☆彡 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘𝐂𝐀𝐓
❝𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.❞
Allison Young is far from an innocent person. She knows that. The girl known as the Copycat...
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≿━━━༺❀PROLOGUE❀༻━━━≾
The reawakening was exactly what it sounded like: an awakening.
The past three years felt like nothing but a dream at first, foggy and split into pieces that didn't quite fit together. Like an old puzzle, worn down so much that the pieces had started to chip, and you could see more of the gray cardboard underneath than the large picture they were supposed to make out when pieced together. She could only grasp the tiny details that had yet to dissolve, like her tiny hands wrapped around another girl's neck and the sound of something breaking.
Her vision was blurred, like a camera lens without focus. The sounds that surrounded her — those all too familiar sounds of a raging battle — felt loud yet distant all the same. She was like trapped in a vacuum, present, but cut off from the rest of the motion.
She inhaled. And inhaled and inhaled. Desperately heaving for the sweet satisfaction of air filling her lungs. The relief never came. Instead she was stuck with the feeling of her lungs slowly but surely caving in on themselves, and could only wait for them to implode. She was suffocating.
Her body was glued to the red carpeting. Even her fingertips were too heavy for her to lift off the floor. Her limbs refused to listen to the voice in the back of her head that screamed at her to get up. Sooner rather than later, the fight would direct its attention at her, and she would be dead if she wasn't prepared to defend herself by then.
Perhaps that's why it was so hard to move. Perhaps she knew that death would be better than whatever life she would lead from this point on. Perhaps she knew that she was meant to have died years ago.
As the thought struck her, it all came back. Her memories washed over her like a wave, turning every inch of her body cold as ice as it dawned on her.
She was a murderer.
She wanted to cry, but no tears came. How could she have forgotten? Countless desperate eyes filled with tears and fear and agony digging into hers before all life was drained from them. Because of her. She could see them all, more clearly than she could see anything else.
The sounds around her died out, and she fell into an agonizing silence. Somehow, silence was worse. Silence meant no distractions. No distractions meant her time had come.
She was going to die.
The heavy thuds of shoes against the carpet filled the room and sent vibrations through the floor. Allison squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she knew what to anticipate. Although she was convinced that death couldn't possibly be worse than the life she had endured, the uncertainty around just what death was caused a sickness to settle in the pit of her stomach. Meanwhile, she couldn't help it but to notice that there was a small spark of hope ignited in her chest. Maybe she would get to see her mom again.
The spark died out as soon as it had been born. Her mom had been a good person. As had her brothers. If there really was a life after death, they would be in Heaven. Allison wasn't good enough for that. She would be sent to Hell.
The footsteps approached her side, and she couldn't help it but to wince as she felt the person kneel by her side. She wondered how they were going to do it. Quickly, she hoped.
"Allison," a deep voice cooed.
This was it. It had to be. The man was luring her in with sweetness in his voice, like a butcher stroking a lamb. But she was not a lamb. She knew better than to think he wasn't hiding a blade up his sleeve, with which he would cut her throat and watch her bleed to death.
She didn't respond. She hadn't to that name in years. Tears stung behind her closed eyes. She just wanted it to be over. All of it. The pain, the suffering. As scary as death was, she was ready to embrace it.
His hand touched her shoulder, squeezing it gently. Her heart hiccuped in her chest, but she didn't flinch. Just because she was scared, didn't mean he had to know that she was.
"Allison," he said her name again. His tone was softer than expected. Kinder. He sure was playing his part well. Usually, when people tried to kill her with the same strategy he was using, there would always be a hint in their voice that gave away their cruel intentions. A hint that would cost them their lives, and save hers. If it weren't for the circumstances, he might have been able to fool her. "It's alright, kid. It's over now. It's all over."
