Mimics

Hello there.

In the midst of an ethereal library that seems to stretch across infinity, with books bearing human names floating in the vicinity of it, a peculiar but calm voice rings from a black silhouette. The figure speaks to “you” with a mysterious smile.

It stares at “you”, in its armchair that appears to have no shape, its eyes wide-open and an incomprehensible smirk drawn across its face.

Ahaha. Yes, yes, I am talking to you, dear reader.

Who am I? Who are you? That is not important. But if I may, I would like to make an inquiry—Ahem. Ask you a harmless question.

The figure carefully repositions itself on the armchair, resting its ink-like black body on the back of the chair, its uncanny smirk still there.

Who are “you”? What are “you”? the figure asks “you” in a dead serious voice, its smirk now gone.

You think to yourself... Who am I? What am I? But the answers are clear and plain.

…

Ahaha! Of course, of course. That was a painfully obvious question—I am aware. You probably have a clear answer to it… and I do too. That was quite unnecessary, was it not?

The figure laughs out loud for a bit more, its black face repeatedly glowing with a sinister looking grin.

Then, allow me to ask you another question—this time, a more proper one.

It stares at “you” in silence, its eerie, indistinguishable black eyes gazing at “you” as if to pierce right through your soul.

Do you have any regrets?

You begin thinking to yourself… Do I have any regrets?

…

Are you the “ideal” you? Perfect—without flaws and shortcomings?

But the figure immediately throws another question at “you”.

…

Does your head hurt? Are you confident in your answers? Do you fear your inability to answer them? Are you not thinking at all?

…

Are you comfortable with the truth? Are you scared of the truth? Do you love yourself? Do you hate yourself?

…

Regardless of how you feel, the figure continues.

If you are the “ideal” you… the figure flashes its uncanny smirk once again. It seems we share the same trait, it concludes with an incomprehensible chuckle.

Its smirk fades away, quickly replaced by a more serious expression.

But if you are not… if you acknowledge and admit the flaws and shortcomings that you have… the figure pauses, staring at “you”.

Be careful of the mimics.

Ah! My apologies. A warning without context is quite rude, is it not?

The figure leans back into the chair. It smirks—its expression as uncanny as before. But that doesn’t bother you anymore. You are curious… What is a mimic?

You must be wondering to yourself. “What exactly is a mimic?”

It pauses abruptly, staring at “you” with its still unpleasant smirk.

…

Ahaha. Were you expecting an explanation from me? That would be quite boring, would it not? But don’t worry! I will “explain it to you”… just in a different—more intriguing way.

The figure raises one hand to the air, and one of the books levitating far above the ground flies over to it, landing on its open palm. In the cover of the book, a title can be read.

“Do-Hyun.”

Its black ink-like fingers grasp the book with such movement that has likely been repeated a thousand times and more.

I will show you myself, dear reader—the personal stories of the mimics. Some about misery—some about sorrow—others about despair, and a few of happiness. This makes things far more intriguing, do you not think so?

The figure holds the book with both hands, preparing itself to open the first page. Then, staring at “you”, it speaks for the last time, with its wide smirk that you’re somewhat used to by now.

Then, shall we begin with our first story?