The Imposter

My mother has been acting bizarre lately—wearing my dresses, drenching herself in my perfume, and disappearing into the night. Tonight, the tension finally snapped. I confronted her in the hallway, and when she refused to speak, I shoved her away in a fit of rage. She went down hard. Panic instantly replaced my anger, and I dropped to my knees to help her, but she was already gone. I was alone on the floor, staring at my hands, which were inexplicably covered in fresh, warm blood.