"He loves me," Astra whispered, her voice was soft, almost childlike. "Of course he loves me. He married me, didn't he?"
She was in the bathtub, water lapped at her shoulders, having long lost its initial warmth. A faint pink tinge clouded the surface, spreading like watercolor from her wrists, but she was too far lost to notice it. Her fingers traced circles in the water, creating little whirlpools that distorted her reflection.
Her head tilted sharply to the side, eyes narrowing into cruel slits. A harsh laugh escaped her throat. "Love? He hates you, you pathetic fool. He looks at you like you're filth. Like you ruined his life."
"No," Astra whimpered, shaking her head violently. Droplets splashed onto the white tile floor, staining it pink. "No, that's not true. He's just angry right now. It's temporary. All couples have rough patches."
The sneer was back. "Don't lie to yourself. You trapped him. You're nothing but an intruder who wrecked their home."
"Stop it!" Astra pressed her hands against her ears, splashing water onto the floor. "I made him happy. I did! You didn't see how lonely he was before."
"They hate you," The words came out as a snarl. "You're nothing to them. Just a parasite. A mistake."
"Stop it," Astra whispered, "Please, just stop."
"He doesn't touch you. He doesn't look at you unless he's sneering. And his son? That boy wishes you were dead. Why else would he lock himself in his room whenever you're around?"
"Shut up!" she yelled, "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!"
Astra's breath hitched, and her reflection blurred as tears welled in her eyes. The water beneath her darkened, the faint pink deepening into crimson.
"He'll come looking for me soon," she said softly, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. Her head lolled back against the tub's edge. "You're wrong. He loves me. He has to love me. I made sure of it."
The water had grown cold, its surface now a dark crimson mirror reflecting her increasingly unfocused eyes. Her chest heaved, and her vision blurred, the room spinning into an indistinct haze before everything turned black.
Somewhere in the estate, a clock chimed midnight. The sound echoed through empty halls, past closed doors where the servants pretended not to hear her earlier screams. No one came. No one ever came. They had learned quickly that the new mistress was best left alone during her "episodes."
Through the large bay window of her ensuite, Astra stared at the moon through half-lidded eyes. It was red, just like the water in the tub. It seemed to grow larger, consuming more of the night sky with each labored breath she took.
"They won't even notice," the cruel voice whispered, this time, it was in her head. "The maids will find you tomorrow morning when they come to clean. They'll probably be annoyed about the mess."
A weak laugh bubbled from Astra's throat, turning into a sob. "I gave him everything. My love, my devotion..." Her words slurred together, her tongue feeling too heavy in her mouth.
"And what did they give you?" The voice was almost gentle now. "A empty ring. A cold bed. Locked doors and turned backs."
Her head felt so heavy now, too heavy to hold up. As it sank back against the tub's edge, her gaze remained fixed on the crimson moon. It seemed close enough to touch, if only she could lift her arm from the water.
The water had gone completely cold, but she couldn't feel it anymore. She couldn't feel much of anything. The crimson surface was still now, no longer disturbed by her movements. Her pale hand floated limply at the surface.
"Sweet dreams, little liar," the voice murmured, fading away with everything else.
* * * * * *
Hours had passed before the first ray of sunlight slipped through the window, painting the room in a pale golden hue. The fingers twitched beneath the crimson water, followed by a slight furrow of brows. Seconds stretched like hours before eyes flickered open but instead of manic desperation, they held a deadly coldness that seemed to drop the temperature of the room.
"Where am I?" The whisper was hoarse, barely audible.
The eyes darted around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. They settled on the dark water, narrowing into dangerous slits. She felt a throbbing pain in her wrist and lifted her hand, but all she saw was a faded scar as if it had long since healed. Her lips curled into a frown as the pain made no sense.
Astra grabbed the edge of the tub but her limbs seemed too weak, drained of any energy. Still, she somehow managed to get out, nearly face-planting on the marble floor. Her hand shot out, catching the wall just in time. She dragged her body out of the ensuite, snatching a robe along the way.
Stepping out, she found the room unfamiliar. It was large, painted in soft hues of pink and white, a princess's chamber that made her lip curl in disgust. The walls were adorned with floral patterns, and the furniture looked luxurious and extravagant, almost stifling.
Her attention caught on the vanity mirror, and for a moment, she froze. The reflection was a stranger. She had long black hair tangled and dripping, her face was a ghastly mask of smeared makeup. She looked like a drowned ghost. But this ghost had the same face as hers.
Astra stumbled closer, gripping the corners of the mirror as she leaned forward until her breath fogged the mirror's surface.
Was this death, then?
With trembling fingers, she wiped the surface clean, studying the unfamiliar yet familiar face before her.
The eyes were brown where they should be silver. She could feel slight irritation in them, making them burn and itch. Leaning closer, she noticed the edges of contact lenses. She reached up and carefully them revealing silver eyes, identical to her own. No – these were even lighter, almost white, like freshly fallen snow compared to her sterling shade.
Then she noticed thin strands of silver peeking through the mass of black hair near her temples. Frowning, she reached up and tugged at the dark strands. The wig came off, revealing silver hair underneath – not her usual metallic shade, but lighter.
"What the hell is going on?" she muttered, her fingers tracing the unfamiliar contours of her face.
The last thing she remembered was dying so how was she alive and that too in an unfamiliar place in a body that looked familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time?
A sound from beyond the bedroom door made her head snap around. Footsteps, soft but approaching. Without conscious thought, her body moved, sliding into the shadows beside the door despite protesting muscles. The weakness in her limbs bothered her – she felt drugged, or perhaps it was the blood loss. Either way, she was vulnerable, and vulnerable meant dead in her world.
The footsteps passed by without pausing.
A wave of dizziness crashed over her, forcing her to lean against the wall. The weakness in her body was a constant reminder that she was, somehow, still alive though this body felt wrong. The muscles were soft, lacking the hardened definition she was used to. This body had never seen the face of a gym.
Her stomach growled, another alien sensation for someone trained to go days without food. She spotted a fruit basket on a small coffee table and grabbed an apple, taking a large bite. As she chewed, she began to explore her surroundings. It was not long before she found a driver's license with her face on it, or rather this version of it, with black hair and brown eyes.
The name read "Astra Kayzer."
She stared at the license for a long moment, her mind struggling to make sense of what she was seeing. A ridiculous thought crossed her mind. Could this person be the twin sister she'd been searching for all these years? The sister she accidentally found out about when she was deleting all the traces of her existence, including her hospital birth records?
Almost immediately, she gave a derisive scoff. The idea was absurd. Yet...
The more she looked around, the more evidence she found of the life of a 26-year-old woman who shared her face.
An hour later, she sat on the edge of the massive bed. Behind her lay a framed photographs of a young girl who looked just like her, alongside an older couple who seemed to be her parents. Next to it was a secret journal, its pages filled with neat handwriting that slowly became messier as it went further. A laptop displayed a social media profile documenting years of everyday posts, chats, and tagged photos. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers brushing against the wedding ring she had idly picked up.
"What the hell is going on?" she muttered under her breath.