The moment came during the second blackout of the week. Elara felt it first as a tremor in her hands, a sharp, cold pulse under her skin that told her she was no longer alone inside herself. Her vision blurred and refocused, colors shifting unnaturally, shadows stretching into angles her mind could not comprehend.
Raven stepped forward.
She did not appear as a separate entity in the room; she manifested in Elara's own body. Every motion, every thought, every breath taken by Elara now carried Raven's precision, her lethal calm. The first act was subtle: a book knocked from the shelf, a photograph straightened just slightly, almost imperceptible.
Then, a movement outside: someone attempting to open the door, someone trying to enter. Elara's body reacted, not by her will, but by Raven's. She moved silently to the entrance, watching, listening. Her pulse was steady, but her mind screamed from behind the veil.
"I… I can't…" Elara whispered in the shadowed corners of her consciousness.
Shh, Raven's cold voice replied. You watch. You learn. We protect.
The figure outside retreated, leaving behind evidence deliberately planted a note, a smudge of blood, a trace of hair. Someone was framing them. Or her.
Hours later, when control returned to Elara, she found herself sitting in the center of the living room, bruises on her arms and forearms, hands shaking uncontrollably. Nothing had been disturbed externally, but she knew Raven had acted. The precision of the traces left behind screamed intelligence, strategy, and intent.
But then a new, subtler movement: a whisper threading through the edge of her consciousness. Mira.
The manipulative personality was observing. Waiting. She did not move Raven. She had not acted. But she existed. And she knew everything that had happened.
Elara's breath came in short, shallow gasps. This is not just about me. This is about them. About me. About all of us.