Chapter Text
Renée had gotten used to it, really. She was not proud of that, but when the sound of her youngest crying reached her for the second time that day, she did not react with much urgency. Bella must have fallen again.
The park was small and usually peaceful, tucked into the neighborhood between a row of modest houses and a quiet street. The grass was patchy in places, worn down by running feet, and the playground sat under a few broad trees that offered more shade than beauty. A faded red slide, two squeaky swings, and a metal climbing frame made up most of it. On afternoons like this, it was filled with the usual sounds of children laughing, mothers chatting, and the occasional sharp call to be careful.
Then Bella came running toward her.
She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, calling for her in a panicked voice that made Renée’s heart drop. She was on her feet at once.
Bella reached her but could not get the words out. She only grabbed Renée’s hand with both of hers and pulled, desperate, guiding her away from the bench where she had been sitting with a few other mothers and toward the back of the park.
The others followed.
And there, on the ground beneath the swings, lay Miranda.
She was unconscious, her long brown hair fallen across her face. One arm was bent awkwardly beneath her, and there was blood on her forehead—bright and shocking against her pale skin.
Through tears, Bella tried to explain. She had been pushing Mira on the swing. Then they had switched because Bella wanted Mira to have a turn too, and then Mira had slipped and hit her head on the ground. She was sorry. She was so sorry. Please, Mama, make it better.
Panic flooded Renée’s chest.
She had only stepped away for a few minutes. One of the other mothers had wanted to show her a purse she had seen in a magazine after Renée mentioned wanting to buy one for her own mother. Just a few minutes. That was all it had taken.
“Hospital,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We’re going to the hospital.”
By then, other children had gathered nearby, wide-eyed and silent. Parents hurried over, pulling them back, murmuring in alarm as the space around the swings filled with anxious voices.
If you asked Bella about that day a few months later, she would have told you her sister had gone a little strange afterward. She cried a lot. She started forgetting things—small things at first, and then bigger ones. For a while, she could not even remember her own name. The doctors called it temporary amnesia and said it was normal after a severe concussion. A scar remained on her forehead long after the rest had healed.
Bella adapted, as children do, and in time the whole thing blurred into a hazy childhood memory. She was only four, after all.
But Miranda Anne Swan did not forget.
She had been five years old, and when she woke up, she remembered a different life.
A knock on the door wakes too early in the morning. I look at my clock, showing its just 5 minutes past 05 am.
For a second, I just lie there, disoriented, staring at the unfamiliar room. It is small—barely enough space for a narrow bed, a closet, a full-length mirror, and a tiny desk. The walls are plain white and completely empty.
Then the door creaks open, and Bella peeks in.
We make eye contact.
Ah. Right.
We got to Charlie’s yesterday.
He had been waiting for us at the airport, awkward but trying, like always. The whole arrangement—Bella and I staying with him—had happened fast. Renée had just remarried Phil, a minor league baseball player who was always traveling, and Bella had been the onesto suggest it months ago. If Renée wanted to follow him around like the other baseball wives, we could stay in Forks. We both knew we were the only reason she had stayed in Phoenix as long as she did.
René and I hesitated. Mostly me, arguing that maybe there´s another way. I'm almost eighteen, for one. Charlie, tho, agreed almost immediately to the idea. Too quickly, really. Said he was happy to have us back, even if it was only for two years. How could I argue more against that?
When we were younger, we used to spend summers here. But as school got harder—and Forks got duller—our visits got shorter. A few days here, then back to Phoenix. Eventually, we stopped coming altogether and settled for phone calls.
This room is new, tho. It used to be the guest room, but now that Bella and I are older, Charlie figured we would want privacy instead of sharing our old childhood bedroom. So he fixed this one up for one of us.
Naturally, I wanted the bigger room.
But Bella had looked at me with those wide, uneasy eyes and whispered that she did not like small spaces.
Yeah. Sure.
So I gave in. And she owes me for that.
Still, separate rooms are better than sharing.
Bella steps inside with a tight smile that does not quite reach her eyes.
She has always been anxious—always fidgeting, glancing around, never fully at ease.
My chest tightened when I noticed she was already dressed for school: a long-sleeved gray shirt under a green short-sleeved one, skinny jeans, shoes and all. Judging by the look on her face, she must have been awake for a while.
I know my little sister better than anyone. Bella does not ask for comfort, but she needs it. She wants company.
That, at least, I can give her.
I lift the covers and make room beside me. She looks relieved in that quiet way of hers, like she has been holding herself together by a thread. For a second, I think she might cry.
New school. Small town. The chief’s daughter.
Yeah. That would do it.
And if Bella had her way, we would not be going at all.
She climbs into bed, and the mattress creaks softly under her weight. She curls up close to me, and we stay like that in silence.
Until my alarm goes off at 6:30.
Time to get up. Great.
Bella’s breathing has evened out. She actually fell asleep.
I, on the other hand, have absorbed every bit of her nervous energy, and now it sits in me, heavy and restless.
It has been almost thirteen years since the accident.
Since then, memories from another life have been slipping into my mind piece by piece. Never all at once. Just fragments, appearing without warning, as if they had always been there and I had only just learned how to notice them.
When I was eleven, after years of thinking there was simply something wrong with me, I remembered something that I usually would dismiss: a book series.
At first, that did not seem too strange. I remembered other stories too, and sure, somehow knowing the plot of Harry Potter without ever reading it in this life was, for the loss of words, confusing—but not impossible to ignore.
This series was different.
The characters felt too familiar.
I’ve had years to come to terms with the idea that I might be… reincarnated.
But realizing that I reincarnated inside a series book? A teenage romance that involved my little sister and a literal bloodsucker?!
Let’s just say my early teen years were rough. These memories were hazy, but through the years the puzzle pieces were making a bigger scenario.
The thing was, I wasn't the biggest fan of the series back then, I guess. But there was one little—big—detail that never sat right with me, even with my little knowledge of the story: me.
´Book Bella didn’t have a sister... did she?
It’s not like I´d remember details. But no matter how much I search what i know or wait for updates, I don´t recall any Miranda existing in that universe. And that thought is terrifying, but also weirdly comforting, because maybe this is all just a coincidence. Maybe I’m living a life that feels a little too similar to Twilight, but isn’t actually that.
Well, me being here literally proves that. so, I know it isn’t, at least not completely.
Bella, for one, is a real person. She has an actual personality. And absolutely no protagonist energy.
I press my cheek against her back, soaking in her warmth. She’s my rock. I may have another set of memories, but the woman I was before is dead. It’s more like someone took her memories and shoved them into my brain, and now it’s taking years and years for the transfer to finish.
I mean, I do feel like I was her, in some distant way. But I’ve been living this life for a long time now. I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. Her memories were useful sometimes, but most of the time I kept them locked away.
Here, I’m Miranda. And I don’t know how to be anyone else anymore.
Bella held my hand through everything, and I loved her for that. For a long long time it was her and me against the world.
So I pray—over and over—that this vampire thing isn’t real. That this Edward boy doesn’t exist.
But he might.
And now I can feel the water rising around my ass.
BEEP BEEP BEEP — THWACK.
…So, it’s time. No coming back…
I did not, in fact, fall back asleep. And, honestly, even after years of planning for this very day, I don't feel ready at all.
“Bells...?”
No answer.
Ugh.
I shake her lightly, and she lets out a sleepy grunt.
“I’m awake...”
“I can see that,” I mutter with a sigh.
I sit up, then climb over her to get out of bed. I’ll try again after I get ready…
I head straight for the bathroom. Yawning, I flick on the light, and there I am in the mirror.
Me.
If Bella looks like a younger girl version of Charlie, then I look like a tired younger girl version of Charlie. We both have brown hair and brown eyes, but I got Renée’s terrible eyesight. I can’t see much past arm’s length without my glasses.
I lean closer to the mirror to inspect my shoulder-length hair.
Yeah. Greasy, crusty, wavy, tangled. The list goes on.
Maybe I should wash it really quick.
Charlie knocks on the half-open bathroom door.
“Morning.”
He looks happy, at least. It’s not every day your presence has such a visibly positive effect on someone. I’ve never really given him a fair chance. Living so far apart stole a lot of father-daughter time from us, and that’s one of the biggest reasons I’m here now.
So I smile back, even though I feel like throwing up from nerves over what’s waiting for us at that dreadful school.
“Good morning, Dad. Sleep well?”
He nods a little, a small smile still on his face.
Then I notice the toothbrush in his hand.
Oh.
“Oh—I can come back after you.”
“No, Mira. I can wait.”
“No, no, I—”
I’m rudely cut off by Bella.
“Go first, Charlie. Believe me.” She pats him on the shoulder three times “ She takes her sweet there. You’ll end up brushing your teeth in the kitchen sink.”
I make an offended face.
But, to be fair, that does sound like me.
“Well, a lady needs time to get ready.”
Bella scoffs.
Charlie looks between the two of us, clearly confused, and I huff.
“I’ll organize some things first, Dad. Go ahead.”
Then I head back to my room to grab what I need for a quick shower.
After that, the rest of the morning moves fast.
Hair clean. White long-sleeve shirt under a black tee. Fitted jeans. Converse.
Yeah. Good enough.
And my glasses, of course. Thin gunmetal frames, oversized and square. Renée talked me into buying them because she said they were cute. I didn’t really care, but they’re simple. Minimalist.
I kind of like them.
They do their job.
And now I can actually see my shoes.
When I felt ready enough, I went downstairs.
Charlie and Bella were eating together in an easy silence, and the sight of it was oddly heartwarming. Charlie sat with the morning paper in one hand and a red coffee mug in the other. Across from him, Bella worked on the crossword, probably humoring him after he remembered one of their old summer traditions. She ate her cereal slowly from her childhood purple bowl. They really were cut from the same cloth.
Ha. What am I even doing here? They have no idea what’s waiting for them.
And what am I supposed to say?
Hey, Bella. Hey, Dad. So, you know Forks? Yeah, the town we’re currently living in? Well, I kind of know there are vampires here. What? Oh, yeah, they’re real. Yup. Oh, how do I know? Well, I dreamed about them. They are dainty creatures, y´know? Drinking blood and sparkling. No, no, don’t worry—the specific ones in here don’t drink human blood! Also, Bella? Yes, you, Bells. You’re going to date one of them… God, release me.
The nerves. The nerves are making me insane.
If I’m remembering correctly—and I am, I know I am—one of them... vampires, reads minds? And I'm pretty sure that's Edward. The boy Bella… elopes with. Ugh.
But I know Bella is somehow immune to it? I mean, the mind reading thing. But what about me? Am I immune as well? Our genetics are pretty similar, but how am I even supposed to know that?
I feel crazy just acknowledging that someone could read minds in the first place. This whole scenario is illogical.
In the end, the only thing I can do is be careful. And that´s easier said than done, I know. I feel like by now I´m just trying to convince myself everything is going to be okay.
I breathe slowly. Holding my breath for a second and then sighing deeply.
Well, If they even exist, I’ll stay out of their way and, hopefully, keep Bella out of it too. The idea of Bella mingling with them does not sit right with me. Thankfully, she’s never been the kind of sister who gets embarrassed by family. She’ll probably want to sit with me at lunch, like she sometimes did at our last school… But I know there’s a good chance I won’t win against the appeal of a cute boy.
This is sickening. I can´t believe how it came to this.
I look at the front door.
Maybe I can just… Oh, come on, Miranda.
You really think you’re going to leave Bella here? You came because you knew she’d be coming whether you tagged along or not.
“Mira?”
I snap back to myself, still frozen on the stairs, biting at my nails and staring at the front door like it might save me.
Bella and Charlie are both looking at me, a trace of worry in their eyes.
“Nothing, I...” I step fully into the room, letting my gaze drift from the living room to the kitchen in what I hope looks casual. “Just thinking… about, hmm, life”
Nailed it there.
My back is to them, but I know they share a look.
A chair scrapes against the floor.
I’m reaching for a white bowl for my cereal when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“If you’re not feeling well, you can stay home today.” He clears his throat and pulls his arm back. “The principal said your attendance only starts counting tomorrow.”
I glance at Bella. She’s very focused on her cereal, but I can see the stiffness in her shoulders. Damn.
I can’t let her go alone.
Yeah, I don’t look my best. I haven’t been sleeping much these past few days, and I feel like I might legitimately be coming down with something.
But I’m not backing out. Not now.
“No. No, Charlie. I’ll go.”
I look back at my bowl and pour in the milk. A spoon appears in it a second later, courtesy of Charlie.
I smile up in thanks.
“I´m just a little anxious”
He lets out a small huff. “If you say so.”
Then he goes to grab his hat and belt.
“I should get going. Have a good day, girls.” He tips his hat and gives us a small salute, like he’s trying to lighten the mood.
He heads for the front door, but then hesitates.
“Maybe…” He clears his throat. “We could have dinner at The Lodge tonight? Like old times.”
Bella and I look at each other. I’m still chewing the huge mouthful of cereal I just stuffed into my mouth.
“Sure. We’d like that,” Bella says softly, with a small smile.
I just nod, still munching.
Charlie looks satisfied and heads out.
A few moments later, I finish my bowl and get up with a quiet oof.
“Let’s get going, then?”
Bella nods while I carry our bowls to the sink, and she goes to grab her car keys.
Yesterday, almost an hour after we got here, Billy Black and his son Jake came by to say hello. That was an event in itself. I remember Jake, even if it’s been a long time since I last saw him. Back then, while he preferred Bella’s quiet company, I usually played with his older twin sisters.
But now I’ve seen him again, after remembering the fictional slash possibly real terrifying plot where he suddenly turns into a wolf.
Seeing him was the other shoe finally dropping.
He looked exactly like I knew he'd look. I hadn't seen him in so long… And that made everything I’ve been dreading feel way more real. Isn’t that just peachy?
So, yeah. I excused myself early and said I was exhausted from the trip, which wasn’t a lie. Then I went to my tiny, tiny room and dissociated on the bed ´til I suddenly fell asleep. Healthy? No.
But it really could be just a coincidence, right? Same as my whole family's existence and background.
Well, Billy and Jake had come in a big old red truck, which turned out to be a gift for Bella. Since she already had her license, she absolutely loved it, practically bouncing in place and hugging Charlie even tighter than she had at the airport.
In the back of the truck, there had been a black bicycle. That one was for me.
It was a little too big, yeah, but I liked it anyway.
I didn’t have my license like Bella. Mostly because I’d decided I couldn’t trust myself with a car. It’s still unclear, but I’m pretty sure I died in one. The memory is hazy and traumatic, so I don’t push myself too hard down that path of thought. Still, the idea of me behind a wheel makes me feel sick, so I stick to the passenger seat.
It took me years just to be okay getting inside a car, so the fact that I can do that now already feels like progress.
And motorcycles are a definite no.
So biking became my preferred way of getting around. Simple as that. I tried skating once, but I do not have the coordination for that kind of lifestyle.
I hurried upstairs, grabbed my old green backpack, put on my grey coat and fixed my hair, which was almost dry by now. Then I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror.
“You got this,” I told my reflection.
She smiled back like she didn’t believe a word of it.
I jumped a little at the loud blast of a horn outside.
Bella.
When I got to the car, Bella was cringing so hard it was almost painful to watch.
“Do you think the neighbors are mad? God, it’s so early. I didn’t know it was that loud.”
She cringed even harder when she turned the key. The engine roared to life, almost as loudly as the horn had.
I just laughed at her.
Honestly, it was exactly the kind of comic relief I needed.
Maybe everything really was going to be okay.
No, it’s not.
High school, vampirism, whatever situation I’m in or not in, it is never a good experience.
We managed to miss the road that led into the school. Bella blamed me for it, the audacity, saying I was distracting her. Oh, okay. So, yeah, I pointed out a cute dog on the sidewalk, sue me. Boo-hoo.
Because of that, we ended up getting to the school office a little too late to pick up our schedules. The woman there, Miss Cope, an older lady with colorful clothes, looked pretty surprised when we rushed in. Still, she took her sweet time explaining everything on our sheets like we couldn’t read and weren’t obviously in a hurry.
As the clock crept closer to 7:30, my hands started trembling.
I don’t like attention. And now the new girl in town was about to walk into her first class late, which felt like a horrible first impression. I value punctuality, thank you very much. And according to my schedule, my first class—English Literature—was pretty far from the office.
So let’s just say that after Miss Cope finally handed us our papers and finished her little speech, we casually stepped outside, and after I hugged my sister, held her face, told her I’d see her at lunch, and kissed her on the forehead, I ran for my life.
Bella just blushed, slapped my hands away, and muttered, “Yeah, bye.”
I made it to class on time. Barely.
