She lifted her eyepatch just a fraction. The world shifted. The vibrant green of the distant mountains turned into a bruised, sickly purple. She saw the "extra" person clearly now, standing in the middle of the schoolyard below. They were laughing with friends, unaware that they were a hollow shell, a dead person who had forgotten they had died.
Mei didn’t turn. She knew the voice—it was light, melodic, and shouldn’t have been there. It belonged to her twin sister, Misaki Fujioka, who had been gone for months. But in this town, "gone" was a relative term. Misaki Mei
“The color,” Mei replied softly. “It’s getting stronger. Like a stain on the sky.” She lifted her eyepatch just a fraction
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