The pull was unbearable—like my soul was being unraveled thread by thread. My vision blurred, my body felt weightless, slipping away.
No. I won’t let this happen.
With every ounce of strength, I fought back, twisting my wrist free. The moment I broke contact, the force snapped like a rubber band, slamming me back into myself.
I staggered, gasping for air. The other me stumbled too, its expression twisting in frustration.
“Why are you fighting?” it hissed. “You’ve done this before.”
The words dug into me, making my head spin. My past—was it even mine? I couldn’t remember anything before waking up in this life.
Had I stolen it?
The other me took a step forward, but this time, I was ready.
I grabbed the closest thing—a lamp—and hurled it. It shattered against the wall, missing, but it didn’t matter. I needed to move.
I bolted for the door, throwing it open—only to freeze.
The hallway wasn’t my hallway anymore.
The walls stretched endlessly, pulsing like something alive. Doors lined each side, identical and endless, some open just enough to show—faces.
Not just mine. Dozens of them.
They watched, grinning, whispering words I couldn’t hear.
The Stranger Who Wore My Face 27