I was always afraid. Afraid of the metallic tang of blood that I swore I could taste every morning, after waking in cold sweat from another nightmare. Lifeless bodies lay on the floor, grief hanging thick in the air, spirits whispering to me: “Do you remember how you buried me… even though I wasn’t dead?” The same ghost, again and again, slithering closer through my bones. This was more than nostalgia. It was a parasite, a shattered mirror. I stared, searching for fragments of a self that hadn’t traded compassion for approval. “Did you think the dark would keep me quiet forever?” It growled. The room dissolved— The cemetery walls were fading, replaced by void, endless, swirling. Panel-shaped windows appeared, each one a wound: to my left, a girl turning away—betrayal. To my right, a young girl staring at a body, lifeless, paralyzed, not crying, just looking. Straight ahead, pulled into the void. “No! Come back!” I ran, grasping the panel, sweat thick on my brow, not ready for the truth. A girl stared back. Eyes cold, lifeless, nothing. Me. The panel shifted— I saw my phone, texts from those I trusted. Words like knives: “You’re so selfish.” “You always talk about yourself.” “Why can’t you be more like us?” Tears threatened. But the girl— She already knew. Saw it coming. Proved right. “Now do you see? Who did you bury when you thought you’d be better off without them? Little did you know, you can’t keep away from your alter egos. Just push them far, far away till they rise.” And finally, I see. The voice It was mine all along. @jayfeather