only one of the original girls in the group who'd been truly possessed. She hadn't been able to speak, so her friends had spoken of witchcraft, thinking that if sally could act, so could they. After all that was said and done, her and her parents had relocated to what was now New Orleans to escape the misery, death and shame that was placed upon their heads.
But she'd outlived her parents, stopped aging, and still, she locked herself in her little doll shop, the only one in town. Forever capturing the souls of the living and selling them to the soulless.
Sally got up and went over to her cabinet, carefully picking out the right bottle in which contained the soul of the girl, Sarah. She'd been a high school cheerleader, one of the ones who most deserved a "misplaced" soul. It was bright and glowing, trapped in the bottle, and begging to be let out.
And Sally would let it out, alright. And then put it into another container, to be confined like she for all eternity. To turn bitter and dark until released. The Fae lord would realize that all too soon and bring it back to her, demanding refund. But he wouldn't get one, because he'd be dead, turned to nothing, before even setting foot on her shop, forgetting about the curse she placed there to keep them out. He'd needed special permission to come here in the first place, and it had been granted, but she had a strict limit of one visit per Fae.
Setting the bottle down on the table, she opened the cap and quickly raised her hands, suspending the shiny silver mist in mid-air. Sally chanted a couple quick words, cursing the soul to be trapped in this porcelain body for eternity, lest it's master release it. She stepped back a couple feet, so as not to knock the doll off the table and make it shatter when she flung her arms down and pointed at the dolls eyes. The mist immediately followed it's direction, not knowing it was being tricked and trapped.
Wind rustled everything in the room, making some things fall to the floor, but nothing was permanently damaged. After it settled down, the doll blinked.
Sally's eyes widened. Dolls, even those with souls, should not be able to blink. Weirder still, it's mouth opened, and it screeched, "What have you done to me?"
Dolls should not be able to screech.
The door to Sally's shop flung open, and the Fae lord barged through the door. Everything was going wrong. He was not given protection from the curse. He should not be allowed in! He smiled broadly. "You have finished with the doll, I presume?"
Sally's eyes widened. "How...?"
He shook his head, chuckling. "Oh, my dear, poor Sally. Did you really think you were the true Puppet Master, as your store awning suggests?"
Her eyes widened more, but now more out of anger and fear than surprise. This man was not Fae. He couldn't be. "You are the one who gave me this... this curse?" she yelled.
He smiled sadly and nodded. "I thought you'd do more for me, my dear. But it seems I was wrong. I am here to take your power away, Sally," he said, flinging a dragon claw strait through her heart, one of the only things that could kill someone like Sally. "And may your soul rest in piece."
As Sally collapsed, she voiced one more question. "If I am not the true Puppet Master, then who?"
He laughed again. "I am, Sally. I am the true Puppet Master."