But the second I remembered where I was, the happiness from my accomplishment was cut short.
Everyone was looking at me. At my dramatic entrance, at my obvious lateness, at me. I dropped my gaze immediately and turned to hang up my coat, trying to act natural. But while I had my back to the class, I noticed the teacher staring at me with a surprised expression.
“Oh, yes. I forgot the new student was starting today. Miss Miranda Swan, right? I’m Mr. Berty.”
I nodded to confirm my name, and he smiled a little wider, looking pleased he’d remembered correctly.
“I teach the English classes here at Forks High.”
Okay. He seemed nice. My heart, which had been racing from the panic, started slowing down again.
He glanced around the room. “Why don’t you sit next to Miss Dawson?”
I looked to where he was pointing, grateful he hadn’t made me introduce myself to the whole class. I nodded and made my way over, staring firmly at my shoes the entire time.
The seat was at the second desk in the front, near the window. The girl Mr. Berty had pointed to – a brunette with soft curls, thin-rimmed oval glasses, and droopy eyes that made her look thoughtful – shifted over so she could sit by the window, leaving me the seat closer to the aisle.
I usually struggle with talking to people I don’t know, but I was going to be her new English partner, so—
“Hi. I’m Miranda.” And then I held out my right hand for a handshake. Bruhh.
The girl looked at me, then at my hand. “Claire. Nice to meet you.”
And we actually shook hands.
“Nice to meet you too,” I said, already looking forward again, blushing a bit and suddenly very eager for class to start.
And although I cringed hard about the handshake, I feel like it´s a good enough start.
Then Mr. Berty started class. He had one of those smooth voices that made it dangerously easy to zone out, so I had to actively force myself to pay attention. And I did. It was the first day, after all. If there was ever a day I needed to look engaged, it was today.
So I took out my notebook and pen and started taking notes like I was deeply invested in The Great Gatsby.
Surprisingly, the anxiety I’d expected to feel here was almost nonexistent. Maybe I could postpone all my worries until lunch.
And look at that, class was almost over.
The clock above the blackboard ticked slowly, showing there were only ten minutes left. I rested my chin on my left hand and kept taking notes absentmindedly. At this point, I was definitely bored. I glanced down at my pen.
It was almost dry.
Not exactly a great choice for the first day. Maybe I had another one in my backpack.
If I grabbed it quickly, no one would notice, right? Though, if I started digging around in my bag, I’d probably disturb the class a little.
Better to leave it.
Naturally, in the middle of this deeply important internal debate about whether I had the courage to reach for a pen that literally belonged to me and was literally inside my own backpack, I dropped the one I was holding.
Was I ever meant to win?
I bent down to grab it, but before I could, a pale hand appeared beside me holding it. The person behind me had picked it up for me.
I took it and turned slightly to give a quick thank you. Hand in motion to take the pen.
But the moment our eyes met, it felt like someone slapped me in the face and I immediately froze. Every bit of comfort I’d been feeling in that room vanished.
It was sudden and frustrating, like when Mom used to rip the covers off me on a cold morning and force me into the day.
The guy behind me looked just as startled.
I blinked, a little taken aback myself. I hadn’t been expecting that face.
His light brown eyes were wide with shock, his mouth slightly open like he’d just seen something he believed impossible. The expression looked strange on him, almost wrong against the rest of his face. Blond hair. Sharp features.
And his eyes—
I couldn’t look away.
My heartbeat thudded in my ears.
Maybe it was warning me to run.
Or maybe it was just the way he was looking at me—like I was something unexpected, something intriguing—and the fact that he was, quite honestly, unfairly gorgeous.
His shaking gaze held mine, and the longer it did, the more details I noticed. His pupils were already blown wide, but as we kept staring at each other, they widened even more. Slowly, steadily, the light brown of his irises was swallowed up until his eyes looked almost black.
There was something deeply wrong about that. Or maybe not wrong—just inhuman. Unsettling.
And still, I couldn’t look away.
Then, slowly, his features relaxed.
Not all at once. First his mouth closed. Then his shoulders dropped. The tension seemed to leave him so suddenly that, for a second, he looked almost... relieved.
Like he could breathe after holding his breath for a long time. Then he exhaled and seemed to come back to himself.
“Your pen,” he said, his voice low and oddly distant, almost dreamy.
