The Pristine Witch (Patreon)

The world Lauren occupied was completely ruined. Not that she knew.

Yet she stood in it. Pristine. Unmoving. Sealed in plastic, or vinyl, or wax, or whatever it was she was made of now—the strange woman made no specifics beyond saying Lauren was to become a mannequin.

She stared perfectly motionlessly ahead at the ruined street, despite her lack of consent or any desire to do so whatsoever. Shards of glass hung in the far sides of her warped synthetic vision, and much closer the brim of her "witch" hat framed it all the same, with a faint impression of her own now-inanimate hand off to her left. She focused on the hand intently and desperately struggled to budge even a single fraction of an inch. Her hand. Her frozen smiling face. Any part of her. Yet she was frozen solid, stuck in the window, as she had been the past week-plus.

The realization was only slowly dawning: Her very aware and very defeated mind and soul were locked into a mannequin, a simple dressing dummy portraying a witch—a very timely choice of dressing, considering the Halloween party she had last been and spoken and breathed and eaten and lived at.

Lauren could only think, wonder: Did the other girl mistake her for a real witch? Had she been offended by some nigh-stereotype of a witch partying before her eyes? Or did she even need a reason to zap her into this other world, other form? Was she simply that twisted?

Regardless, she stood, oblivious. And stood and stood and stood, trapped. The last person residing on this dead world. Gazing stone-still at the dilapidated buildings across the decaying street, deathly winds occasionally snaking their way into her mannequin joints and tickling her wigged hair into her fixed field of vision.

Lauren was the only human, yet she wasn't.
She was the last and only soul imprisoned on this hellscape.
Not that she knew.

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Pinup Club pinup; two months worth, supplemented with a small vignette.