Chapitre 3: Chapter 2: Echoes of a Stranger
The protagonist found herself in a dream, but it felt too vivid to be an ordinary one. She stood in the middle of a swirling, chaotic Hollow. The air was thick with Ether, and distorted voices echoed all around her—some familiar, some foreign, all impossible to pinpoint.
She looked down at her hands. They weren't hers. They were Ellen's—strong, calloused, and faintly trembling. She clenched them, trying to feel some semblance of ownership, but the sensation only deepened her unease.
"Who are you?"
The voice came from behind. The protagonist spun around to see Ellen standing there—not as a reflection or a memory, but as a separate entity. She looked the same as always, except her shark-like eyes glinted with an unnatural sharpness.
"Why are you stealing my life?" Ellen asked, her tone cold and accusatory.
"I'm not—" the protagonist stammered, taking a step back.
"Not what? Not trying to replace me?" Ellen's voice rose, and the Hollow around them seemed to ripple with her anger. "Then what are you doing here? Why do you look like me? Why do you feel like me?"
"I didn't ask for this!" the protagonist shouted, their voice breaking. "I didn't want to be here, in your body, in your world! I just—"
"You just what?" Ellen interrupted, stepping closer. "Wanted to escape your own? Or was it too easy to slip into someone else's skin and forget who you were?"
The Hollow twisted, and suddenly, the protagonist was surrounded by the rest of Victoria Housekeeping. Von Lycaon, Rina, Corin, and the others stared at her, their expressions unreadable but their gazes piercing.
"Who are you, really?" Rina asked, her calm tone laced with an edge that cut through the air like a blade.
The protagonist tried to speak, but no sound came out. The world darkened, the voices growing louder and more distorted until they became an unbearable cacophony.
They woke with a gasp, their chest heaving as if they had been underwater. The dim light of the apartment offered little comfort, the shadows in the corners seeming to stretch and shift.
"It was just a dream," they whispered, their voice hoarse. "Just a dream."
But the weight of it lingered, pressing down on their chest like a physical force. They stumbled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on their face, but when they looked in the mirror, Ellen's face stared back at them.
The sight brought a sudden, visceral wave of panic. "This isn't me," they muttered, gripping the edges of the sink. "This isn't me."
Their breathing quickened, and the room seemed to close in around them. The memories of their old life—of who they used to be—felt like sand slipping through their fingers. Who were they now? A shadow of Ellen Joe? A ghost in her body?
Tears welled in their eyes, and before they knew it, they had sunk to the bathroom floor, sobbing into their hands.
"I don't belong here," they choked out, the words echoing in the empty apartment. "I don't belong anywhere."
For the first time since their reincarnation, the weight of their identity crisis crashed down in full force. They cried until exhaustion overtook them, the cool tiles against their skin grounding them in a world that still felt alien.
The first morning of the week off started like any other. The protagonist found themselves in Ellen's small but tidy apartment, the sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains onto the hardwood floor. The space was cozy, filled with personal touches: a few framed photos of Ellen and her friends, a half-finished sketch on the desk, and a small collection of seashells lined up neatly on the windowsill.
It was all undeniably Ellen's. And none of it was theirs.
They moved through the motions like a puppet, their actions detached and mechanical. Making breakfast, tidying up, flipping through Ellen's homework—each task felt more alien than the last. It was as if they were watching themselves from a distance, a third-person observer to a life that wasn't theirs.
The bathroom mirror caught their eye as they brushed their teeth. For a moment, they saw nothing out of the ordinary—just Ellen's familiar face staring back at them. But then, the reflection's expression shifted, lips curling into a faint frown while the protagonist's stayed neutral.
They froze, toothbrush halfway to their mouth. The reflection tilted its head, scrutinizing them with a sharpness that sent chills down their spine.
"You're not me," the reflection said, its voice soft but accusing.
The protagonist stumbled back, nearly knocking over the sink. "What the—?"
"You heard me," the reflection continued, stepping closer to the glass. "You're not Ellen. You're just... borrowing what's mine."
"I don't—this can't be real," the protagonist stammered, shaking their head as if that would clear the hallucination.
The reflection's gaze hardened. "You're real enough to take everything from me."
"I didn't choose this!" the protagonist shouted, anger and frustration boiling over. "Do you think I wanted to wake up in your life? In your body?"
The reflection's frown deepened, but before it could respond, the image shimmered and dissolved, leaving the mirror blank.
The protagonist stared at their own pale reflection, their breathing ragged. "I'm losing it," they muttered. "I'm really losing it."
Later that day, a text from one of Ellen's friends pulled the protagonist out of their spiraling thoughts.
Hey Ellen, movie night at my place? 6 PM.
They hesitated. Showing up meant stepping further into Ellen's life, pretending to be her for people who knew her better than anyone. But staying home alone felt unbearable.
Sure, they typed back.
The evening was unexpectedly comforting. Ellen's friends didn't notice anything off—they joked, shared popcorn, and teased each other like always. The protagonist felt a flicker of warmth, a sense of belonging that was both alien and achingly familiar. For a few hours, they forgot the weight of their circumstances.
But when the movie ended and everyone parted ways, the emptiness returned. As they walked back to Ellen's apartment, her friend's parting words echoed in their mind.
"Take care of yourself, Ellen. You've seemed a little...out of it more so than usual. If you ever need to talk, we're here."
The protagonist smiled at the time, but now, alone in the quiet apartment, the words only deepened their guilt.
The first morning of the week off started like any other. The protagonist found themselves in Ellen's small but tidy apartment, sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains onto the hardwood floor. The space was cozy, filled with personal touches: a few framed photos of Ellen and her friends, a half-finished sketch on the desk, and a small collection of seashells lined up neatly on the windowsill.
