My name is Stephanie Duval. I am a shapeshifter. I never used to be one.

I used to be like most other women, a normal person. I worked in a small-time post office, in the back sorting packages and mail. I joked around with my co-workers, having fun and all that shtick. Then, one day, we had a new girl transfer in. Another shapeshifter, she was what people referred to as a "blob": a humanoid figure from the planet Ridalfu with barely noticeable features aside from a mark pointing out what she is. This was present in the form of a bandage across her nose.

She was generally teased and bullied by the more dickish among us, which understandably scared her a bit. I reached out to her, made a friend in her. I became a role-model for her, someone to look up to, to be a trend-setter for. It helped that we both came from separate planets, mine being Earth. She soon lightened upped, and she showed me her favorite ability: she can copy voices and personalities. She became real good at faking mine, and we started joking around, playing juvenile pranks on the rest of the office. Sometimes, we made little messes, but it was all good-natured fun. She admired me, and I liked having her around.

Then, the office closed. We had a nice helping of wealth, so we didn't need to work for a while. She moved in with me to share apartment costs. It helped, and so, we started our living together. For 3 years, it went that way.

Then she started wearing my clothes.

At first, I didn't care: she always did it when her clothes were in the washer. Slowly, though, I realized: she had taken a liking to my life, my personality, my being. She loved me, she wanted me. I became a little more aware, but I shrugged off as merely her being a bit of a copycat.

She was.

Soon, she was wearing my outfits, meeting my friends, filing my forms and taking my licenses. I began to see her eclipse my life. She wanted what I had, what I earned and received. Her abilities were even more effective: she could take my form, wear my face, speak my accent, fake my disposition. It was beginning to spiral out of control. I begged her to slow down, but she would just explain to me: "they already know who you are, so they can tell if it's me or you." This kept going, until finally, I snapped. I yelled. I screamed, stop it right now.

She was horrified, like a child being reprimanded for kicking a rock. She began to cry, and hid herself away for days at a time. I felt sorry, and like a total ass-hat. I apologized. She was so happy, seeing me care so much. We made up, and so we lived our lives again.

Then came the night. The night something happened. The night she thought that it wasn't a problem to reach for the syringe. The night her smile became noticeably darkened. The night she walked into my bedroom. The night she realized that she can change my mind. The night when our peaceful lives became even more far-flung into chaos.

Her name is Stephanie Duval. She was a shapeshifter, in every sense of the word. She was my best friend.