Updated Oct 22, 2025 • ~13 min read
Emma woke up in Isobel’s bed, wearing Isobel’s nightgown, staring at Isobel’s ceiling.
She didn’t remember putting on the nightgown. She’d gone to bed in her own pajamas. But somehow, during the night, she’d changed. Or sleepwalked. Or something.
She sat up, heart pounding, and looked at the nightgown. White silk with lace trim. Beautiful and vintage and definitely not something Emma owned.
“What the fuck,” she whispered.
A knock on the door made her jump. “Emma? Are you awake?” Isla’s voice.
“Yeah. Come in.”
Isla entered and stopped dead. “Why are you wearing Isobel’s nightgown?”
“I don’t know. I woke up in it.” Emma pulled at the fabric. “Where did it even come from?”
“The closet, probably. I put her clothes back after… after we thought you’d want to see them.” Isla moved closer. “Emma, did you put it on? In your sleep?”
“I must have. But I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything after going to bed last night.”
Isla sat on the bed beside her. “This is the third time this week. The red dress. The perfume. Now the nightgown. You’re… you’re becoming her.”
“I’m not becoming her. I’m just—” Emma stopped. Because what was she doing? Why had she unconsciously put on Isobel’s clothes? Why did she keep finding herself in Isobel’s spaces, doing Isobel’s things, living Isobel’s life?
“You need to see something.” Isla pulled out her phone. “I’ve been keeping the voice memos. Documentation like I promised. But Emma, the last few days… you need to hear what you sound like.”
She played a recording from yesterday. Emma’s voice: “He used to bring me roses. White ones, never red. Said red was too obvious. Too pedestrian. I told him I hated roses but he kept bringing them anyway. Said I’d learn to love them.”
Emma stared at the phone. “I said that?”
“Yesterday. During lunch. You were talking about Alexander but you were using past tense. Like you were Isobel remembering.” Isla played another clip. “The studio was my only safe space. The only place he couldn’t reach me. Except he could. He always could. The cameras saw everything.”
“Stop.” Emma felt sick. “I don’t remember saying any of that.”
“You were zoned out. Staring at nothing. Speaking in this flat voice.” Isla played one more. “November eighteenth. My rebirth day. My death day. Same day, different year. The universe has a sense of humor.”
Emma grabbed the phone. “When did I say that?”
“This morning. Around 3 AM. I heard you in the hallway and started recording.” Isla’s voice was gentle but firm. “Emma, you’re sleepwalking. Sleep talking. Living in Isobel’s memories. The lines between you and her are blurring.”
“I’m not losing myself. I’m just stressed. The party is tomorrow night. Constance is planning to kill me. Of course I’m not sleeping well.”
“It’s more than stress. You’re dissociating. Merging with her.” Isla stood. “I think we need to call off the party. Get you out of this house. Away from Alexander. Away from all the triggers that are making you become her.”
“No.” Emma threw off the nightgown, needing it off her skin immediately. “I’m fine. I’m just… processing. Finding out I’m her stepsister, that we’re connected, it’s a lot. But I’m not becoming her.”
“Then explain the nightgown. Explain the sleepwalking. Explain why you’re speaking in her voice, using her words, living her memories.”
Emma couldn’t. She dressed quickly in her own clothes—or were they? She’d been in this house so long, wearing clothes from the closet, she wasn’t sure anymore what was hers and what was Isobel’s.
“I need air.” Emma headed for the door.
“Emma, wait—”
But Emma was already moving, down the stairs, through the foyer, out into the garden. The morning air was cold and sharp, clearing some of the fog from her head.
She found herself walking to Isobel’s grave. Standing there, staring at the headstone. May she finally have the freedom she sought.
“Am I you?” Emma asked the grave. “Am I just another version of you? A second attempt at the same story?”
The grave didn’t answer. But Emma felt something shift inside her. A memory that wasn’t hers. Or was it?
Standing in this same spot. Looking at the house. Thinking about running. About taking the pills. About choosing death over captivity.
Emma shook her head, trying to clear it. “That’s not my memory. That’s hers. I’m Emma. Emma Sterling. I’m not Isobel.”
But saying it out loud didn’t make it feel more true.
She walked to the studio—Isobel’s studio. The door was unlocked. Had she unlocked it? She couldn’t remember.
Inside, everything was as they’d left it. Covered in dust. Abandoned. Frozen in time.
Emma moved to the easel where Isobel’s self-portrait still stood. The one with the shadow looming behind her. What he sees vs. what I am.
And Emma understood. Suddenly, completely, devastatingly understood.
Isobel had been trying to maintain two selves. The self Alexander wanted—beautiful, compliant, contained. And the self she actually was—wild, angry, suffocating. The portrait showed both. The perfect face. The dark shadow.
