The dream was familiar. Too familiar.

The blood trail glistened black in the moonlight, leading him back to a cabin—THE cabin. His breath tore from his chest, each step a desperate plea to be faster.

"Not again," he whispered, his voice catching on the edge of panic. "Faster. I need to be faster!" He pushed himself harder, lungs burning, heart pounding like a war drum. “ I can't let it happen again ! Please!  “ he says 

His words echoed through the woods, swallowed by the looming trees. Deja vu clawed at his mind—he'd been here before, chasing the same trail, racing against time he didn't have.

The cabin loomed in the distance, dark and waiting.  He burst through the door, the hinges creaking like warning, maybe it was a warning. 

As He takes a few steps  inside, the door creaks ominously as it forcibly swung shut behind him. Startling him . 

The scent of damp wood and iron filled his nostrils.

Upstairs. He knew he had to go upstairs.

“Don’t don it!” He thought to himself but why . 

The attic door was ajar, just as he remembered-or maybe as he feared.

The attic stairs creaked as he climbed, his hands gripping the railing tight enough to make his knuckles ache. the weight of dread pressing on his chest.

Inside the attic, the air was cold and thick. His sister's red boots dangled from the ceiling, swaying gently as if caught in a nonexistent breeze. Blood dripped from them, pooling on the floor in uneven splatters.

Scrawled across the wall in blood were the words:

I'M SCARED.

Dog fur clung to the floorboards, a cruel reminder.

A sharp crack echoed behind him-the attic window shattered, shards of glass scattering across the floor. Elliot turned toward the broken window, heart hammering in his chest. He hesitated

before stepping closer, peering through

the jagged hole.

Below, the blood trail continued, climbing higher into the mountain.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against a shard of glass still clinging to the frame. Pain shot through his hand as the shard sliced his skin. He winced, staring at the crimson streak blooming on his palm.

Then the attic door slammed shut.

Elliot spun around, panic flooding his veins. "No, no, no-"

Voices whispered from the shadows, a sinister chant that echoed in his ears, Slow rhythmic and growing louder . 

"Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump."

His head snapped back toward the broken window behind him now glowed with a pale, blue light. The moon called him. Compelled him. A lump formed in his throat as his feet moved on their own, carrying him toward the window. His breath quickened, his vision blurred, and his body tensed as he climbed onto the ledge. 

“ it’s okay , it’s not that high” he told himself. 

Knowing it’s the only way out , he must follow the trail . 

He jumped.

The ground rushed up to meet him, and his ankle twisted on impact with a sickening crack. Pain shot through his leg, but he forced himself to stand. The blood trail was still there, still leading him forward. He limped after it, through a forest where trees were tangled with familiar shoelaces, and into another where dogs dangled lifelessly from the branches.

Each dog looked like her dog-his sister's dog. Their fur was patchy, their bodies limp. He couldn't look away.

Ahead, the blood trail stopped at a cave. A weathered sign beside it read:

BEWARE OF BEASTS.

Elliot's steps faltered. The cave loomed before him, dark and foreboding. He shout  her name Inside, looking for an answer “ Eliana ! “  

He kept on Into the cave , shadows shifting . 

"Don't be there," Elliot starts whispering, his voice cracking. "Please, don't be there."

He wasn’t referring to her, but he was referring to the beast 

Standing in the dark,there he was —himself. 

Eliot.  

No, not himself-someone else in his skin. Bloody hands. Blood-soaked clothes. The clothes he wore that night. 

Elliot staggered back, his foot splashing into a puddle. He looked down and saw his reflection staring back-not as himself, but as her.

Barefoot, bloodied, her pajama slightly torn.

Elliot or should I say Eliana  fell to her knees. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "Please don’t, it’s not funny —"

The other him—Eliot lunged, teeth bared like an animal's.

He jolted awake.

Elliot woke with a scream, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. The darkness of his room swallowed him whole, the faint glow of moonlight spilling across the floor.

His hands trembled as he looked around, the shadows of her room-their room-reminding him where he was. Or who he was supposed to be.

The clock on the nightstand glowed faintly. It was still hours before sunrise.

Elliot swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet touching the cold floor.

He bent down, pulling out the chest from beneath the bed. The two locks were secure, just as he'd left them.

Beside it were her boots  and the energy drinks.

The boots stared back at him,  a phantom from his dream.

