1 On my 20th birthday, I did everything my cousin Elara did. Elara had a lavish wedding at a luxury hotel downtown. I found a dark alley and let a stranger defile me. My parents said it was the only way he would mistake Elara for me and take her away. I asked them who he was. They said he was the demon that had haunted our family for generations. The moment I stumbled out of that alley, I could hear the man’s mocking laughter behind me. “Girls these days, huh? Hahaha.” I didn't turn back. I pretended I didn't hear. When I was a baby, my parents adopted a girl from an orphanage. She was born in the same city, on the same day, in the same year as me. Our birth certificates were only an hour apart. They named her Elara. My parents said her astrological charts were identical to mine. We grew up as sisters, our lives mirroring each other's. We were both top students, both talented artists. The only difference was our faces. Earlier this year, Elara came down with a mysterious illness. Doctors couldn't find a cause. My parents consulted a seer, a woman well-known in certain circles, who told them Elara needed a “warding wedding” to protect her. The date was set for Elara’s 20th birthday. The groom was the son of a distant, poor relative from the countryside. When they heard their son would be marrying into our wealthy family, they agreed immediately. Today was Elara’s wedding. An hour before we were supposed to leave for the hotel, my mother pulled me into the basement. She told me about the curse that had plagued our family for a century, a curse that targeted only the women. Long ago, a man fell madly in love with one of our ancestors. She used him, framed him for a crime he didn’t commit, and led him to a gruesome, unjust death. As he died, his spirit became a demon, an immortal being fueled by vengeance. He cursed our bloodline: every daughter born into our family would be tormented and killed by him. “Your great-aunt, your aunt… they were all his victims,” my mother whispered, her face pale. “That’s why, after you were born, we adopted Elara. Her birth chart is identical to yours. She was meant to be your substitute.” “Today, Elara is having her ritual wedding. You must do exactly the same as she does.” She didn’t have to finish. I understood. “And then what happens?” It sounded insane, but I knew my mother wasn’t lying. “Then the demon will mistake Elara for you. He will take her, and you will finally be safe.” 2 There was no moon tonight. The narrow alley was pitch black. I'd lost my contacts at the club I’d gone to, and my near-sightedness made every step a stumbling guess. I kept bumping into overflowing trash cans. When I got home, my parents were sitting in the living room. Elara and her new husband were not there. They were upstairs, in the newly decorated bridal suite on the third floor. My mother pulled me back into the basement. “Did you do it?” “Yes.” She nodded. “Good. That’s good.” A wave of guilt washed over me. “Will she… will Elara die?” “She is taking your place. You must be grateful for her sacrifice.” Her answer wasn’t direct, but the meaning was clear. Elara’s death was a certainty. “Go take a shower, Cora. Get some rest.” I went to my room. Our house was large; every bedroom had its own bathroom. I turned on the hot water and finally allowed myself to break down, sobbing under the spray. To save my own life, I had just let a stranger… I felt spineless. I scrubbed my skin for almost two hours before I finally got out. My mother knocked on the door with a bowl of soup. “I’m not hungry. I’m going to sleep,” I said, turning off the light. I lay in bed, thinking about Elara. Two years ago, I was in a car accident and needed a transfusion. Elara, despite being anemic herself, insisted on donating blood for me. She wasn’t my biological sister, but she had always treated me like one. She had always protected me. I didn't want to die, but I couldn't bear the thought of her dying for me. I had to do something. Her room was on the floor above mine. The entire third floor had been renovated for her and her new husband. I crept upstairs, planning to warn her, to tell her to be careful, to not leave the house. But as I reached her door, I could hear them talking inside. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. The conversation sounded like it would go on for a while. Defeated, I went back to my room. I tossed and turned until after 3 AM. When I finally woke up, it was almost ten in the morning. I went downstairs. My mother’s voice was a low, somber whisper. “Elara is gone.” She had gone to wake them for breakfast and found the room empty. Elara’s phone and wallet were still on the nightstand. Her new husband was snoring in bed, completely oblivious. When my mother woke him, he claimed to know nothing. “It must have been the demon,” my mother choked out. “He took her.” “What about her husband?” I asked. “He’s out looking for her.” It was my fault. If I had just warned her last night, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I had to fix this. I decided to find a paranormal expert, someone who could fight a demon. I ran back to my room and started tearing it apart, looking for anything valuable I could sell to pay for help. Tucked inside my jewelry box, I found a small, folded piece of paper. It was Elara’s handwriting. “Cora, you are not our parents’ biological daughter. You are the one who was adopted. You are my substitute. On our 20th birthday, our fates were meant to be switched. The demon was supposed to mistake you for me, and take you away.” I stared at the note, the world tilting on its axis. It wasn’t possible. I was their daughter. Elara was the orphan. Why would she lie? 3 My mind went blank. I don’t know how long I stood there before I stumbled to the mirror. I looked at my face. I had my father’s eyes, his jawline. I was his daughter. Elara looked nothing like them. So who was lying? My parents, or Elara? I went downstairs. My parents were still sitting on the couch, staring into space. “Mom, have you called the police? We have to report her missing.” “Your blood type is A, your father’s is O,” she said, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you asking?” “No reason.” My blood type is A, Elara’s is O. Genetically, either of us could be their child. But Elara’s note had planted a seed of doubt, a strange sense of distance between me and the people I’d called my parents my whole life. “I’m going to go look for her,” I said, needing to escape the house. How could she have just vanished? And how could her husband have slept through it? Was he lying? I decided my first stop would be a psychic. I’d heard about a powerful seer in the West End who could communicate with the other side. It took asking a dozen people before I found her address, tucked away in a grimy, forgotten alley. The alley stank of sewage; a broken pipe was leaking foul water onto the cobblestones. I held my breath and hopped over the puddles. At the end of the alley, an old woman was dozing in a rocking chair, basking in a sliver of sunlight. “Excuse me, are you Madame Morwen?” She didn't move. I asked again, louder. Nothing. I reached out and tapped her shoulder. Her head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle. I gasped and checked for a pulse. There was none. She was dead. “Help!” I screamed. “Someone’s died!” Suddenly, her hand shot out and gripped my wrist. It was like being clamped in a vise. Something sharp pricked my skin. I looked down. The dead woman was staring at me, her long, sharp fingernails digging into my flesh. “A zombie!” I shrieked. “Hush, child,” the old woman hissed, her eyes snapping open. They were long and narrow, like a snake’s. “I’m not dead.” An old wives' tale surfaced in my mind: people with snake-like eyes are not to be trusted. “I have a sister… well, a cousin. She’s missing. I was hoping you could help me find her.” “Give me her birth details,” she rasped. I told her Elara’s date, time, and place of birth. “Is that correct?” she asked. “Yes. We were born less than an hour apart. Our charts are identical.” Madame Morwen asked for more details, then closed her eyes. I waited. After about ten minutes, she opened them, her brow furrowed. “Strange. In all my years, I have never seen a chart like this. It is a death chart. The person born under it should not have survived. But the strangest part is that you, with the same chart, are alive.” She asked for my details. This time, she traced patterns on the fabric of her dress. Her head snapped up, her eyes boring into me. “One of you was brought in to alter the other’s fate,” she said. “Your parents must have consulted a powerful practitioner.” “Which one of us?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Which one is the substitute?”
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