I wake up already displaced. The body moves before I decide to. Lungs fill with air that doesn’t belong to me, too shallow, too practiced. I feel suspended just behind the eyes, as if I’ve been hung slightly above myself and pushed forward at the same time—watching, steering, never fully touching. The hands lift. I …
They say meeting yourself is a bad omen. In old stories, it means one of you will die. That the universe cannot tolerate duplicates—that something must be corrected, balanced, erased. In some versions, the double doesn’t just replace you; it hunts you, slipping into your life while you dissolve like a smudge rubbed out by …
The Cozy Nook | Stories · Food ·Gaming·Magic 