The woman stared at me like she was solving mathematics.
Not greeting me.
Not observing me.
Calculating me.
I stood awkwardly near the black car outside St.
Aureline while students continued moving around us.
Some still glanced in my direction.
Others pretended not to.
The woman extended a hand.
“Celeste Moreau.”
Her voice was smooth and polished.
Refined in a way that sounded expensive.
“I oversee image presentation and social preparation within Valmere circles.”
I blinked.
“That sentence somehow explained absolutely nothing.”
For one brief second, her expression shifted.
Not amusement exactly.
Just acknowledgment.
Then it vanished.
“Come.”
That was it.
No explanation.
No warmth.
Just come.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
The drive felt different from rides with Adrian.
Adrian sat in silence naturally, like conversation was an optional subscription service he never purchased.
Celeste, however, spoke.
Not much.
Just enough to make me increasingly uncomfortable.
“You slouch slightly when uncertain.”
I looked up immediately.
“What?”
She glanced toward me from across the car.
“Your shoulders.”
Silence.
I stared.
“What about them?”
“You pull them inward.”
Pause.
“When uncomfortable.”
Longer pause.
I frowned.
“Excuse me?”
No response.
Celeste simply continued scrolling through something on a tablet.
My suspicion levels increased immediately.
Three minutes later:
“You also over-explain when nervous.”
I blinked.
“I absolutely do not.”
Silence.
Then she looked up.
One eyebrow raised.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“…that felt targeted.”
Nothing.
Not a single reaction.
What kind of people did Adrian surround himself with?
Secretly terrifying ones, apparently.
Several minutes later, I finally sighed.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly is an appearance assessment?”
Celeste looked away from the tablet.
Calmly.
Casually.
Like the next sentence wasn’t deeply unsettling.
“We’re determining how much of Elara already exists.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
No.
No, no, no.
Absolutely not.
I stared at her.
Then toward the window.
Then back at her.
Then back out the window because maybe my brain had briefly malfunctioned.
“I dislike that sentence.”
No response.
“Deeply.”
Nothing.
“Concerningly deeply.”
Still nothing.
I looked out the window again.
I suddenly missed Tessa.
Tessa would’ve made a face.
Or laughed.
Or whispered run.
The building they brought me to looked ordinary from the outside.
Too ordinary.
Which immediately made me suspicious.
Because I was beginning to understand Valmere people.
Ordinary outside usually meant unreasonably rich inside.
I was correct.
Very correct.
The moment we stepped through the doors, my brain simply gave up.
Huge mirrors stretched across entire walls.
Soft golden lights hung from the ceilings.
White marble floors reflected movement beneath carefully placed furniture.
People moved quietly.
Stylists.
Assistants.
Staff dressed entirely in black.
No signs.
No names.
No labels.
Nothing.
Like secrecy itself had designed the place.
I slowed.
“…what is this?”
Celeste handed her coat to someone passing by.
“A private studio.”
“A private studio for what?”
Silence.
Then,
“Clients.”
I stared.
“Very descriptive.”
Still nothing.
The next hour became one of the strangest experiences of my life.
Actually no.
Second strangest.
Identity theft contracts still held first place.
A woman measured my shoulders.
Someone else examined my hair.
Another person photographed side angles of my face.
Then profile angles.
Then posture.
Then, standing positions.
Then, sitting positions.
I stood beneath soft lighting while several people moved around me with terrifying efficiency.
No one explained anything.
Which somehow made things worse.
“Turn slightly.”
Click.
“Look left.”
Click.
“Walk naturally.”
I stared.
“…I suddenly forgot how humans walk.”
Silence.
Then, somewhere behind me, someone laughed softly.
I turned.
Adrian.
Of course.
Of course, he was here.
Standing near one wall with his hands in his pockets, looking irritatingly composed.
I narrowed my eyes immediately.
“You.”
Adrian looked calm.
As always.
“Me.”
“You knew about this.”
“Of course.
I organised it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
A pause.
Then,
“You would’ve objected.”
Silence.
I stared.
Because frustratingly enough…
He wasn’t wrong.
Which somehow made me more annoyed.
“That is not the point.”
“No?”
“No.”
