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I walk along a deserted path. I see nobody near me. I don't feel anything. There's nothing to focus on. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know how I got here. But that's when she comes to me. A woman, skeletally thin with deep sunken eyes. I can see no life within her, but her eyes still shine with malicious intent.

"I can help you, Alma," she says, and I narrow my eyes at her. She's wearing black jeans that hug her pencil-thin legs. Her face is gaunt, and on her shirt is a big pink heart. It's almost ironic how it contrasts her cold exterior.

"Who are you?" I ask, and she smiles. Her gums are practically grey, and her teeth are almost falling out.

"Why, I'm Ana," she tells me. "I'm your best friend. I can give your life purpose," she says, and my interest grows.

"You can give my life purpose?" I question, and she nods, reaching for my hand. Her skeletal fingers look like something from a bad dream. But at the same time, they're beautiful. The bones and tendons beneath her thin skin make her fingers look endlessly long.

She takes my hand in hers. Her skin is cold. Sickly. 

"I can give you everything you've ever desired," she tells me, leaning closer. Her voice is coarse, as if she hasn't had water in years.

"How?"

"Just trust me," she replies, and I look into her sunken eyes. She smiles. "I'm your friend, Alma." I look away from her eyes, and I notice her black hair. It's thin, as if she could go bald by tomorrow.

"Are you okay?" I ask, and she laughs slightly.

"Why, I'm in the best shape I've ever been in my entire life," she says.

"You don't look it."

"Is that so?" She pulls away from me and looks at my face, her eyes narrowed. 

"Mmm. I need to go," I tell her. I start to walk away, but that's when a different voice speaks. 

"Alma."

I look behind me and see a gorgeous woman. She has long blonde hair and a bright face. She's wearing shorts that show off her slender legs and a short shirt that reveals a flatter-than-a-board stomach.

"Still think I don't look good?" she questions. "Come now, I can help you." 

"Ana?" I question.

"Mhmm," she replies. Even her voice is desirable.

"Come with me. I'll give your life purpose," she says, extending her hand to me. 

"I don't—"

"I'll make you look like me," she cuts in, and I feel a rush of emotions. I can look like her.

"Really?" I ask, my voice soft, as if I'm scared that she'll disappear if I'm too loud. 

"Really," she replies, smiling brightly. Her teeth are perfect.

I go over to her and let her take my hand. 

"Let's go," she says. And so we do. 

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