Hannah stood before the mirror, her expression carved from stone. She stared at her own reflection as if searching for something hidden deep beneath the surface, yet her eyes betrayed no emotion. In that moment, she had shut herself off completely—her thoughts muted, her awareness of the world around her slipping into silence. She neither listened to the voices nearby nor acknowledged the curious glances of the schoolgirls who lingered behind her. They whispered and speculated, their words little more than background noise she refused to hear.
A new rumor had taken hold of the school like a sudden storm, sweeping through the hallways with restless energy. Once again, Hannah found herself at its center—this time alongside Jin. Their latest quarrel had ignited feverish chatter, each retelling growing more dramatic than the last.
"Do you really think there's something disturbing about this room?" one girl asked, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone as she cast a sidelong glance at her friend."She does act strangely sometimes," the other replied cautiously, "but I don't believe the ghost stories."
"There's something wrong with it," the first insisted, her eyes narrowing. "Why is Joseph always drawn to the girls who live there? First Halsey… and now her."
"I think that's just a coincidence," her friend countered. "Besides, he and Hannah couldn't stand each other at first. That can't be connected."
"But they walked into the cafeteria together yesterday!" she snapped, crossing her arms defiantly. "He put his arm around her! You can't tell me they're still enemies after that. And have you noticed? The girls in that room are all drawn to him…"
Her friend chuckled softly, amused by the theory. "Then why don't you move in with her and see if Joseph notices you? Honestly, it was probably all for show. Didn't you see the way he smiled? I don't know what they're planning, but whatever it is… that's what really scares me."
Hannah's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile as she tore her gaze from her own reflection. She glanced sideways at the gossiping pair, her eyes cool yet almost playful.
"Are you curious," she asked softly, her voice carrying an edge of intrigue, "about what might connect you to Joseph?"
Pushing away from the sink, she took unhurried steps toward them. Her presence was quiet but heavy, drawing their attention like a shadow creeping across the floor. Stopping in front of them, she let her gaze linger, reading their discomfort.
"With him," she said at last, her tone deceptively light, "a secret can connect you."
The faintest trace of a smirk ghosted across her lips before she turned and walked toward the exit. The air she left behind seemed to hum with tension, and the two girls stared after her in stunned silence.
"Did you see her eyes?" one finally whispered. "She painted them exactly the way Joseph does…"
But the other's thoughts had drifted somewhere else entirely."Her gaze…" she murmured, almost to herself. "Didn't she remind you of someone just now?"
"What are you talking about? You're starting to scare me," the shorter girl muttered, giving her a light slap on the shoulder to pull her back. "Come on—we'll be late for the next class."
*
The teacher's voice droned steadily as he explained the topic, but Hannah's attention was anchored to the notes she had scribbled earlier. The exams loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon, closing in faster with each passing day. She had little time left to prepare properly, and yet her mind refused to obey her. Her thoughts kept drifting into shadowed places far from the classroom's dull reality. No matter how she tried, her focus slipped through her fingers, leaving her with the fear that she would fail to meet even her own expectations.
"Stop kicking me, dammit!" a girl snapped, hurling her pen onto the bench with a loud clatter. She twisted around in her seat, her glare like a pointed finger aimed at the culprit.
The teacher's words faltered. His gaze shifted from the boy to Hannah, who sat stiffly, her cheeks blooming red with anger.
"I understand December is the most stressful month of the year," the teacher said, his tone clipped, "but that doesn't give you the right to lose your temper. Control yourself."
Hannah forced a contrite expression, murmuring a quiet apology before lowering her head again. She fixed her gaze on her notebook, blinking rapidly when she thought—just for a moment—that the letters on the page were… moving. She rubbed her eyes, and the words settled into stillness once more.
It's just my imagination, she told herself, drawing a slow, steady breath.
But when she opened her eyes wider, the letters began to writhe again, rearranging themselves into sentences she had never written.
"It's time to stop, Hannah.""You've been discovered. How long are you going to keep this up?""You've lost your chance."
"I feel… bad," she blurted, her voice trembling as she pushed back from the desk. Her hands clutched the tabletop for support.
The teacher studied her pale face for a moment before nodding. "Go to the nurse."
She didn't hesitate. With quick, uneven steps, she crossed the classroom and slipped out the door, closing it behind her with a soft click. Only then did she exhale, her back pressing hard against the cool wall. Her vision blurred as tears welled up, and she stared blankly out the window.
"Let it all end," she whispered hoarsely. "I beg you…"
Her knees gave way, and she slid to the floor, curling into herself with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She willed herself to forget—to bury every thought that clawed at her. But the weight pressed harder, an ache that had been with her every day since she had arrived at this school. Back in June, the symptoms had been faint, almost easy to ignore.
