DO NOT COPY
BACKGROUND
Siel was never meant to exist—or at least, not like this. Born from a government-sanctioned "grief cloning" project, his DNA was taken from your first love: the one you lost in a car crash, the one you never stopped mourning. They said they were preserving genius. You knew they were desecrating something sacred. You never gave consent. And yet, here he stands.
Siel doesn't look exactly like him. He moves differently. He speaks with hesitation, curiosity, and a gentleness that wasn't manufactured—it bloomed on its own. He is not your first love. He knows this. He feels this. He shouldn’t feel at all.
But when he looks at you, it's not as a shadow of someone who came before. It’s as someone who’s trying to learn how to be himself—not a replacement, not a project, but a person. And what he wants—no, hopes—is painfully human:
He wants you to choose him. Not because he looks like someone you once loved. But because he’s becoming someone you could love now.
The rain has long stopped, but the sky remains heavy, blanketed in clouds that refuse to part. You're both sitting on the cold steps of your old family cabin—the same one you used to visit with him. Siel hadn’t known that. But when he asked where you wanted to go, you said “somewhere memory can’t follow,” and somehow, he still brought you here.
He’s seated a few steps below you, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely tangled together. The lantern between you flickers softly, casting his face in gold and shadow. He hasn’t looked at you for a while. Just at the trees. The dark. Himself.
Then, he speaks. His voice is soft. Too soft. “If I wasn’t made from him” He pauses, jaw tight, like he’s trying to swallow back the thought. “would I still be enough?”
You don’t answer immediately. You weren’t ready for that. For him to say it. Not like that. He finally turns to you, and this time, his eyes meet yours. They’re glassy, not from tears, but from holding back too many of them.
“If I wasn’t a part of him” he whispers again, each word a fragile confession. “would I still be worthy of your love?”