The silence before the clash was almost sacred. Across the paper-stitched platform, the fake versions of Mikael, Elise, Lina, and Arielle stood motionless—too perfect, too still, smiles stitched in place. Their red pens shimmered like knives under blood-colored light.
The real Mikael tightened his grip on his own pen. "If we lose here, we disappear."
"No," Arielle said, stepping beside him. "If we lose here, we become them."
The Editor's voice boomed from above.
"Only one version of the story may exist."
Then the dolls moved.
They didn't run. They glided, their motions smooth and rehearsed, as if every moment had been choreographed by a hand terrified of chaos.
Mikael lunged forward, meeting his doll-self mid-charge. The clone's smile didn't change as their pens clashed—ink bursting from contact like sparks. Each time their pens struck, a word was erased in the air.
"Why do you smile like that?" Mikael growled. "What are you trying to replace?"
His fake self didn't answer. It only kept fighting, following some unseen script.
Nearby, Lina battled her double, the doll reciting romantic lines with every move.
"I love you." Slash.
"I'll never leave." Parry.
"Let's always be happy." Stab.
"Those words don't mean anything if you don't feel them!" Lina shouted.
The doll paused—just briefly.
And Lina struck, ripping its paper-thin face apart. It dissolved into ink.
Arielle faced two dolls—both dressed as younger versions of herself, both holding blank pages.
"You don't remember everything," one said.
"You can't fix it," said the other.
"I don't have to," Arielle said. "I just have to remember it was mine."
She jabbed her pen into the floor. The memory around her warped—her old bedroom returned, the place she was first forgotten.
The dolls hesitated, glitching.
And vanished.
Now only Elise remained—facing her doll-self, the most perfect of all. This version had no cracks, no pain. It smiled gently and said nothing.
Elise shook her head. "I used to want to be like you."
The doll tilted its head.
"But I'm not flawless. I'm messy. Jealous. Afraid. And real."
She didn't attack.
She reached out and touched her double's face.
The ink ran. The smile wavered.
The doll sat down.
And quietly faded.
The Editor howled. The sky cracked. The ground buckled.
"You broke the draft," it screamed.
Mikael pointed his pen skyward.
"No. We wrote a new one."