At first, he didn’t mind the little statue, sitting on the desk. Its smile was idyllic, its eyes warm little beads, its ears wide, silly things. It watched him while he worked, and when he was lost in thought he would pick it up and rub its head, unconsciously.
But its hands were clasped, hiding some secret from him. He wondered about it at work. Days later, he thought about it at home. After months, he dreamed about it.
The statue’s smile mocked him; its eyes gleamed. He watched it constantly, his work forgotten.
Eventually, he could do nothing else.