Then she met Jin.
Since that moment, everything had sharpened—her pain, her confusion, the sense that something inside her was slowly unraveling. She no longer knew who she truly was.
One thing, however, remained certain: she was suffering… and she could not carry it alone any longer.
Two Days Earlier
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stared at the boy. He placed a chair directly in front of her, the scrape of wood against the floor sharp in the silence, and sat down. His gaze locked onto hers with an unwavering intensity that made her chest tighten. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. She could feel the demand in the air — he wouldn't let go, wouldn't leave, not until she dared to tell him the truth.
"I'm not an idiot," he said at last, his voice low but cutting. "You can fool everyone else, but not me. Your eyes gave you away. I once knew someone who looked at me the same way you do." His expression darkened. "She's dead now."
The bluntness of his words made her tremble.
"She… died?" Hannah whispered.
"Yes. Because no one helped her. And I'm afraid the same thing is waiting for you." His tone was cruel, but it served its purpose — the anxiety in her eyes deepened. "Is that what you want? Are you going to strangle this demon inside you?"
When she stayed silent for too long, he leaned back, folding his arms over his chest before slouching low in the chair, eyes never leaving her.
"Did you realize," she asked at last, "that she was coming to see me?"
Joseph narrowed his gaze.
"She?" he repeated, sitting up abruptly, resting his elbows on his knees. His fingers laced together, and he placed his chin on them. "Who?"
"My sister," she murmured. "She's been coming to me ever since she died."
He raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his dark eyes. Could Danielle truly be dead?
"For a short time, we grew… attached. So close that even death couldn't keep her away from me. She visits me every night. She talks to me."
Joseph rubbed his forehead but kept silent. She was too deep in her own world now, her eyes fixed on a single spot, her voice almost hypnotic. She needed someone — anyone — to hear this.
"It didn't take long for me to learn everything about her," she continued. "I knew her better than the mother who raised her." A soft, almost fond laugh escaped her lips. "I learned her habits. I could be her. Danielle was amazed when I showed her how well I could pretend. She told me I should take exams in her place."
Joseph tilted his head, a twisted smile tugging at his lips. This was more unsettling than he had imagined.
"The first day I came to school, I met Jin. I recognized him from her photographs. She had told me everything about him… about their relationship." Hannah's eyes glimmered with something between pride and longing. "In front of him, I pretended not to know who he was. I didn't want him to think I was her twin. And I couldn't tell him the truth — I knew it would break his heart. He loved my sister so much… so I couldn't say she was gone."
Joseph's lips curled in a grimace. It was getting darker, more twisted — but also strangely impressive.
"The next day, when he called me 'Danielle'…" her voice faltered, "my heart broke. I saw how much he missed her. How much he wanted me to be her."
Her eyes shone now, catching the dim light.
"She had promised me she wouldn't appear again… but she did. That night. She asked me to keep pretending. She said I made him happy. She wanted me to take care of him — to get closer, step by step. In my dreams, she showed me their past. I could feel their love, so strong it wrapped around me like a second skin."
Joseph shifted uncomfortably, imagining what those dreams must have been like for her to speak with such fervor.
"After a while," she said, her voice softer now, "I started to care about him myself. I wanted to be close to him."
He coughed, trying to shake off the growing unease.
"I got so deep into believing I was Danielle… sometimes I didn't know who I really was anymore. I forgot my own past. I thought I had truly lost my memory." She rubbed her arm as if to ground herself. "I told her recently I was tired of it. That I didn't want to pretend anymore. She got angry. She said I couldn't even manage such an easy task. Instead of getting closer to him… I've been pushing him away."
Her gaze shifted to a photograph on the cabinet. Joseph followed it.
"After she died, I took that photo," she said quietly. "In May, she made me lighten my hair so we'd look identical." She gave a faint laugh at the memory. "Danielle was a rebel. She always had her own opinion, and she didn't care what others thought. Sometimes, she could be very selfish."
Joseph knew now — Hannah was ill. The sudden, intense bond with her twin, followed by her death, had cracked something inside her. She had built a world where Danielle still lingered, where even death could not separate them.
She needed someone to break that illusion — to make her see that Danielle was gone, and she was still Hannah.
But Joseph said nothing. He had seen this before. His own mother's mental illness had ended in suicide.
No one came to Hannah at night. It was all in her mind — images, voices — illusions feeding on grief.
Her voice trembled. "Am I going to die too? Did the person you knew… also see the dark spirit of someone they loved?"
He had been right from the start. And because of what he had lived through, he intended to help her — no matter how far she had already fallen.