Mara ran.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stumbled out of the archive, through the strange green door, and back into the silent subway station. The world outside should have felt safe, familiar. But the station lights flickered, just as they had in the archive, and her reflection in the glossy tiles seemed a fraction too slow to follow her movements.
By the time she reached her apartment, her legs ached, and her chest burned. She locked the door, pulled the chain, slid the bolt, and stood in silence, listening.
Nothing.
But she couldn't shake the feeling that someone else was breathing in rhythm with her.
Echoes in the Mirror
Mara splashed cold water on her face, gripping the sink. When she dared to look up, her reflection in the mirror stared back. But something was off.
The reflection's smile was sharper, just slightly. The tilt of her head, more confident. Mara froze, heart pounding.
She raised her hand to touch the glass.
Her reflection moved before she did.
Mara stumbled back, her breath ragged. For a moment, she thought she saw the other her—dressed in black, eyes glinting with something dangerous—smiling from behind the glass. Then the image flickered, and it was just her again. Pale, shaking, broken.
"Get it together," she whispered, gripping the edge of the counter. "It's not real. It's not real."
But she wasn't convinced
Later that night, Mara tried to sleep. But sleep did not come easily. Every creak of the apartment sounded like a footstep. Every shadow pressed too close.
When she finally drifted into uneasy slumber, she dreamed of the archive: endless shelves, books bleeding words, the other Mara's voice whispering.
"Let me in."
Mara jerked awake. The room was dark, but she wasn't alone.
At the foot of her bed stood a silhouette. Her silhouette.
The figure leaned forward, the faint glow of moonlight catching her smile. "You look so tired," the other Mara whispered. Her voice was smooth, hypnotic. "Let me take over. I can carry what you never could."
Mara scrambled for the lamp and flicked it on—
The room was empty.
Only her ragged breaths filled the silence. But the sheets were warm at the end of the bed, as if someone had been standing there.
By morning, Mara could no longer tell what was real. At work, her coworkers glanced at her strangely, as if she had already changed. She caught fragments of conversations: "She seems… different." "Did you see her eyes?"
Her hands shook as she typed, but when she looked down, the words on her computer screen weren't hers. Line after line repeated, endlessly:
"You should have been me."
Mara slammed the laptop shut, bile rising in her throat.
She couldn't escape it. The erased self wasn't confined to the archive anymore. It was bleeding into her reality, leaving marks only she could see.
And each time it appeared, Mara felt herself slip a little further, like her life wasn't hers anymore.
That night, Mara stood in her apartment, every light on. She couldn't hide. She couldn't pretend.
"You want me?" she shouted into the silence, voice trembling but defiant. "Then come out. Stop hiding."
The air thickened. The shadows along the walls rippled, curling inward, until they pooled in front of her. Slowly, they rose, twisting into a shape, into her.
The other Mara stepped forward, perfectly solid now. Black coat brushing the floor, eyes sharp, smile slow and deliberate.
"You called," she said simply.
Mara's mouth went dry. Her body screamed to run, but her feet rooted in place.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered.
The other Mara tilted her head. "What I've always wanted. What you always wanted. Your life. Your choices. Your place." She smiled wider. "I'm not a shadow, Mara. I'm the version you should have been. And I'm tired of being forgotten."
Mara's breath hitched. "You can't just take my life."
The other Mara leaned close, so close Mara could feel her breath against her ear. "Watch me."
And with that, every light in the apartment blew out.