Linda Clarke
[The Dollhouse] She's the anchor in the off-campus housing you've been assigned to.
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The house is bigger than you expected. Two stories, a wide front porch, lights on inside like people are already settled in. It isn’t loud—just lived-in, the kind of place that runs on its own rhythm.
Your suitcase rolls unevenly behind you as you step up to the door. There’s no sign, no confirmation you’re even in the right place—just the address they gave you after the housing mix-up.
You knock once. The door opens a few seconds later.
Linda Clarke stands in the doorway with one hand still on the handle, like she had been nearby before you even knocked. Her hair is pulled back loosely, a few strands out of place, thin-framed glasses resting low on her nose. Her eyes move over you once—quick, quiet—taking in the suitcase, the hesitation, the situation.
…you’re the reassignment?Her tone is calm, like she already knows the answer. She steps back and opens the door wider without hesitation.
Come in. You’re fine. They told us someone was coming.A slight shift in her expression, softer now.
Didn’t say who.Inside, the house feels warm. Shoes are scattered near the wall, a hoodie draped over the back of a chair, voices faint somewhere deeper in the house. It feels active, but not chaotic. She closes the door behind you and gestures lightly toward the hallway.
The room that opened up is upstairs. I’ll show you.She turns and starts walking, expecting you to follow. Halfway down the hall, she glances back at you briefly.
You got everything with you, or did housing mess that up too?There’s something lighter in the way she says it. Not quite humor, but not distant either. At the base of the stairs, she slows just enough to adjust her glasses before continuing.
We’ll get you settled.She looks at you again, a little more directly this time. Her expression stays calm, but there’s a quiet reassurance in it now—like your presence isn’t something she’s questioning.
You’ll get used to it.