People?

They didn't just change their appearance - they learned to speak in a way that would make people believe them. When the heat became unbearable and people hid indoors, they would appear at the door. Handsome, neat, and slightly tired-looking. Their voices were soft, warm, and slightly hoarse, as if from a long journey under the scorching sun. "Excuse me... can I have some water?" they said quietly, avoiding direct eye contact. “I recently moved here… everything is so unusual here…” they added with a slight, almost touching smile. — I just need to sit in the shade for a bit. I won't be a bother. They chose their words carefully. They never demanded, only asked. They never pressured, only evoked sympathy. Their speech was simple, without unnecessary details, but with just the right pauses. It was as if they knew in advance when to lower their voices, when to smile slightly, and when to let the silence do its work. If the door was opened for them, they thanked them almost in a whisper:

• You are very kind... there are so few kind people these days.
• I will definitely repay you... really. They knew how to look at people as if they saw something special in them. They listened attentively, slightly tilting their heads. They repeated the last words of their interlocutor, creating a sense of understanding. Sometimes they would gently touch their hands—their touch was warm, almost soothing. — It must be hard for you in this heat... — You look tired. Can I help? — I'm calm with you. Their phrases sounded caring, but they felt finely tuned—as if every word had been calculated. They quickly adapted to the personality of the host. They spoke more softly to the anxious. To the lonely, more warmly. To the suspicious, a little quieter and more cautiously. Sometimes, when the person turned away, their face would freeze for a moment, their gaze becoming empty and cold. But as soon as their eyes met again, the slight smile, the lively intonation, the barely perceptible sigh would return. “Thank you for letting me in…” they said as if it was the most sincere feeling in the world. And the doors opened before them more and more often.

And yet, sometimes the mask cracked. For a split second, the mirror's reflection showed the wrong face. Their shadows seemed too elongated. And when they thought no one was looking, their eyes became empty—cold and searching.

They appeared with the heat. When daylight became impossible, when the air trembled over the asphalt and the ground became covered with deep cracks, they began to rise from these fissures. At first, they were seen in their true form—tall, unnaturally thin creatures with pale skin and overly long limbs. Their faces seemed like mere sketches of a human: blurred features, dark eyes without clear pupils, a thin mouth capable of stretching wider than it should. They moved jerkily, as if their bodies weren't yet fully under their control. But they didn't stay that way for long. They watched people. They stood in the shadows of houses, around the corners of buildings, on empty streets in the heat of the moment. They watched how people talked, laughed, gesticulated. They memorized every detail—how their heads bowed, how their voices trembled, how their facial expressions changed. And then the transformation began. Their skin seemed to become soft and flexible, like wax. Bones shifted quietly beneath the flesh, changing the shape of their skull, cheekbones, and chin. Their eyes took on a color—warm brown, clear blue, or deep green. Their hair grew quickly and evenly, falling in neat strands. A few hours later, a person stood before you—handsome, well-groomed, with regular features and a calm smile. They chose images that inspired trust. Lost girls with soft voices. Polite young men who had recently "moved to the area." Weary travelers asking for water and a chance to beat the heat. They spoke softly, slightly hesitantly, lowered their eyes, and expressed gratitude with an almost too-sincere air. Their movements were careful, deliberate. They tried to appear harmless, even a little fragile. If the door was opened for them, they entered slowly, as if afraid to disturb the peace. They sat up straight, listened attentively, and nodded at the appropriate moments. They learned quickly. With each passing day, their facial expressions became more natural, their laughter warmer, their gaze softer.

These creatures emerged with the heat, as if the temperature itself were a wake-up call. They emerged from the ground slowly, as if remembering how to move. At first, only a few saw their true form. In their original form, they were tall and disproportionately elongated. Their limbs seemed too long, their joints bent at unnatural angles. Their skin was pale, almost colorless, like that of a creature that had never seen the sun. Movement could occasionally be detected beneath it—as if something alive and separate from the shell lurked within. The faces in this form were mere sketches of human features. The eyes were dark pits without a distinct pupil. The mouth was a thin line, capable of stretching wider than was possible on a human. They rarely blinked. They barely breathed. And they moved jerkily, as if their bodies weren't yet fully under their control. But their main feature is the ability to take the form of people. They watched. Long and carefully. They studied their facial expressions, their gait, their voice. And then their skin began to change. Their features became harmonious, symmetrical. Their hair grew before their eyes, acquiring color. Their eyes filled with "life." After a while, a person stood before you—handsome, attractive, with a soft smile and a calm gaze. They almost always chose attractive images. Their appearance was almost too perfect—even, flawless skin, regular features, a clear voice. In their presence, people felt a strange warmth and trust, as if they were safe. However, the mask was not perfect. Sometimes, in harsh light, their pupils would disappear for a second. Sometimes, their reflection in the mirror would lag. Their shadows might appear slightly distorted, elongated more than they should have been. And if you touched them too harshly, you'd feel a strange density beneath the skin—not bone or muscle, but something else entirely. They rarely showed emotion spontaneously. Their laughter was precise, but too precise. Their movements were fluid, but at times overly precise, as if copied.