Telepath whose egg cracks because she reads another girl's mind and gets overwhelmed by how much she wants to keep feeling and thinking the same way as that girl all the time, so she keeps reading her thoughts to see her upcoming plans, daily routines, how she likes to spend her time, and then starts secretly following her to better memorize it all and get used to going to the same places. She buys all of the same clothes as her and tries to read or guess which outfit she's going to wear on what day, even buys a wig to match her hair better since growing her own out would take too long. The first time she looks in the mirror after weeks, maybe a month or two of this, she realizes her facial features are closer to her muse's than she thought, far too early for her DIY estradiol to have taken effect. Before long cashiers at the other girl's most frequented shops are calling her that girl's name or asking if she wants "the usual" when they see her enter. It's euphoric. It's comfortable. A little too comfortable. She grows both bolder and more complacent, until one day while in line at a coffee shop, she reads a jolt of confusion in the barista's mind and watches him look past her, then directly at her, back and forth twice. Her stomach drops and she turns around. The glass of the door resembled a mirror for a split second before opening, and her picture-perfect reflection -- or rather, the one she herself was a reflection of -- walks through the door and proceeds past the line straight toward her. The telepath starts stuttering, dozens of excuses bubbling up and dying on her tongue, not noticing the other's smile until suddenly arms are thrown around her, warmly and snugly. She freezes, hears her muse laugh and ask the barista, "Come on, you really couldn't tell me and my sister apart?" and simultaneously feels a voice in her mind, one she's been hearing for all these months that sounds almost exactly like her own, as it whispers, Pretty little thing, aren't you so much happier now?
