Sama The Mimic Fanart Novels & Stories

she heard Killian’s voice in her head. “You’re alright indeed Samira. I’m here now, and I’m sorry things took this long with us,” a soothing voice said to her. Her eyes forced themselves shut before she found herself facing a replica of herself, only with purple eyes. “My name is Samira.” “I thought I was Samira,” Samantha replied. Samira nodded. “You are Samira. I am Samira. You are me. I am you. We are one.” “But I grew up as Samantha,” Samantha commented.

I replied. The mimic laughed softly. “She will if she believes the voice belongs to you.” My breath froze. “No,” I whispered. “Yes,” she said again. “He can copy any voice he wants. Including yours.” Melissa’s voice echoed again through the chamber. “Jamal…” I looked up. “I am here. Keep talking to me.” The mimic stepped closer. “How will she know which voice is the real one.” A second voice filled the chamber. My voice. But I had not spoken.

Samaira ignored Mita and handed the tee shirt back to the girl, complimenting her as well, the girl was indeed quite a beauty Samaira felt that something about her was familiar to her, but since she didn’t recognise her so she ignored the feeling “Can I also have a selfie with you please,” the girl requested, “I don’t want to miss seeing you again, please,” Samaira obliged and they took a friendly selfie Mita sneered in her heart seeing Samaira being adored by a fan, she couldn’t shut up “Samaira, I’m sure if you keep getting such fans, you will all the more enjoy being a mistress right?, in fact you might even put in extra efforts to please Siddharth Kapoor so that he keeps you as his favou

This kiss carried weight, a vow unspoken. When they broke apart, Allistair grinned happily. “So do you want to see it now?” “Yes baby, where is it?” Samael exclaimed, clearly excited. Allistair stood up and waved his hand and the square designed fountain parted and revealed all his paintings that he recently made and on the centeris the exact replica of the painting he burned. The one called “Aeternum”. The painting made by the greatest painter of all time, his favorite painter Vianna Resilda Del Fierro, Samael’s mother.

Siron said, on high alert. Stefan smiled. But this time, the smile widened unnaturally, reaching all the way to his cheeks. “Of course not. Because I haven’t written it yet.” Stefan’s eyes glowed bright yellow. From his back, two shadow-like tentacles crawled out, sealing the door and windows. “Welcome, Guardian. I am The Mimic. And I’ve been waiting for you.”

Sam smirked, his eyes still on my naked breasts, and moved the brush down over my stomach. I lifted my arm with curiosity. The dark red lines formed a mesmerising pattern that seemed to move and dance with every motion, lending an illusion of multiple hands in graceful coordination. The faster I moved, the more captivating the illusion became – a fitting metaphor for the battles ahead. I was a piece of art. Sam's brush slid down to my hip. "Turn around." Sam's whisper cut through the silence, his voice a blend of hoarseness and tenderness. I obeyed and he kept the brush on my hip, painting my skin to just above my ass. Nothing happened for a second and nerves itched my skin. Then, Sam hooked

He shared his opinion Oh yes, she is a mimic girl who can imitate the voice of anyone. Moreover, Liam chose her for being someone who can follow his orders and who can imitate anyone's voice. Liam also performs plastic surgery on her face. That's why she looks like Lyra. "Everything happened just like you said, Boss." "A girl named Samantha will doubt me even if she can perform DNA on me and it happened." "I didn't panic but agreed and accepted everything. I followed your every order and made our plan successful.

Instead, I clapped my hands together. A wave of Grey Flame erupted from my palms—not as a fire, but as a **reformatting command**. The shockwave hit the mimic mid-air. The girl's form didn't explode; it *de-rezzed*. The skin peeled away into square pixels, revealing the terrifying endoskeleton of glass and wire beneath. It hit the wall behind me, shattering into a thousand fragments of harmless data. But there were eleven more. "The transition is inevitable," the mimics said in unison, their voices overlapping into a sickening drone. "The Prime Mother has already begun the overwrite. Look outside, Weaver. See your new world."

“ITS BRAINS ARE ADDLED, I SEE. KNOCK IT ABOUT ONE TOO MANY TIMES ON THE DEATHBED, ROT LORD?” “It was lacking to begin with,” Samael said dismissively. “But what to expect from simians?” “Better skincare than you,” I spat. Dumah, like roadkill, reeked of decay. His leathery chin peeked out from under his hood. The skin, sure enough, was dry and cracked as King Tut's. “Stop quarreling, Shannon,” Sam hissed. “Sorry, Dark Lord. Excuse me while I toss my ring into that boiling pit of lava-”

"We diffused it. We broke the signal into seven billion different songs." The Recognition Aris, the Mimic leader who had ascended the elevator with them, stepped forward. He looked at the group of "Unclaimed" Mimics waiting by the tents. He didn't give them a command. He simply sat down in the dirt and picked up a stone, turning it over in his hands as if seeing a mineral for the first time. "It is... heavy," Aris remarked, his voice now devoid of any digital tremor. "And cold. I like it."