With a pounding heart, I watch my sister's face drain of all color. Our eyes lock, trembling. Crimson meets crimson—and she no longer looks anything like the cute little girl I once knew. No… in this moment, she feels like a stranger. An alien.
"Quill?" she asks nervously, fingers twirling a strand of her white hair. "W-what are you doing here? It's late… shouldn't we go to bed?" She doesn't wait for my answer, hurrying off to her corner without another glance, as if I hadn't overheard her just a moment ago.
I watch as she hides beneath her thin, worn blanket, the fabric so short it barely covers her feet. For some reason, my chest feels heavy, as if my heart has had enough of this charade. And yet… I can't seem to force myself to confront her about it.
The words she said keep replaying in my head. I also know she isn't asleep, because her story flickers across my system screen like stolen thoughts.
