The hand that reached out of the unwritten book was hers.
But it moved wrong.
The fingers curled as though learning to feel for the first time — not hesitant, but hungry.
And when the arm pulled through, dragging a body from parchment into presence, Elen took an involuntary step back.
The figure rose.
She was… Elen.
But not.
Same eyes, but hollow.
Same face, but too still.
Same shard-mark — except it bled ink.
> "You aren't me," Elen said.
> "No," the other replied, her voice echoing like it had been run through a mirror.
"I'm what you left behind."
---
She stepped fully into the Spiral Library.
Where Elen moved with story, the double moved with absence.
Books wilted near her.
Shelves cracked.
The threads between truths pulled tighter, as though resisting her shape.
Elen braced herself.
> "What are you?"
The double smiled.
> "You call me 'Shadow' or 'Fragment' in your newer verses.
But I am the version of you who never got to choose.