It was all undeniably Ellen's. And none of it was theirs.
The day unfolded in fragments, a patchwork of Ellen's routines and responsibilities. The protagonist flipped through a cluttered notebook filled with hastily written class notes and doodles. A glance at Ellen's schoolbag reminded them of the double life she led—a student by day, a maid by trade.
Navigating through her daily schedule wasn't difficult, but it felt hollow. They attended her classes, answering when called upon, but their detachment made the experience surreal. Her teachers didn't notice. Her classmates, used to Ellen's occasional lethargy, chalked up her quiet demeanor to another late night balancing work and school.
When the final bell rang, Ellen's friends crowded around her.
"Hey, Ellen, we're heading to the café," one of them said, a girl with bright pink hair and a warm smile. "You in?"
The protagonist hesitated, caught between their reluctance to further immerse themselves in Ellen's life and the understanding that isolation would only make things worse. "Sure," they said, mustering a faint smile.
At the café, Ellen's friends were lively, filling the space with laughter and stories. They teased the protagonist about looking tired, but their playful concern came with an unspoken warmth.
"Ellen, you've been spacing out more than usual," one friend teased. "Don't let the maid life wear you down!"
The protagonist chuckled weakly, dodging further questions with practiced ease. Despite their internal turmoil, these moments offered a fleeting sense of connection.
The illusion of normalcy shattered that evening. After returning to the apartment, the protagonist caught their reflection again, standing slightly out of sync with their movements.
"Busy day, wasn't it?" the reflection said, its tone dripping with disdain.
"Not you again," the protagonist muttered, averting their eyes.
"You're playing house with my life," the reflection accused. "Smiling with my friends, going to my school. Do you even feel the weight of what you're doing?"
"I'm just trying to survive," the protagonist snapped. "You think this is easy for me? Living as you while I don't even know who I am anymore?"
The reflection tilted its head, scrutinizing them. "Survive? Or hide? Maybe you've grown comfortable stealing someone else's skin."
Before the protagonist could respond, the image warped and faded, leaving them trembling in the empty room.
A vibration from Ellen's phone interrupted their spiraling thoughts. It was a video call from the Victoria Housekeeping crew. The protagonist hesitated before answering, the sight of familiar faces both comforting and jarring.
Rina's elegant visage filled the screen first, her serene expression softening. "Ellen, how's your week off treating you?"
"Fine," the protagonist said, their voice lacking conviction.
Von Lycaon appeared in the corner of the screen, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "You don't sound fine. Have you been resting as instructed?"
Corin's voice chimed in from somewhere off-screen. "Bet she's still trying to clean her apartment. Ellen can't sit still to save her life."
The team's lighthearted banter eased some of the tension, but the protagonist couldn't shake the feeling that Von Lycaon was watching them too closely, as if he could see past the façade.
"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call," Rina said gently. "We're all just a message away."
"Got it," the protagonist replied, forcing a smile.
After the call ended, the emptiness returned. Their team cared about Ellen—deeply. And yet, they weren't Ellen. The weight of the deception settled heavily on their chest as they prepared for another restless night.
The night was restless. Sleep came in fits and starts, and when it finally took hold, it dragged the protagonist into a memory long buried.
They were back in a tiny apartment—smaller than Ellen's, more suffocating. The walls were bare, save for the peeling paint, and the single window barely let in light. The air was thick with the echoes of arguments, slamming doors, and the ever-present weight of loneliness.
Their childhood had been a blur of neglect and survival. School was no refuge; they were the quiet kid, easy to overlook and even easier to target. But amidst the chaos, there had been one person who made it bearable.
"???#$&, you okay?"
They turned, and there she was—Tasha. Their one and only friend. Tasha had a way of making the world feel less heavy, her smile a lifeline in a sea of darkness. She didn't ask for much, just companionship, and in return, she gave warmth, understanding, and a reason to keep going.
But then, like everything good in their life, Tasha was taken away. The details were blurry—an accident, a tragedy—but the pain of losing her never faded.
The dream shifted, warping into a scene of their final days. They remembered the monotony, the aimlessness, the quiet despair. Then, the incident: a flash of light, unbearable pain, and the sensation of being torn from their body.
When they woke up, they were Ellen.
The protagonist jolted awake, drenched in sweat, their chest heaving. For a moment, they couldn't tell where they were—the shadows of Ellen's apartment seemed to blend with the suffocating darkness of their old life.
Their hands trembled as they clutched their head, the weight of the nightmare crashing down. They weren't just lost in Ellen's life—they were lost in general, untethered from anything familiar or comforting.
"I don't belong here," they whispered, their voice cracking. "I didn't belong there either."
The room spun, and they fell to their knees, tears streaming down their face. They hated this body, this life, this world that wasn't theirs. They hated the reflection that taunted them, the memories that haunted them, the gnawing guilt of living someone else's life.
But as the storm of emotions raged, a single image cut through the chaos: Tasha's face, smiling, her voice whispering in their mind.
"You're stronger than you think, ??%$##. Don't give up."
It wasn't much, but it was enough to stop them from completely breaking apart. They sat there, sobbing quietly into their hands, the pain spilling out in waves.
By the time the sun rose, the tears had dried, but the ache in their chest remained. The nightmare had shaken them, but it had also reminded them of something important: they didn't want to waste this second chance, even if it wasn't their own.
"Maybe I can't fix this," they murmured, their voice hoarse. "But I can try to make it right."
With that fragile resolution, they stood up, ready to face another day in Ellen's life—even if it wasn't theirs.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
TheHollowOne
TheHollowOne Any thoughts about this chapter was it good or bad?
I'm always up to suggestions to better help my writing.
Hope all you have a great day and stay safe out there!
See ya!!
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone