The room felt smaller tonight. The ceiling hung low, pressing down on her, and the walls crept closer as if to suffocate her. Maria sat hunched over the counter, the dim light flickering, its rhythm slow and irregular—like a dying heartbeat.

The laptop's cold glow splashed over her face, making the dark circles beneath her eyes look even deeper.

A bottle of familiar pills rested on the same counter, rattling faintly when she shifted, a sound that had become too known. And next to it—those strands of hair. Light brown with some silver strands, soft, fragile.

She was born like this, as long as Maria remembered, she called her the fairy of moon with those moon kissed strands hiding between the brown waterfall of her hair.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, the DNA test form glaring back at her. All filled out and ready to be sent. The cursor blinked like it was mocking her hesitation.

Test subject candidate: Lee Cherry

The girl whom she had rescued a few days back. It was just a task done for money, or it was supposed to be until she saw her. A face that felt too familiar, like a ghost of the past!

What are you even doing, Maria? The voice inside her head was sharp and unforgiving. This? This is pointless.

Her gaze dropped to the chopped hair strands resting against the counter. She had taken them so easily—just a quick snip while the girl had dozed off, unaware, in her bed.

This is just... just for me and my Cherry, I mean no harm to anyone....

Is that what you're telling yourself? How long are you going to chase shadows, Maria?

Her breath hitched. She forced herself to look at the screen again. It was just a form. Just a few keystrokes.

Submit it.

And then what? Get another empty result? A dead end like always? You really think this is gonna give you the answer? That she's her?

She's not. You know that. She can't be. Her throat tightened. She felt pathetic, holding onto these strands of hair like they were a lifeline. Let it go, the voice whispered. Let her go. But the words tasted bitter, like bile rising in her throat. 

Why can't you let this go? Why do you keep chasing ghosts? She dragged a hand down her face, rubbing hard against her tired eyes.

"Because what if..." The thought slipped out before she could stop it, quiet but deafening in the hollow room. Her heart pounded harder.

What if.

That stupid, dangerous what if had been living inside her for too long.

She's not her.

"But what if she was?" Her fist closed around the strands, crumpling them like they were nothing but fragile threads.

Tears welled up, burning.

You're pathetic. The voice inside her was venomous now. Holding onto scraps, chasing shadows like some broken thing. You know how this ends. Empty. Like always. She squeezed the hair tighter, until her nails dug into her palm.

You're being ridiculous!

You swore you wouldn't do this again, remember? Swore you'd stop chasing this dead end because it's pathetic. You're pathetic.

What's it going to prove, huh? That she's another girl who looks a little too much like her? Acts a little too much like her? Is that all it takes for you to spiral again?

The bitterness was sharp, but it didn't sting as much as the what if lingering beneath it.

She sat up straighter, pressing her forehead to her palm as her elbow rested on the counter. "I'm tired." Her breath came out shaky. "I'm so goddamn tired of this feeling."

But her body wouldn't listen. Her heart wouldn't stop hammering beneath her ribs, that stupid little spark of hope still flickering, refusing to die out completely. Her eyes flicked to the laptop again.

"It's just one more test." She whispered squeezing her eyes shut.

You're lying to yourself. You know it's never just one more.

Maria grabbed the hair in her fist, her knuckles turning white. The weight in her chest grew unbearable, pressing against her ribs until tears stung her eyes. She squeezed harder, as if she could crush the thoughts with her grip alone.

A shaky sob broke from her lips as her body trembled. In a sudden burst of frustration, she slammed the laptop off the counter. It hit the floor with a dull thud. The sound echoed, heavy in the silence.

Let go already!

The strands slipped between her fingers as she stood abruptly, snatching them from the counter and marching toward the stove.

She twisted the burner knob.

Click.

A bright orange flame roared to life, small but steady. It hissed quietly, waiting. Her hand trembled as she held the hair above it.

Burn it. Just burn it and be done.

Her heart thudded faster, and her breath caught. She's not her. She's not. This doesn't bring her back. Her hand lowered, the strands slipped from her fingers, the flame danced closer opening wide to engulf them-

Maria!

The voice echoed in her head, small and frightened, just like that night. Her eyes widened, staring at the strands as if they'd screamed at her burning in agony.

The fire from years ago flashed behind her eyelids—the smoke, the heat, and that voice, desperate and scared, calling for her from the dark.

Cherry's voice.

Please, take my hand! I am scared!

Her chest tightened violently. "Shit... no... I can't—" The hair caught instantly, curling and blackening as thin smoke curled upward. She lunged without thinking, her hand plunging into the fire.

The heat seared through her skin like lightning, blistering and sharp, but she closed her fist around the burning strands before they could disintegrate completely.

Her knees buckled, crashing to the tile floor as she yanked her hand away from the flame, gasping through gritted teeth. The smell of burnt hair filled the room, sharp and suffocating.

"I'm sorry!" She hissed through gritted teeth but didn't let go, clutching the half-singed strands to her chest as if they were the most important thing she'd ever held. She sobbed, rocking slightly, pressing her forehead against the strands. Her shoulders shook, and for a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was the uneven rhythm of her crying.

After what felt like ages she pulled herself up slowly, staggering back to the counter like her legs might give out beneath her at any moment.

The laptop lay on its side, the screen dark. She picked it up gently, her burned palm stinging as the weight pressed into her skin.

It flickered back to life, and there it was. The form. Still waiting.

She watched her hands shake as she placed the hair in a clear plastic bag staring at it for a long moment.

"One last time" she whispered. "Just one more time." Her finger hovered over the mousepad.

And then she clicked.

The confirmation appeared.

I can't lose her. 

The room felt smaller still, suffocating her. She grabbed the pill bottle, twisting off the cap with a quiet snap. Two tablets rolled into her palm, and she swallowed them dry, the bitterness clinging to her tongue. The walls pressed in again. She needed air—needed out.

Her coat hung by the door, and she slipped it on hastily, stepping into the cold night without bothering to lock the door behind her.

The worn out neighbourhood with eyes lurking around stretched out ahead of her, vast and indifferent. She walked fast, almost running, as if she could outrun the ghosts still clinging to her.