Who’s that, she asked of the portrait. I said nobody I knew, just an interesting painting that caught my eye. I didn’t mention it could have been you, even after a closer look. You’re not as tall, not as underfed thin. The red hair you sported in the middle of our life turned back to blonde before too long, and your breasts are far more to my tastes. Still, the two of you could be confused, if not for twins, at least for sisters. One of you a stranger holding no memories, one of you a ghost presenting far too many.