Vivimus ut nos ipsos inveniamus.



I don’t know who will find this, but I need to leave proof before it does.



They say I’m paranoid. Delusional. Sick.



But they’re wrong.



Parallel universes are real—I know because I’ve seen it.



Not a reflection, not a hallucination. Another me, with my face, my voice, my memories… but hollowed out, wrong. It appears where it shouldn’t. In mirrors that move too slowly. In security footage I was never part of. In strangers’ stories of seeing “me” where I’ve never been.



At first, it was subtle. Missing objects. Repeated conversations. Then the notes appeared.



It’s hunting.



I think something tore open the barriers between worlds, and now versions of ourselves can cross over. Some of them, don’t come to observe.



At night, I hear it pacing outside my walls, laughing softly because it knows my routines. It knows every hiding place, every fear, every weakness.



Because it is me.



Or was.



I no longer trust mirrors. Sometimes my reflection lags behind. Once, I saw it smiling at me from inside the glass.



Sleep is worse. Dreams feel like doorways, and every time I close my eyes, it gets closer.



If I vanish, pay attention.



If someone wearing my face suddenly seems calmer… kinder… wrong.



Run.



Check its left wrist for the childhood scar.



Look into its eyes.



Mine are terrified.



Its are hungry.



I don’t know how many universes it’s crossed, or how many versions of me it killed. I only know it won’t stop until there’s one left.



And I’m running out of time.



If my fear disappears, don’t trust me.



It means it won.



And if parallel universes are endless…

Then somewhere, yours may already be searching for you too.