What stood in front of me looked exactly like me.
At first, I thought it was a mirror. But it wasn't. It was a wax figure, crafted so perfectly that my stomach turned. The height, the shape of the shoulders, the curve of the lips, even the faint lines on the hands everything was mine. The skin didn't look like wax. It looked real. Too real. Whoever made it had copied every detail with frightening precision.
But it was the eyes that froze me in place.
They weren't dull or glassy like fake display models. They looked alive. Warm. Aware. They stared back at me the same way I would stare at my own reflection.
No artist could create eyes like that.
Then the realization hit me like a blade to the chest.
Those were my eyes.
