The crack widened with a sound like breaking ice, sharp and crystalline, spiderwebbing across the wall of screaming faces. Through the growing gap, the shapes on the other side grew clearer. Not fully formed yet, still shifting between shadow and substance, but recognizable.
Others whose names I'd tried to forget.
The other me stared at them, his sword dipping toward the floor. His breathing had gone shallow, his chest rising and falling too fast.
"You see them," I said quietly.
"They're not real."
"They're real enough. For someone like you."
"I said shut up!"
He swung again, but his heart wasn't in it. I caught his blade with mine and held it there, close enough to see the cracks in his composure. The sweat on his brow. The way his pupils had dilated despite the dim light.
"Those faces kept you up at night, didn't they?" I pressed. "Every time you closed your eyes. Every time things got quiet. You'd see them. Hear them. Blaming you."
"I did what I could."
