³𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 ✔

022-the resurrection of carla wheeler

"WELCOME."

The sound of her own voice is what brings Carla Wheeler back.

Her eyes flutter open, face contorting at the harsh pounding in her head. Surrounding her is a void of darkness, just as she'd been transported too in some of her nightmares. Below her, the floor is a never ending pool of water that doesn't soak her clothes or her skin at the touch. 

As her surroundings come into focus, Carla's heart starts to race as she meets the gaze of her own flayed reflection. 

Her replica is sitting, staring blankly at Carla. She's wearing the same outfit; has the same bruises on her neck and blood on her skin. Except, the sight of the girl brings an unwanted chill to Carla's spine. 

Eleven had brought her back from being flayed—why was her replica still around. 

Voicing her thoughts, Carla wearily asks, "What are you doing here?" 

"I'm you." The replica simply replies, merely shrugging. "Where else would I be?"

The Wheeler girl frowned at the replica's words. They were certainly not the same. The person across from her was the Mind Flayer's creation; a sinister version of herself that he controlled. 

"You're not me." Carla shakes her head, "You're apart of him."

"And he's a part of you." The replica states, and no matter how much Carla wants to deny it, she's knows it's true. 

"You still shouldn't be here." Carla snaps. She doesn't know why she's here, or why her replica is with her, but she knows what happened. She had been flayed; Eleven had brought her back; the Mind Flayer had died. Without the Mind Flayer, her replica shouldn't be there. "Eleven brought me back—you should be gone. The Mind Flayer died—"

"You did too." 

"I—What?"

Dead? Carla falters at the words. 

She wasn't dead.

 She couldn't be dead—she remembers feeling weak, feeling numb, her legs collapsing in on her but she hadn't died. 

"We're dead."  The replica replies rather bluntly. She didn't seem too intrigued or concerned about the statement. 

Carla recoiled at the repeat of the statement,"Dead? But... I can't be."

She wasn't dead. How the hell could she be dead? She wouldn't have given up like that—not when she had so many people that needed and depended on her. She wouldn't die when she'd fought so hard to stay alive. 

Her replica points off in the near distance, "Take a look for yourself."

Carla whips around. The moment she sees what her replica means she freezes.

Familiar faces are suddenly crowding in the void, but they bring no sense of comfort. Instead, their expressions bring a sickening feeling to the pit of her stomach.

Lying on the floor of the void is her figure. She's in the same sweat and blood stained outfit as she currently was, hair a frizzy and matted mess. Her face looks pale and her lips are chapped. She looks weak—exhausted. Her chest is rising or falling; she's eerily still.