Lila woke to the soft hum of the world around her—a warmth she hadn't felt in what seemed like ages. Her eyes fluttered open to the familiar sight of her bedroom ceiling. It was plain white, cracked just slightly in the far corner where rainwater had once seeped through. Her room smelled of fresh linens and that faint lavender scent from the diffuser she'd bought months ago from body works. A peaceful stillness surrounded her, the kind of stillness that only exists on lazy mornings.
Her brow furrowed. How did I get here?
Her hands felt the smooth, familiar fabric of her favorite blue comforter. Her room was just as she remembered it—her desk piled with old notebooks, a half-empty water bottle on the nightstand, and the faint glow of her alarm clock reading 8:23 AM.
Home.
The tension in her chest eased. She didn't question it. Why would she? It was home.
Pushing herself up, she blinked the sleep from her eyes and yawned, stretching her arms until her back popped. Everything about this moment felt so right. It wasn't just the sights and smells; it was the weight of it all, the familiarity that clung to her like an old blanket. She smiled to herself, shaking off the fog of sleep. Just another morning.
The smell of breakfast wafted in from down the hall. Eggs. Bacon. French toast. Her stomach growled. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she shuffled toward the door, her bare feet brushing the soft carpet beneath her.
Her heart warmed. Mom's making breakfast. It's been so long since I've smelled that.
The hallway was alive with sound—the faint hum of the TV playing cartoons, the clatter of pots and pans, and the rhythmic thud-thud of someone running down the stairs. Her little brother Jake probably was late for school again, she thought with a smirk.
"Lila!" her mother's voice called from downstairs. "Breakfast is ready, sweetie! Come eat before it gets cold!"
Her heart skipped. That voice… it was her mom's voice, exactly as she remembered. No static, no distortion, just… Mom. She didn't realize how much she'd missed hearing it until now.
"Coming!" Lila called back, grinning as she padded down the hall.
Her little brother Jake darted past her, nearly knocking her into the wall. He didn't even glance back.
"Hey!" she laughed, feigning annoyance. "Watch it, squirt!"
"Last one to the table's a loser!" Jake hollered over his shoulder as he barreled down the stairs, his messy mop of hair bouncing with every step.
This feels too perfect, a small voice echoed in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. She didn't want to ruin this. Not now.
The kitchen was a haven of warmth and familiarity. Her mom stood by the stove, flipping a slice of golden-brown French toast, humming a soft melody. Her dad sat at the kitchen table, newspaper in hand, sipping his coffee like he always did. Her heart swelled at the sight. Her dad peeked over the top of the paper, his eyes crinkling in that way they always did when he smiled.
"Finally awake, huh?" he teased, folding the paper down. "Sleep any longer, and we'd have to send a search party."
Lila rolled her eyes, trying to hide the grin tugging at her lips. "I'm up, aren't I?"
"Yeah, aiden the spotter," Jake muttered through a mouthful of French toast, syrup dripping down his chin. He grinned mischievously, clearly proud of himself for the jab.
"Chew with your mouth closed, gremlin," Lila shot back, sitting next to him at the table. Her mom set a plate in front of her—eggs, bacon, and French toast, just like she remembered. She stared at it for a moment too long.
This is too perfect.
That nagging voice returned, louder this time. Her fingers hovered over her fork, her eyes darting to her mom. Her smile hadn't faltered. Her humming hadn't stopped.
"Something wrong, honey?" her mom asked, tilting her head in that soft, motherly way. Her face was so familiar, so real.
"No," Lila muttered, gripping the fork a little too tight. "Just… thinking."
Her mom smiled knowingly. "Well, don't think too hard. You'll miss out on the best part of the morning." She turned back to the stove, her humming resuming with perfect precision.
Too perfect.
Her eyes shifted to Jake, who had somehow devoured half his plate in the time it took her to pick up her fork. Her gaze lingered. Didn't he just take that bite? How is he halfway done already?
Then she noticed it—the TV. It was playing a cartoon she recognized from childhood. The characters on the screen were moving, laughing, and running in a chase scene… but the chase never progressed. The same dog was caught by the same trap three times in a row.
Her stomach twisted. No. No, it's just deja vu.
But she knew it wasn't. The next five minutes were the same as the last five. Jake spilled syrup on his shirt—again. Her mom said, "You're thinking too hard, honey"—again. Her dad flipped the same page of his newspaper—again.
The nagging voice became a scream.
Lila pushed her chair back, heart pounding, the chair's scrape against the tile sharp and loud. The world around her faltered—just for a moment. Her mom stopped humming. Jake froze, his fork hovering in the air. Her dad's smile faltered into a neutral, hollow expression.
Then her mom turned. Slowly. Not like a person, but like a puppet on a string, her head rotating too smoothly, her eyes locked onto Lila.
"You're thinking too hard, honey," her mom said. The words echoed, distorted, like a radio playing underwater.
Lila's breath hitched. No, no, no.
Her mom stepped forward, too fluid, too fast, her face still locked in that same perfect smile. "Come sit, honey. Don't you like being here with us?"
"I—" Lila stumbled back, eyes darting to Jake and her dad. They didn't move. They didn't breathe. The realization hit her like a hammer. They never did.
Her mom's face began to change. Her skin darkened, her smile growing wider, teeth sharp and jagged like a predator's grin. Her eyes—once a warm brown—turned a piercing, glowing red. Her voice deepened, layered with a second voice that spoke in perfect sync.
"Don't run from me, Lila," her mom said, though it wasn't her mom anymore. It was something older. Something watching.
The Core.
Her mom's body shifted, stretching unnaturally tall as her limbs grew longer, fingers sharpening into claws. Her face warped, teeth like broken shards of porcelain.
"Do you understand now?" the Core said, its form flickering between Lila's face and her mother's. "You never left. You've always been here."
Lila clenched her fists, her legs trembling. "No. This isn't real."
"Isn't it?" The Core grinned wider. "All this time you fought to hold on to you. But you're only one of many, Lila. Just another fragment of me."
"You?" Lila's eyes narrowed.
The Core's face shifted again, this time morphing into her face—Lila's face. It tilted its head, the smile unnervingly familiar. "You'll see soon enough. I've watched so many of you come and go. This version of you is my favorite."
"Shut up!" Lila snarled, taking a step back. Her heart thundered in her chest, her nails digging into her palms. "I'm not like them. I'm not like you."
The Core's eyes burned brighter. "You are exactly like me. You just haven't accepted it yet."
The kitchen dissolved into darkness. No, not darkness. Void.
Lila gasped for air, her limbs thrashing as her mind was yanked backward, tumbling into a weightless abyss. Her voice echoed, swallowed by the vast nothingness.
Her eyes shot open, and she was no longer in the kitchen. No warmth. No smell of breakfast. Her hands moved, but they weren't hers. Her legs walked, but she wasn't moving them.
Her heart raced. No, no, no! Get out of me!
Lila's vision blurred, her eyes locking onto a guardian standing ahead. Her mouth twisted into a grin that wasn't hers. Her hands reached forward.
The Core's voice echoed in her mind.
"Sleep, Lila. I'll wake you up when it's over."
Her vision faded to black.