Isabelle Windsor had spent her life as a shadow.

Many had often thought her as mysterious, as if she had a secret life or a dark trauma-filled past. The truth was, there was nothing all that interesting about Isabelles life. She worked at a library, she lived in a small apartment with her cat, she ate takeout every Wednesday, sometimes, on ‘spontaneous’ days, she would go out to a bar with the few friends she managed to accumulate throughout high school.

Her life was routine and a routine she had been stuck in for a very long time until it all came undone.

The phrase wrong place at the wrong time had never been all that real in Isabelle's life but now, as she stood painfully still over the unconscious body of a woman who looked exactly like her, she found herself wishing she had stayed home.

She crouched over the body and squeezed her eyes shut hoping that when she opened them she’d be at home, with her cat, eating her special Wednesday takeout. Instead, when she opened them, she was still there trapped in this nightmare, a nightmare where she’s dead.

Police sirens sounded and police flooded the scene along with ambulances and Isabelle's world had gone silent. As she screamed and cried for help, she found no one could hear her.

No one could help her.

Isabelle Windsor had died.