The straps dig into my wrists and ankles. The doctor hums as he sticks the electrodes on my head. His face is hidden under a grimy mask and greasy hat. Only his eyes, wild with glee, peer out from underneath.
“Shall we get started?” he sings. His voice seems familiar...
“Listen Doc,” I cry, wrestling against the straps. “There’s no need for this. I swear I feel better.”
The doctor leans over, pulling down his mask… and to my horror I see my own hideous face grinning back at me.
“Oh, but the doctor knows best…” I giggle to myself.
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alt="To Cleave the Crone by E.M. McCormack"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="They Only See Me When I Cry by Alara Rogers"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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>