In Her Shadow

Trigger Warning: Mental health, physical violence and gore.

Melanie had always been the shadow following Nadia's glow.

Not that it was Nadia's fault. She was simply...better.

Nadia, with her obsidian hair, her eyes the color of storms, her laugh that sounded of music, and the way she effortlessly drew others to her. In school, teachers had adored her. All of the boys had been enamored by her. Other girls had worshipped her.

Melanie was just the best friend. The one that people looked right through just to get a glimpse at the girl by her side. The permanent plus one. She was Nadia's valet, her servant. Grateful for any scraps given to her.

"Oh Mel, you're absolutely stunning! We are both beautiful in our own way!" Nadia would always say to her when Melanie would sulk to her friend about her feelings and misfortunes.

But Melanie's 'way' wasn't enough.

By the time the two girls became women, the differences had become intolerable. Nadia had an apartment straight out of a magazine. Nadia had a job with a title that sounded impressive when you said it to people. Nadia had the boyfriends who took her on trips, and bought her extravagant gifts. And Melanie? Melanie had Nadia. Just Nadia.

Over time Melanie's envy grew, and expanded. It haunted her every breath. It grew claws, and fangs. It became rabid.

She soon found herself observing Nadia in strange ways. Cataloging her features. The slope of her cheek, the bow of her lips, the graceful movements of her hips as she walked.

Melanie began imaging what it would be like: to be Nadia. To wake up in her expensive apartment, with her silk sheets. To have people fall in love with her after simply a glance. To wake up every morning and feel beautiful. To BE beautiful.

She began imitating Nadia. Trying to perfect her mannerisms, and her laugh. Buying the same clothes, and the same perfume. But it wasn't right, it was never right. It wasn't enough. She was still just Melanie. Always Melanie.

One night, they attended a party together and Melanie saw the guy from the local coffee shop who she had developed a crush on. Nadia urged her to go and talk to him. Melanie built up some courage and approached, but he was having a conversation with another guy. "Yeah, man. Nadia is gorgeous, I really want to ask her out." Melanie froze. Her heart seized, and cracked. Something inside of her shattered. She walked away, and returned to Nadia's side.

"Did you talk to him?" Nadia asked. "No, I couldn't work up the courage. Maybe next time." Nadia continued socializing and drinking for the rest of the party, never noticing the darkness that had fallen over her friend's eyes. Meanwhile, Melanie shadowed her every footstep, brooding.

After the party, Nadia had fallen asleep on her enormous, plush sofa. Hair spilling over the side like a waterfall made of shadows. Her makeup smudged, but somehow, she was still more beautiful than Melanie could ever dream of being.

Melanie sat, staring, trembling, seething. Tears streaming down her face. Something in her brewing like a terrible storm.

The knife in the kitchen called to her, promising her happiness, and beauty. Everything she had ever wanted. The knife felt cold and solid in her hand. It felt right.

At first the sound startled her, a wet tearing sound, like the ripping of fabric. Nadia's eyes opened slowly at first, but then shot open in shock and agony. She began gasping, and tried to scream, but instead of a scream, she gurgled, her mouth bubbled and began dripping with red. Her hands grasped at Melanie, fingers slowly dragging down her arms. Nadia's eyes fluttered once more before her breath finally left her forever. Melanie held her friend close, she smiled through tears of joy. "Shhhh....it's okay. I'll make you beautiful again. I promise."

Melanie took care in her task, she was meticulous, tender. She peeled her beautiful best friend like ripe fruit. She cut and trimmed. Cracking ribs, and loosening ligaments. The knife slid between the skin and muscle, releasing it's anchoring. She finally released the beautiful face from it's moorings, and with trembling hands, stretched it over her own. The costume fit perfectly. Nadia's skin slipped over her own as though it were always meant to be that way. Nadia's lips were her lips. Nadia's nose was her nose. She looked in the mirror, and Nadia smiled back at her. Finally, Melanie was beautiful.

At first, it was perfect. People waved at her on the street. Men who’d never noticed Melanie before asked for her number. The young man she had developed a crush on asked her out on a date. Even Nadia's parents embraced her, oblivious to the stiffness in her voice, the slightly awkward way she carried herself.

But soon, cracks formed. The skin grew cold, and brittle. It needed constant stitching and pinning. She began soaking her grisly costume in the evenings, trying to keep it malleable. Makeup couldn’t hide the seams forever. And worse—Nadia wouldn’t shut up.

At night, in the quiet of her stolen apartment, Melanie heard the whispering: "You're stunning! Absolutely gorgeous in your own way!" But Nadia didn't know, she couldn't understand, she had never had to work for anything. She'd never had to fight for her beauty. She'd never had to kill for it.

Melanie would look in the mirror and see herself smiling, even though she wasn't smiling at all. Her own eyes glinting back at her with mockery.

She woke one morning to find Nadia in the mirror, flawless and alive. A radiant smile upon her garnet lips. And herself: Melanie...wasn’t there at all.

Panic tore through her. She clawed at the disguise, ripping stitches, raking her fingernails through the stolen flesh, screaming at the empty glass. She tore until nothing remained but blood and ragged strips of flesh, but there was nothing underneath, no Melanie, only emptiness remained.

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