Doppelganger Novels & Stories

Something like vengeance. Outside, the forest stirred with the movements of her double. The clone walked as she did, carried her scent, moved with her very essence. Caelum had set the spell-bound creation wandering the woodlands where Evander’s hunters prowled. They followed eagerly, snarling at every turn, certain they were closing in on the true Nyx. And each time, the doppelgänger slipped just far enough to lure them deeper into cursed ground. Sometimes into briar mazes that swallowed their footing. Sometimes into hollowed trees where shadows whispered madness. Always away from Nyx herself.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to verify something from you, Amoux. I’m sorry if I ever invaded your privacy, but you look so much…” “Like your mate? I’m sorry, my name is Amoux, not Gerard. People say that to me and I don’t even want to think about it because I don’t know the guy you are talking about. Just consider me his doppelgänger, ok. Stop following me or else, I will inform Garold and tell him that maybe you want to have an affair with me. We both know he wouldn’t take it easy with you. You know how he behaves.’ “Amoux, what is going on here?’

"And you are Flynn Canger, right?" "Everyone says so," he laughs with humor. I move to his chair, standing beside him. "That's enough, I think. Anyway, it was a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Canger," I swiftly hit him by the backside of my Rugar LCR. He has become senseless.

She looked carefully at him and couldn't help but acknowledge the striking resemblance with the person coming closer to the cashier point. "No Vikram does not work without a bodyguard. Even if he does, why would he be going shopping when he has maids?" She said in her head. "Hello" He handed over his card to her and paid for his bills and Catherine could not help but watch him. The only difference was the color of his eyes, his voice sounded almost exactly like Vikrams' voice. "Be quick and stop staring" The voice said and Catherine immediately jerked out of her thoughts, slightly embarrassed as her face flushed pink.

he said cautiously, "is this... you?" I shook my head slowly, never taking my eyes off the figure. "No. It's not me." The doppelgänger tilted its head, mirroring my movement. "But I am you," it spoke, voice eerily identical. "I am the you that could have been. You are unburdened by guilt, unshackled by doubt." Nima's voice trembled. "What does that mean?" The figure turned its gaze to her. "It means that the seal has chosen to manifest potential. To test the boundaries of identity and purpose."

That's definitely gonna leave a mark. “You do realize I have no clue what you're talking about.” I said as soon as I regained the sensation on my lips. They were burning. “Of course, you don't. I half expected you to be Hannah, but with the recent developments in the mansion, my suspicions were up. Did a little digging, and voila. Here we are. With a doppelganger.” He stood up, circling me with his hands behind his back. “I'm human. Not a doppelganger.”

He assured me, but I wasn't done yet. "And what if I tell you that I've been seeing a woman that looks exactly like her? I mean, their hair color is different, but they are so much alike and I can't help but think that Anya isn't dead as we think," He tilted his head to the side, his expression stoic and unfeeling. "What makes you think so?" He let out short breaths. "Their uncanny resemblance, Dmitri. I know that a person can have a doppelganger, but hers is too striking,"

Jackson said, and my mouth dropped open "It's not normal or a coincidence that two people mistook you for different women." "Why do you say that?" I asked. "Because there is only one doppelganger of someone per generation," Jackson said and I looked at him blankly. "It is said that in the world, we always have a doppelganger. Sometimes the Goddess gives these doppelgangers powers and blesses them appropriately to be recipients of great power—" Jackson stopped his talk and suddenly looked at me with a somber look. I was missing the point.

He screamed, I laughed even more. What do you call it? A man of pleasure who is willing to do anything for a payment sheet called money. My employees called him male prostitute, an urban word that was foreign to me. I'm more familiar with the word gigolo, which is what the service provider used to say. "You have the right to be quiet," I whispered behind his ear, biting slightly, then releasing the monster preparing to rage down there, "and try not to make a sound at all." Without feeling the need to lubricate, I wanted to torture someone. To enter her many times full of intimidation.