Every minute detail I lovingly replicated, even reconstructing the crack she had on her ceiling and the tear on her ‘Red Panda’ themed calendar. It took quite some labour to replicate her penmanship for her scribbled-in reminder that she has a dentist appointment for the twenty-fifth of April. She makes her way over to her ensuite and I switch the cameras on in there to continue my observations. My mood shifts to alarm as I see that she is confused. What did I miss? From all those nights that I watched her I cannot doubt that this is the exact clothes she owns. I wanted her to enjoy this for longer, to observe her in her natural state before she discovered the truth. She isn’t looking in the mirror. She is looking at the mirror. I grab the photos of her house that took me so long to obtain, so much effort to learn the exact schedule of her parents so that I could break in without disturbance. I hurriedly flip through them, and find the ones detailing her bathroom. Another crack! How did I remember every single imperfection in all the rooms, but neglected this singular one! The mirror she was now examining was absent of any nicks or cracks. She briefly runs her palm over the surface, and seems to mouth something to herself; incomprehensible from the angle of my cameras.

She reaches for her hairbrush, and allows herself to dismiss this as nothing of any real significance. I gasped in utter enchantment at what happened next. Her movement, so delicate, yet firm to untangle her hair was just profound. Her mannerisms in this moment were so poised and seductive that I was sorely disappointed when the show was over. Her arms were still trembling somewhat from the rough night she didn’t know she had. She sighs while contemplating her face, today not bothering to cover up her freckles. I am glad. Her summery cheeks and nose are just divine, to me nothing short of tantalising. Maybe I’ll teach her this. 

I can hear her breath start to quicken as she enters the kitchen. She suddenly senses that something is out of place, and I lean forward, my breath fogging up the screen. She tentatively continues, noticing her parents sitting at the kitchen table, the air strangely void of the usual morning chatter.I can tell, she is inexplicably scared to look at their faces. With trepidation, she calls out to them. She walks over to face them. She has become immobile with shock as she looks into their glassy eyes. Their mouths are open. The cotton I stuffed their bodies with is protruding. She rushes for the home phone. It’s dead. Though I am dedicated to producing an exact replica, I’m not foolish enough to allow any way for her to communicate with the outside world. 

Desperate, she runs to the house door, which cannot open. I decided that it is time to introduce myself.