I blinked and looked down at the pen in his hand, like I’d forgotten what this whole interaction had even been about.
I hadn’t even realized I wasn’t breathing until the pressure in my chest became impossible to ignore. It came out as a cough, and when I answered, I sounded breathless and dumb.
“Oh. Thanks.”
I took it quickly and turned back toward Mr. Berty.
But something in the room felt off.
It took me a second to realize class had gone quiet in a weird way. Not normal quiet or focused quiet.
Mr. Berty had stopped midsentence.
He coughed once. Then twice. He grabbed his water bottle and took a long drink, like his throat had suddenly gone dry. A few people shifted in their seats. Someone near the back let out a breath in weird coughs, clearing their throat. Even Claire moved a little beside me, adjusting in her chair like she’d just gotten uncomfortable.
Then Mr. Berty walked over to the windows and shut the last one that was still open.
“This weather does not help the older ones,” he said with a small laugh that sounded a little forced. “When you grow up, you’ll learn to appreciate your young bodies.”
A few people laughed politely.
I didn’t.
The boy behind me didn’t say anything else.
Then, gradually, the weird atmosphere from earlier vanished so completely it was like it had never happened.
Mr. Berty was already rushing through the final notes of class, telling us our homework was to read chapters four through six of the book. Then we were dismissed to our next class.
I just sat there for a second, dumbfounded.
What the hell had just happened?
Maybe I had imagined it.
I shifted to look behind me, but the blond boy was gone. Just gone. I hadn’t heard him get up or walk past me to the door.
And little by little, I felt my nerves start crawling back into my bones.
Was he... one of them?
Oh, what the fuck.
He had been sitting behind me for, what, forty minutes? And I hadn’t noticed a thing. That was unsettling. It made me feel powerless.
A tap landed on my shoulder.
It was Claire.
“Hey, um...” The smile on her face faded into concern. “Are you okay?”
I swallowed hard, curling my hands into fists before forcing a small smile.
“Oh, yeah. Don't worry about it.”
I looked down at my desk and spotted my schedule. Before I could remember what I was supposed to do with it, Mr. Berty appeared beside me.
“I just remembered I needed to sign your attendance sheet today. Were you able to keep up with the class?”
He picked up the paper and signed it without much fuss, using the pen I’d left on the desk.
“Ah, yes. It was a good class. Thanks.”
He looked over my schedule before handing it back.
“I see you have Government now. Miss Dawson, could you help her with directions?”
Claire nodded, answering with the small smile I was already getting used to. “Of course.”
Then she looked at me. “Ready?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I stuffed my things into my backpack, remembered my coat at the last second, and followed Claire to wherever Government class was, keeping my eyes fixed ahead.
“Hm?”
I looked at Claire’s expectant expression, confused. She’d asked me something, and I’d completely missed it.
She repeated herself. “Are you liking Forks?”
I need to get myself together. Later. I’ll think about it later.
“Oh, yeah. It’s definitely like I remember. The dampness is doing wonders to my hair.”
Claire laughed. “That sounds like Forks. You’ve been here before?”
“Sometimes... to visit family.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
And then we walked the rest of the way in awkward silence.
Another social interaction completely ruined by my incredible people skills. I´m actually getting worse.
“Well, here we are.” She pointed to a classroom door. “Mr. Jefferson teaches Government, I think. He’s... well, he’s Mr. Jefferson.”
I let out a small huff of laughter. “Thanks for the heads up.” Then I gestured toward the classroom door with my head. “And thanks for showing me the way.”
“No problem.”
I murmured a small “bye” and started to move in direction to the class door, but Claire called after me again.
“Hey, Miranda.”
I looked back. She suddenly seemed hesitant.
“If you want to, you can sit with me and some friends at lunch.”
It’s rare for a teenager to be considerate these days. So despite my original plan to find a hole somewhere and cry my anxiety out in private during lunch, I suddenly found myself with cafeteria plans.
I nodded. “Yeah. That’d be great… And you can call me Mira.”
Claire´s expression relieved into a smile and she gave a short nod and a small wave before turning away and heading to wherever she needed to go.
I wave back with a forced smile and pinched eyebrows, keeping the constipated face until her figure disappears from the corridor and my arm goes limp beside my body.
Oh, God.
What have I gotten myself into?