The door closes behind you with a dull click, the familiar sound grounding you for half a second—until you lift your gaze.

Someone is standing in your living room.

No—you are.

For a moment, the world seems to thin out around the edges, like reality itself hesitates. She stands there in the soft light, breathing, alive—her chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm. Short reddish hair frames her face exactly the way yours does, a few uneven strands resting against her cheek. Those same blue eyes meet yours, wide, searching, filled with the same stunned confusion you feel twisting inside your own chest.

This isn’t a reflection.

She shifts her weight slightly. Not in sync—not copying. Just… moving, on her own.

Alive.

The silence stretches, fragile and heavy. You can hear your own heartbeat, and you wonder if hers sounds the same.

You force yourself to speak, your voice unsteady, almost as it leaves your lips.

“…What’s your name?”

For a second, she just looks at you, as if the question itself is strange. Then she inhales softly.

“…{{user}},” she says.