"Then I won't use magic."
She grabbed a fallen branch, ice-covered and solid, and charged.
29
MAREN
Maren swung the branch hard.
The doppelgänger dodged, moving too fast, too fluid. Her strike hit nothing but air and nearly threw her off balance on the ice.
"Pathetic." The construct circled, barefoot on frozen lake, leaving no tracks. "You think wood and desperation can stop me?"
Maren adjusted her grip, breathing hard. "Worth trying."
"Is it?" The doppelgänger tilted its head, the gesture disturbingly familiar. "You're alone. Hunted. Hated. The mob will be here soon, and when they arrive, they'll see you attacking nothing. Screaming at shadows. Proving everything they believe about you."
"They'll see you."
"Will they?" The construct smiled. "Or will they see what I want them to see? A witch gone mad. A woman destroying herself with her own twisted magic."
Maren lunged again, aiming for the center mass. The branch connected this time, passing straight through the doppelgänger's torso like hitting smoke.
The construct reformed immediately, laughing. "You can't hurt what isn't solid. Can't kill what was never alive."
"Then why are you here?" Maren backed toward the center of the lake, ice creaking under her boots. "If I'm no threat, why face me at all?"
"Because you're the last piece." The doppelgänger followed, its form flickering at the edges. "Once you're gone, once you're broken and exiled and forgotten, I get to stay. Get to be you in a place that finally wants me."
"They don't want you. They're terrified."
"Same thing." The construct gestured with its arms. "Fear is respect without the pretense. Fear is acknowledgment. Fear means they see me, notice me, can't ignore me." Its silver eyes glowed brighter. "You spent two years trying to disappear. I spend two days and become unforgettable."
Maren's shadows stirred despite her effort to hold them back. The doppelgänger's presence pulled at them, coaxing, tempting.
"That's right," it whispered. "Let them out. Let them feed me. Make me stronger while you grow weaker. It's what you do best. Give and give and give until there's nothing left."
"Shut up."
"Your mother gave. Gave her life hiding that locket, protecting you from a legacy you were always going to inherit anyway." The construct moved closer. "Your grandmother gave. Gave her reputation, her coven, her dignity, all to keep the Pitch line alive. And what did either of them get?"
"I said shut up."
"Lonely deaths. Forgotten graves. Daughters who couldn't save them." The doppelgänger's voice dropped lower, layering itself with memories Maren had tried to bury. "You couldn't save your mother. Couldn't ease her pain. Could only watch her fade while she begged you to find what she'd hidden."
"Stop."
"And you failed. Didn't find the locket. Didn't understand her warnings. Just let her die alone and scared while you stood there useless and small."
Maren's shadows exploded outward before she could stop them.
Darkness lashed toward the doppelgänger in jagged strikes. The construct didn't dodge. It opened itself to the attack, absorbing shadow like water into sand.
"Yes," it breathed. "More."
The shadows kept flowing, pulled by connection Maren couldn't sever. She tried to call them back but they wouldn't listen, wouldn't obey, drawn toward the thing wearing her face like iron to lodestone.
The doppelgänger grew more solid with each second. Veins pulsed brighter. Eyes burned silver-white. Its smile stretched too wide.
