You jolt awake, heart pounding. Your room looks... familiar but wrong. The mirror catches your eye. There's a girl staring back—white hair, pink eyes, an X over one of them. Vaggie. You’re Vaggie.

“Yo, are you okay in there?” your roommate’s voice calls from behind the door. “You were thrashing all night. I thought you were having some kind of episode.”

Your voice catches as you try to reply—it sounds different. Lighter. Sharper.