Adrian looked thoughtful.
Terrible sign.
“Interesting.”
I blinked.
“That wasn’t interesting.”
“I disagree.”
I folded my arms.
“I dislike you.”
“Frequently.”
“No.”
I pointed.
“I mean actively.”
Celeste walked past us carrying a file.
Without looking up, she said,
“She folds her arms when defensive.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Slowly, I turned.
“What?”
Nothing.
Not even eye contact.
I looked back at Adrian.
He looked away.
Very quickly.
Suspiciously quickly.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Did you just almost laugh?”
“No.”
Immediate answer.
Far too immediate.
Liar.
Absolute liar.
Hours passed.
Actual hours.
Apparently, becoming someone else involved more measurements than should legally exist.
At one point, someone adjusted my hair.
Not dramatically.
Just slightly.
Small changes.
Tiny changes.
And that somehow felt worse.
Because little things were difficult to notice.
Until suddenly…
They weren’t.
I sat quietly while someone worked behind me.
Voices drifted nearby.
Footsteps.
Movement.
Quiet conversations.
Eventually, I looked up.
Toward one of the mirrors.
Then froze.
No.
For one second…
No, no, no.
My heartbeat slowed.
Because staring back at me wasn’t exactly me.
Not fully.
Not entirely.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
But something looked different.
Hair adjusted.
Posture corrected.
Clothing changed.
Tiny alterations.
Tiny terrifying alterations.
Enough.
Enough that for one horrible split second…
I understood.
I finally understood.
How this could work.
Cold spread slowly through my chest.
“No.”
Someone nearby looked up.
I stood immediately.
No.
Absolutely not.
Because for one impossible moment I had looked into that mirror…
and seen someone else.
Not completely.
Not perfectly.
Just enough.
Enough to scare me.
Adrian noticed instantly.
Of course he did.
He crossed the room.
“What happened?”
I looked back toward the mirror.
Then away.
Nothing.
Silence stretched.
Then finally,
“I saw it.”
Adrian said nothing.
Which meant he understood immediately.
Worse.
Because his silence confirmed it.
I laughed softly.
Only there wasn’t humor in it.
“That’s disturbing.”
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
Then blinked.
“Wait.”
Suspicion returned instantly.
“Why are you agreeing with me so easily?”
A pause.
Then,
“Progress.”
I stared.
“You’re a deeply concerning person.”
“And yet here we are.”
I hated that answer.
Really hated it.
Later that evening, after everyone finally decided my face had been sufficiently studied, I wandered through one of the quieter hallways while waiting.
The place felt endless.
Room after room.
Soft lighting.
Dark floors.
Expensive paintings.
The kind of building where people probably got lost emotionally.
I turned a corner slowly.
Then stopped.
Immediately.
Completely.
Because directly ahead—
For one suspended second, my brain forgot movement.
A massive portrait stretched across the far wall.
Huge.
Elegant gold frame.
Sunlight.
Ocean behind her.
Dark hair moving softly in the wind.
And—
Me.
No.
Not me.
My heartbeat jumped painfully.
Because for one impossible split second…
I genuinely thought I was staring at myself.
Actually myself.
Not resemblance.
Not similar.
Not almost.
Me.
I stood frozen.
Completely frozen.
Then reality slowly returned.
Elara.
Of course.
Elara.
Not me.
It can never be me.
I walked closer.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And stared.
God.
It was horrifying.
Because photographs were one thing.
Photographs felt distant.
Flat.
But this—
This felt real.
Alive.
Like she might turn her head if I stared long enough.
The artist had captured warmth in her eyes.
Life.
Personality.
Something light.
Something easy.
And suddenly…
for reasons I couldn’t explain…
Sadness settled quietly inside my chest.
Because she looked happy.
And because somewhere in the world someone once stood beneath this portrait and smiled at it.
A father.
A family.
Someone.
Then a thought arrived.
Quietly.
Softly.
Dangerously.
Who were you?
Not Elara Valmere.
Not in photographs.
Not in the records.
Not even in contracts.
You.
The real you.
Because suddenly I realized something.
Everyone kept teaching me how to become her.
But nobody had told me who she actually was.
And somehow…..
that felt important.