The figure stood, pulled back its hood. Same face. Same scar on the chin. But the eyes — inverted colors, sclera black, irises white.
Chloe looked down. Her hands were translucent. Through them, she saw the floor — no, not a floor. A photograph of her childhood bedroom, burning slowly at the edges. r/chloesurreal
“You’re the dream I forgot to wake up from,” said the other Chloe. “And now we’re both late for a funeral that hasn’t happened yet.” The figure stood, pulled back its hood