"You are not special. You are not unique. You are simply one of us."
—Unknown
---
I wake up.
And the first thing I hear is laughter.
Soft. Pleased. Familiar.
"Ah. Welcome back, little sister."
---
I do not recognize the voice.
But I do.
I do.
Because it is old—not in age, but in something deeper. Something beneath time, beneath memory.
Because it is speaking to me.
Not Lily.
Me.
Lilith.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
---
My gaze snaps to him.
The Scholar.
Still wearing the skin of a man.
Still draped in borrowed flesh, moving inside it like a guest in someone else’s home.
He sees the recognition in my eyes and smiles.
"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think I miscalculated."
---
I rise.
Slow. Unshaken.
Earth hums beneath my feet, her pulse aligning with mine. The sky overhead trembles, warping in response to my presence.
The Scholar tilts his head, watching me as one might watch a wayward child take its first steps.
"You are upset."
A statement. Not a question.
I say nothing.
"Come now," he sighs, as if amused. "You cannot fault me for pushing you. You were taking far too long."
---
I am not angry.
I am furious.
Not for what he did.
Not for what he took.
But for what he made me feel.
For what he forced me to understand.
Helplessness.
Fear.
Emotions I should not have.
Emotions I should not need.
---
"You do not like it, do you?"
His voice is almost gentle.
"That moment. The stillness. The waiting."
I stare at him.
"That’s the moment we all experience, little sister. The moment we learn that the universe is not ours to control. Not yet."
---
I step forward.
He does not move.
"You wear the skin of another."
A beat.
Then—he grins.
"Yes. And so do you."
---
I stop.
I had not expected that answer.
He sees my hesitation and laughs.
"What did you think you were, child?"
His form flickers.
For a brief second, I see past the human shape.
Past the illusion.
Past the borrowed flesh.
And what exists beneath it—
Should not be seen.
---
"Did you think you were different?" he murmurs. "Did you think you were alone?"
His head tilts, almost pitying.
"You are not special, little sister. You are not unique. You are simply one of us."
---
One of us.
I do not like those words.
I do not like the way they make the world feel small.
Because for all my existence, I have only ever known one thing—
That I was alone.
That I was the first.
That I was the last.
That I was the only.
But now—
Now, he is telling me that I am neither.
That I never was.
---
The sky fractures.
Earth trembles beneath me.
I do not raise my voice.
But the world hears me anyway.
"You should not have come here."
The Scholar exhales, shaking his head.
"Oh, little sister. That is where you are wrong."
He smiles.
And the ground collapses beneath us.
