Out of all the smartest pranks anyone has ever did to me, I must say that this one is the best yet.

“Sure,” I try to sound as convincing as I can, to act like a dumb fool just so I can rub it in whoever’s face who tried to prank me that I knew it was a prank all along from the beginning, “Hi, me. Would you like to come in as I phone for Jongdae?”

The woman looks surprised, like she doesn’t expect me to believe her words just yet, and for a moment, she’s quiet, frozen in her spot.

“You… believe me?” her eyes are wide and unbelieving, and it’s funny—pitiful, almost—how dedicated this woman is to whatever role my prankster had assigned her to do, even when she’s drenched in water for whatever reason her mastermind had deemed fit for this prank.

The first person that comes at the top of my head is Taeyeon, because she’s the only one who’s ever pranked anyone in my group of friends before, but it’s highly unlikely during an exam season like this—especially when she knows just how much I despise Kim Jongdae. There’s another guy named Byun Baekhyun that’s notorious for his unforgivable pranks he’s pulled on his friends—but we’re not that close yet. I’ve only known him for a few months, and it’s difficult to wrap my hand around the possibility that he might want to embarrass me about Jongdae, when he’s always the first person to apologize whenever anyone brought up Jongdae’s in front of me.

But he’s the only person who cares enough to invest in such a well-made prank as this one. He’s also rich enough to pay someone to act as my twin, or whatever this woman in front of me is supposed to be.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I? A lot of Park Yoorins have come by here all the time, and I’ve always welcomed them with open arms and a cup of hot tea. Please, come in, I’d hate to see you freeze to death out here.”

At least the last bit isn’t a lie, because the poor woman looks paler than a sheet of paper—it’s probably mostly because of the water she’s obviously drenched in, but I’m not sure that even my own skin would turn that pale from prolonged exposure to water.

Somehow, my invitation seems to repulse her instead, and the guarded look returns to her eyes, accusing, almost. “Other versions of us have made it here? When? How? Am I not the first?”

“Okay, you need to stop with your act. It’s too much for me,” I sigh, the slightest tinge of annoyance washing over her at this woman’s dedication. I run a hand through my hair slowly.

“What do you mean too much?” the woman pushes. I send her an exasperated look, stepping out of my apartment lazily, looking for any signs of Baekhyun or someone, anyone, that can put a stop to this ridiculousness. The prank isn’t even funny. I’m not hung up over Kim Jongdae.

“If you’re not going to answer me, at least call Jongdae.” Her voice is low and sharp, impatience laced in every note. Her irises focus on me like a predator would on a prey, and for a fleeting moment, I have the desire to run into my bedroom to pick my phone up and dial Jongdae, but then it dissipates. Because I don’t want to call Jongdae. My mind reels with a series of contradicting thoughts, and I have to shake my head to regain my focus.

“Baekhyun? Byun Baekhyun, this isn’t funny!” I call out, taking a shot in the dark. There’s no one else I can think of that might pull a stupid prank like this.

The woman in front of me tilts her head, brows furrowed together. “How would Baekhyun be any help on this?”

I glare at her, but it doesn’t seem to have an effect, because twitches in annoyance at me instead. Her scowl looks so much like mine it unsettles me for a moment.

“Baekhyun’s not going to help,” she mutters to herself, but loud enough for me to hear.

I look at her incredulously. “So you know Baekhyun!”

Her eyes narrow at me belittlingly, and it thoroughly pisses me off, because it’s a look I know well. She looks so much like me that it’s offensive, and for a few seconds, the thought that this woman might be some kind of a stalker that’s done procedures to her face to look just like me passes by my head.

Maybe this isn’t a prank after all?

“Look,” I start slowly, my anger slowly dissipating, replaced by the new feeling of fear of the unknown, “you should leave. I don’t know you.”

She scowls at me, as if she has the right to be frustrated. “I am you. Look, Jesus, if you don’t believe me, just give me Jongdae’s number. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“No.”

My pointed answer makes her face twitch into a darker look, her eyebrows knitting together slowly, like she’s physically going through the emotions my words had evoked, hands clenched into a tight fist.

“You don’t want to cross me, Yoorin,” her voice is low, so low I wouldn’t have registered it if I hadn’t been staring at her face and directly at intently. My heart thunders in my chest, realizing a beat too late that this isn’t a joke, and that the woman standing in front of me might just be a deranged freak of some sort when she grabs for my wrist.

The grip is painful. Her fingers closing around my wrist feels cold and hard and inhumanely strong—I can feel the purposeful press of fingers onto my veins, the way it’s cutting off the blood flow of my arm to my hand effectively with a single index finger. I wince, other hand quickly finding itself around her wrist, pushing it away with as much strength as I can. She doesn’t budge.

When I look up at her, I can feel the fight dying in my muscles with the way she’s looking at me with a face fully void of any emotions. Her face, just like her skin, is icy cold, and it makes me sick how unsettling she looks, standing there with a face that looks exactly just like mine.

Something tells me it’s not a good idea for me to scream for help. If she can pin me in place with the strength of her sole index finger, she can probably fling me across the room with one hand before I can finish screaming for help.

“,” I groan, painful tears welling in my eyes as her hand tightens itself even more around my wrist, “Please just let me go. I have money, I—”

Pain zips from my wrist throughout my whole body in a single millisecond, stopping me midsentence. It’s worse than the pain the woman had inflicted on my wrist. White flashes before my eyes before a series of foreign thoughts enter my head, all seemingly coming from myself, but not exactly. I slap the woman’s hand away from mine in a daze, and this time, she lets go. My heart pounds even harder against my ribcage now, a million thoughts going through my head as I look at her.

The shock is mutual.

“What… what the just happened?” my voice sounds hysterical, and it’s so unlike me that it scares me, my whole body shaking now.

The woman looks mystified. It only lasts for a few seconds, though, before the coldness returns to her eyes.

“I told you, I’m you. Now give me Jongdae’s number.”

My head spins. I look at her carefully this time, noticing the scars and characteristics of her face and the rest of her body, recognizing the familiar mole she has on top of her right lip and another one at the base of her right collarbone. She’s wearing my necklace. I look down to my chest. My necklace is still there, and it’s a perfect mirror to hers, except for the fact that it looks less beat down—but it’s the same necklace.

My mom had given it to me for my eighteenth birthday present. It was custom made.

The air around me constricts. I have trouble breathing.

“Yoo—”

The world goes dark around me.

*

I wake up tasting copper in my tongue, my lips wet with something warm and salt.

My head hurts. It’s pounding hard enough that I can just about hear the sound of the nonexistent hammers clinking against my skull, and I struggle to open my eyes. The smooth expanse of milky white ceiling greets me, and I instantly recall everything that has happene