Krιѕѕy Nιcole. 🌲🌻⛰

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭.🌙 | Liberal. Conservationist. Crocheter. Forest Witch. Plant mom. Cat mom. Mountain girl.♑✨🌻⛰ 8.7.21

[Krιѕѕy Nιcole. 🌲🌻⛰ @StardustedWings]

Things Cici will never live down:

"Cici tired is Cici."

And

"Pegan."

[No Context Cats @nocontextscats]

arrghh

[No Context Cats @nocontextscats]

eepy 💤

[smol silly cat @Catsillyness]

Tech Support is on the case!

[No Context Cats @nocontextscats]

Studying

[No Context Cats @nocontextscats]

so pretty

[No Context Cats @nocontextscats]

Yummy rain

[No Context Cats @nocontextscats]

eeepy

[Nicki 🫧🪷 @nickimoraa]

And in every generation, she married into the same family.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

My mother-in-law was standing in the doorway.

“You finally found the truth,” she said.

I stared at her. “Who is she?”

Her eyes filled with something that looked less like hatred and more like fear.

“That’s the problem,” she whispered.

“She isn’t someone else.”

Slowly, she pointed at me.

“It’s you.”

Then the grandfather clock in the library struck midnight.

And every photograph in the room suddenly changed.

[Nicki 🫧🪷 @nickimoraa]

That night, curiosity got the better of me. I searched the family archives stored in the mansion’s library. Hidden inside a collection of century-old photographs, I found a picture that made my blood run cold.

Standing beside my fiancé’s great-grandfather was a woman who looked exactly like me.

Not similar.

Exactly like me.

Same face.

Same eyes.

Same small scar above the eyebrow.

On the back of the photograph was a handwritten note:

“Claire returned again. Year 1926.”

As I flipped through more records, I found the same woman appearing every few decades. She never aged. She never changed.

[Nicki 🫧🪷 @nickimoraa]

My future mother-in-law hated me from the moment we met.

She smiled in public, but in private she made it clear that I wasn’t good enough for her son. Every family dinner felt like a test I was destined to fail.

Three weeks before the wedding, she invited me to her mansion and handed me a small velvet box.

“I think you’ll find this interesting,” she said.

Inside was a key.

Not a house key.

Not a car key.

An old brass key with my initials engraved on it.

My initials.

My exact initials.

The problem was that the key looked ancient.

When I asked where she got it, her expression changed.

“You left it behind,” she replied.

I laughed nervously, assuming it was some strange joke.

But she wasn’t smiling.

[No Context Cats @nocontextscats]

sleepy twin