The Stranger Who Wore My Face 23

I didn’t run far enough.

I don’t know how long I was out. Minutes? Hours? When I opened my eyes, I was back in my room—but something was wrong.

The air felt thick, like breathing through fog. My bed was unmade, the sheets tangled. The mirror, the one that shattered, was whole again. No cracks. No sign it had ever broken.

But the worst part?

The reflection was gone.

Not changed. Not twisted. Just… missing.

I stared at the glass, waiting for my face to appear. For his face. But it stayed empty. A dark, endless void stretching beyond where my room should be.

I turned away—but then I felt it.

Something brushing against the back of my neck.

A breath.

I spun around—nothing. The mirror stayed empty. But when I looked down at my phone, a notification appeared.

One new photo.

My hands shook as I opened it.

It wasn’t my room. It wasn’t the void.

It was me.

But not here. Not now. It was a picture from last night, taken while I slept. My body, curled under the sheets. My face turned toward the camera.

Except… my eyes were open.

Wide. Unblinking. Staring.

And I wasn’t the one holding the camera.


5 6

Long time
3 4

Hmmm
1 2

Hmm
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