Story 1187: A Mind Split by Stars

The stars weren’t right anymore.

Clara Veil was the first to see it—not through a telescope or chart, but behind her own eyelids. Each time she blinked, the constellations danced out of alignment, spiraling into impossible geometries that didn’t belong in any sky.

She hadn’t slept in four days.

Not since the voice in her dreams whispered,

“You are not one mind. You are many. And the stars are watching.”

Clara had been a street performer—fire dances, mirror illusions, sleight-of-hand for coins and smirks. But her talent, she’d learned, came not from skill, but from fracture. There were versions of Clara, echoing in other places, other worlds, and now?

Now the barriers were thinning.

It began when she looked into the broken mirror of a pawnshop in East Wyrmgate.

Her reflection didn’t blink.

Didn’t smile.

It only mouthed a question:

“Do you know which one you are?”

Then the sky cracked.