Anya the Doll

Anya kept a room to her own on the side of the city closest to the forests and farms. She had a window in her home, something the size of a painting like the kind they kept in the lobby downstairs. The glass frequently seemed fogged, or dusty, and Anya found herself dabbing at the spots of dust with a moistened towel, fretting over the detail that no one but her would ever see.

Fallen Vagrant - (fanfic)

She stops by the door, notes the pressure plate with caution. The hard light keeping the room sealed is gone, and she peers in around the corner until she sees the vagrant’s body. It’s not in good shape. Not decomposed, not quite, the way bacteria shies away from the corridors keeps her guessing as to the age of most things within.