The day was dreary when she entered the unsuspecting town. The sky draped over the ground like a dull, gray blanket, smothering any light that would have entered. A cool breeze rolled on the ground, kicking up leaves, the signs of a season dying. The people who sluggishly ambled through the streets showed almost no difference from the melancholy setting and themselves.

Her hair, a deep and sharp shade of red, whipped around her face. If anyone had noticed that she stood there, in the middle of the masses, they might have seen her brush the locks out of her eyes. From then they might have realized that the color of her eyes was simply black, as if her pupils had swollen and swallowed the irises.

But no one paid any mind to the woman. They saw nothing out of the ordinary about her demeanor, her black pants and white blouse that poked out from behind a black blazer, her presence. No even noticed that she possessed physical features such as hollow cheeks, full lips and thick eyelashes; a combination that was lethally beautiful.

Instead they simply ignored her presence entirely; ignorant to the horror she was capable of. The offense of bumping into her side was repeated. After one particularly abrasive jostling, she breathed a quiet sigh.

The lifelessness of this town sent her blood boiling. Everywhere she looked her eyes were met with something bleak. Her hands twitched at her sides as she wished she could dig them through the concrete of the street and into the soil, so that she could install her own energy.

Her next actions changed the town in a manner that would withstand time.

And as she looked around, she wondered if they would ever see the difference.

The change was not evident. Not at first.

But then, slowly, people began to change.

It started out with their behavior. Those who were the most weak or fainthearted suddenly had biting remarks poised on their tongues. An argument between strangers was settled by the most scathing comment.

The irritation morphed into violence after that. Meek, spineless people began displaying bruises on their knuckles. Anyone who stepped out of society’s line was immediately punished. Beatings could be found taking place on every street.

The people were terrified, to say the least. While some roamed the street like predators slowly stalking their next kill, the ones too afraid were boarding themselves up in their homes, not daring to venture outside, but it did them no good: they morphed as well, all of them did, just at different rates. The question of how this change came about hung heavily in the air.

And then they realized that they weren’t the same people at all.

She kept tabs on her favorite studies. She did this silently, always remaining under the cover of the shadows. To watch them all unravel was deliciously entertaining. Meanwhile when their counterparts, the ones that looked just like them but with cold, stormy gray eyes, roamed the streets, she joined them.

One of her subjects was a man named Timothy Ash. If anyone were to look at him, they would have assumed he could do no harm. His frame was lanky and his eyes were timid. The second him had the exact same physical type of body, but became a raging mess. While Timothy stayed inside, his equal was getting blood on his shoes.

They found Timothy’s body five days later, bloody and broken, crumpled in front of a mirror. When forensics looked more closely, they saw that there were pieces of his own skin in his knuckles.

Evidence that he had taken one look at the mirror and beat himself to death.

Meanwhile the other him was nowhere to be found.

Another study was Amanda Fischer, a woman who, no matter how many of her dresses from high school she fit into, saw herself as overweight. Her doppelganger was a bony figure, yet possessed all the curves men long to touch. Amanda lasted a bit longer than Timothy, even while being stalked by the other her, who ate cupcakes and moaned while licking icing off her fingers.

Eventually she succumbed as well. It took longer for her to be found, as there were less and less people, but they did at last locate her.

She had taken a forkful of cake that was larger than her head, and tried to shove it in her mouth. She was unsuccessful and choked, falling to the floor and later to be discovered surrounded in vomit.

Her counterpart was missing as well.

People did one of two things: they either killed themselves or moved away as quickly as possible. Houses still contained furniture and belongings, resembling empty nests that had been abandoned. Once they did this, either running away or taking their own lives, their doppelgangers vanished.

After some time, the streets were left bare, except for her. She walked down the sidewalk calmly, the sound of her heels echoing like shots of a canon. Strolling casually, she came upon an apartment building where one last light shined in the window.

She did not need a key to enter. The doorknob had been broken in a previous effort to escape the premises. Climbing up the stairs, she looked under doors for that soft glow of light until she reached her destination and entered without a key.

The entire place was just as dreary as the sky had been when she arrived. Grey furniture, drab carpet. Nothing stuck out as being interesting. Picture frames were aligned perfectly. Centerpieces were positioned just so. Nothing blared on the television, because there wasn’t one.

She found a life in the last room, a walk-in closet that was only spotted with clothes, all along that neutral shade.

The life, a woman by the name of Carmen, was rearranging shoes by size. She watched for a while, simply fascinated as the woman starts over every time she hesitated. She stared at the hairband that hung from the stringy head of hair, as if it had once been placed in an orderly fashion, but overtime had fallen out. Eventually the woman’s fingers twitched and she sank to the ground.

When the woman turned, her small, black and birdlike eyes went wide when they land on who stood in the doorframe.

Trying to scramble, Carmen only backed herself into the wall. She entered the room with ease while the woman shook. At last she was staring down at her own meek original form.

At last, Carmen spoke.

“Who are you?” the woman asked, very voice wavering.

In response, she gave Carmen a smile, showing all of her teeth when she replied:

“I’m all you’ve ever wanted.”