Elliot's hand hovered over them before snapping away. He grabbed two cans of lemon-flavored energy drink instead.

The first sip made his lips curl in distaste. "Delicious," he muttered under his breath, the word tasting just as bitter as the drink.

He sat by the window, waiting for his alarm to buzz, his thoughts heavy with shadows he couldn't escape.

He grabbed a book from the small pile near the window and sank into the chair.  The night outside was still, the stars faint against the slowly lightening sky. As he waited for his alarm to go off, he read without absorbing a single word, his thoughts a quiet storm.

When the alarm finally buzzed, he shut the book with deliberate care and set it aside. Time to get ready.

The bathroom mirror reflected her face. At least, that’s what Elliot told himself.

He showered first, scrubbing away the phantom dirt from his dream. Then came the skincare routine, one of many rituals he’d memorized from watching her—no, his—videos over and over.

Next, he blow-dried his hair, carefully brushing it into the straight, smooth style she used to wear. He pinned back a stray strand with practiced precision, then reached for the makeup kit on the counter.

Foundation. Concealer. A hint of blush. Mascara to brighten his eyes, and a soft pink gloss to finish.

Each step was familiar. Reassuring.

When he finished, he stared at the reflection. It wasn’t perfect. It never was. But it was close enough.

Elliot—or rather, Eliana—smiled faintly at herself before turning away.

The bedroom felt both alive and empty. Bright, cheerful decorations dotted the space—framed photos of her and her friends, neatly stacked novels, and the stuffed animals she used to keep on the bed.

Elliot avoided looking at the photos as he dressed, instead focusing on the neatly pressed skirt and blouse he  laid out the night before  .

He straightened the hem, adjusted the collar, and slipped on her old charm bracelet. Once dressed, he locked the door behind her, double-checking to make sure it was secure. Protected.

He is her, they are one . 

 Downstairs,the house smelled faintly of pancakes and coffee. Eliana descended the stairs carefully, her polished red shoes clicking softly against the wood. Her stepmother was in the kitchen, humming a tune as she flipped pancakes. Her father was at the table, sipping coffee and scrolling through his tablet.

“There she is!” Her stepmother called out cheerfully as she, Eliana stepped into the room. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning, Mom,” eliana replied, her voice bright and sweet.

Her father glanced up and smiled warmly. “Morning, kiddo. You ready for your first day back?”

“Of course.” Elliot returned the smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

At times Eliot comes out but it has to be Eliana

“Look at you, lil Ana !” her stepmother said, setting a plate of pancakes on the table. “All dressed up and as pretty as ever. You’re going to charm everyone at school today.”

Eliana sat down at the table, the smell of syrup and butter filling the air. “Thanks,” she said softly, picking at her plate.

Her father leaned back in his chair, a proud grin spreading across his face. “I mean, how could they not love you? Top grades, the best in theater, great swimmer—just like your mom used to be. You’re a star, Ana.”

The words landed like a stone in Elliot’s chest. He forced himself to swallow the knot in his throat, nodding as if they didn’t weigh him down. Those words were to build her up. 

Her stepmother beamed, leaning in to fuss with the collar of her blouse. “I’m so proud of you. Your mother would be too.”

Her hand lingered for a moment, a soft, affectionate touch. Elliot froze under it, unsure if he wanted to lean into the warmth or pull away.

After breakfast, her stepmother ushered her to the door, pausing with her phone in hand.

“Wait! We need a picture,” she said, her tone bright.

Eliana stood still as her stepmother positioned  her by the doorway, her smile wide and expectant. Her father joined in, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Say cheese!”

“Cheese,” eliana echoed, the word feeling hollow as the camera clicked.

“Beautiful,” her stepmother cooed, reviewing the photo. “ you look just like your mother at your age “ “Oh, I’m so printing this one .”

Her father nodded, a wistful smile on his face. “ she’d be so proud of you ! Let’s pin it to the fridge once it’s printed .”

Eliana’s lips curved into a soft smile, his mask firmly in place. “Thanks, but if I stay any longer I’ll be late” she joyfully says.

They hugged her before sending her off, their voices warm and cheerful as they called out their goodbyes.

“Have a great day , Eliana!”

“We love you, sweetheart!”

Eliana  walked down the path, the warmth of their affection lingering on his skin like an ache.

They love her. Not you.

But he couldn’t bring himself to stop pretending. 

It was better this way.