Emma looked around the studio and saw herself. Saw the woman she was becoming. Performing for Alexander. Playing the role of healthy, recovered, choosing-with-eyes-open Emma. While underneath, she was drowning. Losing herself. Becoming Isobel’s shadow.
“No,” Emma said aloud. “No, I’m not doing this. I’m not splitting myself in two. I’m not maintaining a performance.”
She pulled out her phone and called Dr. Kim, her therapist.
“Emma? It’s 7 AM. Is everything okay?”
“No. I’m dissociating. I’m losing track of who I am. I’m wearing dead women’s clothes and speaking in her voice and I don’t remember doing it.” Emma’s voice cracked. “I need an emergency session. Now. Before I disappear completely.”
“I can do a video call in ten minutes. Are you safe?”
“I don’t know. Physically, yes. Mentally…” Emma looked around the studio. “Mentally I’m in a dead woman’s space living her life preparing to face her mother-in-law who wants to kill me the same way. So no. Not safe.”
“Ten minutes. Don’t move. Just breathe.”
Emma sat in Isobel’s studio for those ten minutes, forcing herself to breathe, to stay present, to remember who she was.
Emma Sterling. Twenty-seven. Stepsister of Isobel Grace. Daughter of Linda Sterling. Not a ghost. Not a replacement. A person. Separate. Distinct. Alive.
Dr. Kim’s face appeared on her phone screen. “Emma. Tell me what’s happening.”
Emma told her everything. The nightgown. The sleepwalking. The voice recordings. The way she kept finding herself in Isobel’s spaces, doing Isobel’s things, thinking Isobel’s thoughts.
Dr. Kim listened, her expression growing more concerned. “Emma, you’re experiencing what we call identity diffusion. Your sense of self is fragmenting. The stress of the situation combined with finding out you’re Isobel’s stepsister—your brain is trying to reconcile the two identities by merging them.”
“How do I stop it?”
“You leave. Today. Right now. You get out of that house and away from all the triggers.”
“The party is tomorrow. We’re catching Constance—”
“Emma, if you don’t leave, there won’t be anyone left to catch her. You’ll have completely merged with Isobel. You’ll be Isobel. And we both know how Isobel’s story ended.”
Emma felt ice in her veins. “You think I’m going to kill myself.”
“I think you’re walking the same path she walked. Losing yourself in small ways until one day you wake up—if you wake up—and you’re gone. Just a shadow playing a role you don’t remember signing up for.”
“I’m stronger than her.”
“Are you? Or are you just repeating what you need to believe to justify staying?”
Emma didn’t have an answer.
“Here’s what I want you to do,” Dr. Kim said. “Right now. I want you to name five things that are uniquely yours. Not Isobel’s. Not shared. Just Emma.”
Emma tried. “I… I like coffee. Strong, black coffee.”
“Did Isobel like coffee?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.” Emma’s mind raced. “I hate roses. That’s mine. That’s—wait, no. Isobel hated roses too. That’s why Alexander kept bringing them.”
“Keep trying.”
“I… I have a scar on my knee from falling off a bike when I was eight.” Emma grabbed onto that. “That’s mine. Isobel didn’t have that.”
“Good. What else?”
Emma thought desperately. But everything she came up with—her taste in music, her favorite foods, her habits—she couldn’t be sure weren’t things she’d absorbed from living in Isobel’s space. Reading Isobel’s journals. Wearing Isobel’s clothes.
“I can’t,” Emma whispered. “I can’t think of anything that’s just mine.”
“That’s the problem. You’ve been living Isobel’s life for so long you’ve forgotten your own.” Dr. Kim’s voice was gentle but firm. “Emma, you need to leave. Not tomorrow after the party. Not in a few days. Today. Now. Before you forget there was ever an Emma separate from Isobel.”
“But Constance—”
“Will kill you or you’ll kill yourself. Either way, Emma Sterling dies. Is that what you want? To complete Isobel’s story by becoming her final chapter?”
Emma looked around the studio. At the paintings. The unfinished work. The evidence of a woman who’d tried to maintain two selves and failed.
“I can’t leave,” Emma said. “If I leave, Constance wins. She gets away with murder. She keeps killing anyone who threatens Alexander’s happiness. The pattern continues.”
“Then let it continue without you. Let someone else be the hero. You focus on being alive.”
“No.” Emma stood. “No, I’m not leaving. But I am going to stop losing myself. I’m going to remember who Emma Sterling is. Not Isobel’s shadow. Not Alexander’s replacement girlfriend. Just Emma.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. But I have twenty-four hours to figure it out.” Emma moved toward the door. “Thank you, Dr. Kim. For the wake-up call. For seeing what I couldn’t see.”
