A cold, skeletal finger traced her spine. Every instinct screamed to turn, but the command on the screen felt less like advice and more like a law of physics. She stared, paralyzed, at the image of her own bedroom. And that's when she saw it.
A room appeared. Not a studio, but a bedroom. Her bedroom. The camera—or whatever was on the other side—was positioned where her wardrobe stood, pointing directly at her bed. She saw herself, sitting cross-legged on the rug, staring back at the blank TV screen. Only, on the TV, the version of her was two seconds ahead. Tv M6 Direct
"Hello?" she whispered.
The TV-Elara's lips moved, but no sound came from the set. Instead, a single line of white text scrolled across the bottom, like a news ticker. A cold, skeletal finger traced her spine