If you asked me what kind of day it was, I would've said it was one of the good ones.
The kind where the sun felt warmer than usual, where the house smelled like something frying in the kitchen, and where Kristina was already annoying me before I even opened my eyes.
"Kris," she said loudly. "If you don't wake up, I'm telling Grandma you're hiding snacks again."
I bolted upright. "You wouldn't."
She grinned, hands on her hips. "Try me."
I groaned and flopped back onto the bed. "You're evil."
"No," she corrected. "I'm responsible."
"That's worse."
She laughed, that loud, full laugh that always made everything feel lighter, and ran out of the room before I could throw my pillow at her.
For a moment, I just lay there, listening to the sounds of the house waking up—Mom moving around the kitchen, Grandma humming softly, the floorboards creaking like they always did.
Everything felt normal.
Which, somehow, made me uneasy.
By the time I got to the kitchen, Kristina was already sitting at the table, swinging her legs and stealing food off my plate.
"Hey!" I said. "That's mine!"
She shrugged. "You were late."
Mom raised an eyebrow. "Kristina, let your brother eat."
Kristina smiled sweetly. "I am. I'm just… pre-tasting."
Grandma shook her head, but I caught the smile she tried to hide. "You children eat like the world might end before lunch."
Kristina leaned over to me and whispered, "If it does, I want to be full."
I snorted. "Fair."
As we ate, Kristina started telling a story—one of her usual dramatic retellings of something that barely happened.
"And then," she said, waving her fork, "the shadow was like whoosh, and I was like nope, and Kris here was just standing there like—"
She froze.
Fork halfway to her mouth.
Everyone went quiet.
"Kristina?" Mom asked gently.
Kristina blinked, then laughed. "Sorry! I forgot what I was saying."
I laughed too, a little too fast. "You were roasting me. You were doing great."
"Oh! Right," she said, relieved. "You looked ridiculous."
"Hey!"
The laughter returned, but something lingered underneath it—like an echo that didn't fade when it should have.
Grandma watched Kristina closely, her expression unreadable.
Later that day, Kristina dragged me outside.
"Let's play," she said. "No training. No shadows. Just us."
I smiled. "You sure? Grandma will say—"
"I don't care what Grandma says," Kristina replied. "Today is an imagination day."
That should've made me happy.
Instead, it made my chest tighten.
Still, I followed her.
We ran through the yard, pretending the trees were castles and the dirt paths were secret roads. Kristina narrated everything like it was a grand adventure.
"And here," she said, pointing dramatically, "is where the hero—"
She stopped again.
Just for a second.
"…Where the hero what?" I asked.
She frowned, clearly annoyed with herself. "I know this part. I always do."
"It's okay," I said quickly. "Make up a new one."
She smiled, relief washing over her face. "Right. New story."
We kept playing, laughing, arguing about who won imaginary battles. For a while, it felt like old times.
Then Kristina suddenly asked, "Hey… how old are you again?"
I stared at her. "You know how old I am."
"I do," she said quickly. "I just—wanted to hear you say it."
I answered anyway.
She nodded, like she was filing it away somewhere important.
That night, Grandma called me aside while Kristina brushed her teeth.
"She is still herself," Grandma said quietly. "But the curse is patient."
I swallowed. "She forgot things today."
"Small things," Grandma said. "That is how it begins. Memory frays before the body breaks."
I clenched my fists. "How long?"
Grandma looked at me, eyes heavy with knowledge. "Long enough to hurt. Short enough to matter."
I didn't like that answer.
"She laughed today," I said. "She was happy."
Grandma nodded. "That is why this curse is cruel. It does not steal joy first. It waits until love has roots."
Later, Kristina sat beside me on the porch, knees pulled to her chest.
"Hey, Kris?" she said.
"Yeah?"
"If I ever start acting weird," she said casually, "you'll tell me, right?"
I looked at her, really looked at her.
"Yeah," I said. "I'll tell you."
She smiled and leaned her head on my shoulder. "Good. Because you're terrible at keeping secrets."
I laughed softly. "True."
She closed her eyes.
And I sat there, listening to her breathe, making a promise I didn't say out loud—
No matter how long it takes.
No matter what the curse tries to steal.
I will remember everything.
For both of us.