"The 'other' me..." I say, my breath barely a whisper resounding around the empty cavern of the room, echoing off the damp walls and ringing its way down the multitude of corridors with an unsettling eeriness. I return my gaze back to the small angel, silently searching her for answers.
"And did you tell them anything? Did you recognise anything odd about their appearance, other than they looked like me?" I ask cautiously, ever wary of now making myself sound just as suspicious as the look alike themselves. Dawn's face draws in, her hands lingering over the already half finished bread, as if struggling to recall the memory, then, with a tiny, barely audible murmur, she says.