“Emma, please reconsider—”
“I’ll call you after the party. After Constance is arrested. After I prove I can survive what Isobel couldn’t.” Emma paused. “And if I don’t call… tell my mother I tried. Tell her I was brave, even if I was stupid.”
She ended the call before Dr. Kim could argue further.
Emma walked back to the house, her mind clearer than it had been in days. She needed to ground herself. Needed to remember who she was before Alexander, before the mansion, before Isobel’s ghost.
She found Alexander in the library, working on his laptop. He looked up when she entered.
“You’re up early,” he said. Then, seeing her expression: “What’s wrong?”
“I’m losing myself.” Emma sat across from him. “I’m becoming Isobel. Wearing her clothes, speaking her words, living her memories. And I need your help to stop it.”
“What can I do?”
“Tell me something. Something true about Emma Sterling that has nothing to do with Isobel. Something you’ve noticed about me that’s just mine.”
Alexander was quiet for a moment, thinking. “You tap your fingers when you’re thinking. Three times, always three times. Isobel never did that.”
“What else?”
“You drink water constantly. Bottles and bottles of water. Isobel preferred tea.” He leaned forward. “You laugh at inappropriate times. During serious conversations, you’ll find something darkly funny and laugh. Isobel never laughed at the dark things.”
“More.”
“You’re left-handed. Isobel was right-handed. You sleep on your stomach. She slept on her side. You bite your lip when you’re nervous. She used to twist her hair.” Alexander’s voice got stronger. “You’re direct. Blunt, even. You say what you’re thinking without softening it. Isobel always softened things, made them palatable. You don’t.”
Emma felt something loosening in her chest. “Keep going.”
“You’re not afraid of me. Isobel was, by the end. Terrified. But you look at me and you see me—all the broken, damaged, dangerous parts—and you’re not afraid. You’re cautious, but not afraid. That’s Emma. That’s you.”
“Am I though?” Emma’s voice dropped. “Or am I just playing a role? Performing bravery because that’s what makes me different from her?”
“You’re real. Whatever else is true, you’re real. I can tell the difference now. Between performed emotion and genuine feeling. Between Isobel’s masks and Emma’s honesty.” Alexander moved to sit beside her. “You’re losing yourself because you’re surrounded by her. Her clothes, her spaces, her life. But you’re still in there. Still Emma. Still separate.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I loved Isobel. And I’m falling in love with you. And they’re different. The feelings are different. The way I am with you is different. If you were just her ghost, it would feel the same. But it doesn’t.”
Emma looked at him. “You’re falling in love with me?”
“Yes. And I know I shouldn’t say that. I know it’s manipulative and unfair and exactly the kind of thing that trapped Isobel. But it’s also true. And you asked for truth. For things that are uniquely Emma. Well, this is one. I never felt this specific fear with Isobel. This terror that you’ll see the real me and leave. With Isobel, I knew I could control her. Keep her. With you, I know I can’t. And that scares me. But it’s also… better. More real.”
Emma absorbed this. “You’re right. That is manipulative and unfair.”
“I know.”
“But it’s also what I needed to hear. Because that fear? That certainty you can’t control me? That’s Emma. That’s who I am. Someone you can’t possess. Someone who might leave at any moment. Someone separate.”
“So you’re staying? For the party?”
“I’m staying for me. To prove I can survive this. To prove I’m not Isobel’s ghost.” Emma stood. “But Alexander, I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Tonight, tomorrow, every moment until this is over—if you see me slipping, if you hear me using Isobel’s words or doing Isobel’s things, call it out. Remind me who I am. Don’t let me disappear into her shadow.”
“I can do that.”
“Promise me. Because if I lose myself completely, if I become her, then Constance wins even if she goes to prison. She’ll have killed me without touching me. She’ll have replaced Isobel with Isobel’s ghost. And I refuse to give her that satisfaction.”
“I promise.” Alexander took her hand. “You’re Emma Sterling. Stubborn, brave, direct, and too smart for your own good. You’re not her. You never will be.”
Emma squeezed back. “Keep reminding me. Every time I forget.”
They sat together in the library, two people trying to stay separate while the ghost of a dead woman tried to merge them into something neither of them wanted to be.
Twenty-four hours until the party.
Twenty-four hours to stay Emma.
Twenty-four hours to prove she could survive what Isobel couldn’t.
And Emma was determined not to waste a single one.
Emma is LOSING HERSELF to Isobel’s ghost! Sleepwalking, wearing her clothes, speaking her words! Can she hold onto her identity long enough to survive the party? Or will she become Isobel’s final chapter? One more day until Constance arrives! Comment your fears and get ready for Chapter 24: Fire in the Hallway! 🔥💀
Reader Reactions