"You're lucky to be the healthy twin. You should at least be grateful to your sister."
That's what she had always heard growing up.
At first, she didn't understand. Why should being healthy be something to apologize for? But as she grew older, she stopped asking — not because she agreed, but because every question was met with the same response:
"Don't be selfish."
"Stop being ungrateful."
So, when her small body burned with fever one night, she simply curled up under her thin blanket — silent, trying not to cough, not to disturb the laughter coming from the room next door.
In high school, when classmates planned parties and trips, she quietly declined.
Going out would make her sister sad. And when her sister got sad, she got sick.
She learned to forget her birthdays.
Learned to disappear during the celebrations.
Learned that "understanding" meant giving up everything without complaint.
Then, on the night of her sister's engagement — to her own ex-fiancé — her sister's heart acted up again. In the hospital that followed, no one asked her. No one hesitated. Her parents, doctors, relatives… even her fiancé.
They all looked at her and made the decision.
Her healthy, beating heart — would be her sister's.
She never resented them for loving her sister.
After all, her sister was spirited, radiant, the sun in everyone's sky.
And she? She was quiet. Easy to forget. Too easy.
Lying on the cold operating table, listening to the beeping machines, she didn't feel anger — only an aching question:
Why was I never loved?
What did I do wrong?
But no one answered.
As the anesthesia blurred her vision, a strange buzzing echoed faintly in her mind.
> "...Host... found... soul bond... established..."
She couldn't make sense of the voice. Couldn't hold on to the thought.
Darkness pulled her under.
And when she opened her eyes — she was still in the hospital, just no longer in her world.