Melody froze in the doorway. Her room---her sanctuary---was occupied. And the intruder was her own 20-year-old brother, Eric.

He stood in the center of the room, one foot pointed awkwardly outward, dressed head-to-toe in her pale-mint leotard, white tights stretching over his legs, and pink ballet slippers tied in floppy little bows around his ankles. He looked like a backstage mix-up that had sprouted legs.

Melody blinked. “Eric... what are you doing?”

Eric lifted his chin with what he seemed to think was poise. “Demonstrating,” he said. “Also, this is my room now.”

She stared. “You. Look. Ridiculous.”

“That’s only because you’re still thinking the old way,” Eric replied with a flourish of his arms. “Magic happened, Melody.”

“Oh, no. No.” She dropped her bag. “What did you break? What did you inhale? What magic?”

Eric smiled as if delivering bad news he found deeply entertaining. “Everything that was yours is mine now. The apartment. The clothes. The room. The life. Ask anyone.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he folded his arms, utterly confident. “Go on,” he said. “Ask.”

Fine. She would. Melody stormed down the hallway to the living room, where her two roommates---Diana and Yasmin---were sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through their phones.

“Okay,” Melody began, voice sharp. “Is Eric living here?”

Both women looked up casually.

Diana smiled. “Of course. He’s our friend. He moved in months ago.”

Melody blinked hard. “I---what? Months?”

Yasmin nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, is something wrong?”

Melody pointed wildly toward her room. “Do you not remember who your actual roommate is? Me? Melody? I live here with you two, not with him!”

They exchanged a look---a worried, sympathetic one you usually reserve for someone who insists the sky is green.

Diana frowned gently. “Melody, are you feeling okay? Eric’s always lived with us. You’re just... visiting.” She said it carefully, as if speaking to a child.

Melody’s heart hammered. “No! Diana, remember when we spent all last year saving up for this place? When we had that argument about the couch? When Yasmin forgot to pay her half of the electric bill and we had to shower at the gym for a week?”

Yasmin winced but shook her head slowly. “I mean... great story? But none of that happened. I think you’re confused.”

“This is insane!” Melody cried. “Eric is my kid brother! He doesn’t even like ballet! He barely likes moving!”

Footsteps padded behind her---soft, slippered.

Eric stepped into the living room, mint leotard stretching as he folded his arms smugly. “Hey, guys,” he said warmly to Diana and Yasmin. “Ready for movie night? I brought popcorn.”

Both roommates brightened instantly.

“There’s our Eric!” Diana said.

Yasmin slid over to make space beside her. “Come sit with us.”

Eric shot Melody a self-satisfied, lilting smile before joining his “friends,” settling comfortably between them as though he had always belonged there.

Melody stared at the three of them---her friends, her roommates, her life---now rearranged around someone who looked like her brother but stood there in her clothes, in her home, in her place.

And for the first time, it dawned on her:

He might not be joking.

And the magic---whatever it was---might be horribly, terrifyingly real.

---

The police arrived within fifteen minutes.

Melody ran to them like someone grasping at a final rope, pointing down the hallway, voice rising and cracking as she explained the situation.

“He broke in! He’s wearing my clothes! He--- he’s rewriting everything! He says this is his apartment!”

But it didn’t take long for the officers’ expressions to shift from concern to confusion, then to something bordering on irritation.

Because the documents on the kitchen counter---lease agreements, IDs, utility bills---were all in Eric’s name.

The officers even checked Melody’s “room,” letting her flip through drawers and bins in panic, pulling out clothing she recognized, jewelry she’d bought, notebooks full of her handwriting. Every object was unquestionably hers...except the names on the tags, inside the journals, on the labels, had all been replaced with Eric Aldren.

There was even a framed photo on the dresser---Melody’s dresser---showing Eric locked in a loving embrace with Dominick. Dom’s cheek pressed affectionately to Eric’s, both smiling warmly at the camera.

Melody didn’t register it; she was too busy arguing with the officer who was radioing something about “a possible 5150.”

Her voice rose, desperate. “This is MY LIFE! It’s MINE! Please listen, you’re not seeing it---something is WRONG here---”

That’s when the second officer reached for his cuffs.

“Ma’am, you need to calm down or you’re coming with us---”

“Wait.” Eric’s voice cut through smoothly, almost theatrically calm.

He stepped forward, still in the mint leotard, white tights, and slippers, though he’d thrown on one of Melody’s cardigans for good measure. He held up his hands in a soft, practiced gesture of concern.

“Please don’t arrest her,” he said gently. “She’s... always been envious of me. It gets to her sometimes.”

The officers glanced at him---and then at Melody, who was trembling, tearful, wide-eyed.