PROLOGUE
SATURDAY OCT 31ST
The shadows in my mind shift and stir.
I hate the feeling.
I hate most things these days, but the illuminated screen mounted on the wall is the worst of all.
But why do I feel repulsed when I look at those figures?
Mother is proud of them, so I should be too.
What was I doing?
Oh, yes. Going to check on the new subject.
Theo Wilson.
Her name in my thoughts makes me picture my twin. The chaos in my brain surges, then calms slightly.
Donovan.
I trust him. I love him.
I think.
He said this girl—Theo—was ours.
But the voices in my head call him a liar and a manipulator.
That can’t be true—it’s Donovan.
Pain swirls in my temples. It happens every time I doubt the voices.
I fight against it one more time.
I almost…think I do remember her—Theo.
Images dance just outside of my mind's eye, but then the revulsion comes, heavy and gross.
What was I doing?
Right. Go check on the subject. I open the door and walk over to where she’s strapped to the bed.
Huh. When I concentrate on her face, the shadows in my mind calm a little.
I study the delicate curve of her mouth; the Cupid’s bow, the soft bottom lip slightly chafed from dehydration.
Chiaroscuro.
The word arrives unsummoned. Light and dark. Something I was once obsessed with. I could capture the plains of her mouth on film, preserve them, and hide them away.
But don’t I already own those lips?
I’m so tired of being confused.
It’s been this way ever since I woke up strapped to this very table, with Mother shining a light into my eyes.
