"Big sis, when I grow up, I wanna be like you!"
Or at least, that was what I had wanted. But life doesn't exactly go as people plan or want to.
Coming from the House of Auclait, whose history stretched back into the late 1700s, before the French Revolution, expectations and responsibilities weighed heavy.
But not to me. To her.
Marianne.
Growing up, there was an undeniable distinction between my older sister and myself. She was smarter, good with words-the epitome of what a prodigy is. But even with the obvious distinction between sisters, she had never actually written an invisible line between us, despite the off-handed comments from the branch families and our grandparents made.
In some cases, she would make the effort to distance me from them. Like dragging me out to play, choosing time with me over enduring the branch families' judgment about my lack of ambition, or my inability to stand beside her as an equal.
If anything else, it only made her want to shut them down in her own way. During the early years of our education, instead of constantly nodding at our grandparents, Marianne deliberately made mistakes. Then pointed at me, winked, and let me do better in her place.
For instance, when we were asked to make our own paintings, Marianne made a deliberate choice of painting a complete atrocity of a painting that made even our grandparents question her ability, while emphasizing the somewhat decent painting of a blue jay I made alongside hers.
On a random day, when I was eight, she sat me down while we ate muffins she had baked as part of her training. We went to the same school, yes, but the family made it clear they were already grooming her to become the next Matriarch.
"Okay, Arianne. No matter what anyone says, you're not worthless just because you're not good at a few things, okay?"
Her smile was bright, one that made me think she was some sort of angel as her hand reached out to pat my head gently.
"Everyone has something they excel at, you just haven't found yours yet," her smile softened. "So don't lose yourself trying to live up to other people's expectations, understand? You're perfect just the way you are."
I nodded, unaware of the implications of her words. Of course, it felt obvious at the time.
Even though we were twins, Marianne had grown up faster than I had. Far faster.
So I didn't fully understand the weight of her words back then.
Before long, two years passed.
For the first few months, Marianne stayed the same. Playful and energetic around me, while remaining the calm, composed heir in front of everyone else.
In my room, though, she would complain endlessly about how demanding the branch families and our grandparents were. Always placing an impossible amount of expectations on her.
"I swear, those oldies are sooooo annoying!" she muttered, tugging lightly at her hair as she rolled across my bed. "Always saying you should do this, be that, never enough."
I sat near the headboard. My bed was large, my room spacious enough to pass for a small living space. It had quietly become Marianne's refuge, the only place she could complain freely.
Eventually, she'd grow tired and bury her face against my stomach while I read, still muttering about everything she hated-until she'd look up at me and whisper:
"I'm just glad you're here... Arianne."
I didn't understand what that meant back then. I only smiled.
By the time we turned twelve, the difference between us became impossible to ignore. Marianne was already being drawn into political discussions, her presence so overwhelming that people began to forget I existed at all.
But still-
"Ari! I'm back from the meeting!"
She'd burst into my room and wrap her arms around me without warning.
"Politics is absolutely exhausting," she'd groan.
I'd hug her back.
"Old people again?"
She'd nod, then sink to her knees and bury her face against my stomach once more.
We'd stay like that for minutes. Sometimes hours. Her arms around my waist, my book forgotten as I gently stroked her hair.
I never resented her for being better. I understood why she pushed herself so hard.
Still... watching her live up to everyone's expectations. Expectations she could meet. I felt both grateful and guilty.
Because the mask she wore for everyone else...
was starting to crack.
Like that night at dinner.
"Marianne," our grandmother, the twentieth Matriarch said calmly, "if you had lived during the Revolution, how would you have united the people?"
I paused. Shot a glance at Marianne.
She stared at her plate, poking at her food as if she hadn't heard.
My lip trembled as I looked back at our grandmother. Those empty, unreadable eyes fixed on her.
"Well, Marianne...?"
She remained silent. Our grandmother raised one eyebrow at her, and only then did she respond.
"Y-yes?"
But it was already too late. Our grandmother had already dismissed the question, the air around the table noticeably thickening between the family.
More years passed, and the Marianne I once knew just... faded.
By the age of fourteen, she was always away from the main estate. Mostly beside our grandmother or dealing with the family's company. There was one instance when she brought two other girls back to the main estate.
"Ari, meet Hinami and Mei," she said with the brightest smile on her face.
Standing behind her were two young girls. One with golden-blonde hair and amber eyes, smiling warmly at me. On the other hand, the other remained silent, her dark hair cascading gently down her back. She looked mature and composed for someone our age... almost like Marianne in front of everyone else...
"They're my new friends, so if you'd like... you could be friends with them as well, the more the merrier!"
That was what she'd said.
But after that, her visits came rarely. Every moment I saw her, she would be with our family, wearing that practiced smile I've always seen through.
Before I realized, my interactions with Marianne became lesser, rarer, until they slowly dissipated into nothingness. And once again, I became just another observer of what Marianne wanted people to see.
As months passed, a rift had formed between us. Marianne no longer waved at me whenever we walked past each other, when she did, it was always with that mask she wore like a second skin. Our conversations were no longer about the small things that we both liked, more like negotiations.
The bright glint in her eyes dissipated, replaced by that dark gaze our grandmother had.
Whenever I tried to reach out to her, she would simply say:
"My apologies, Arianne. I have an appointment that needs my attention. Perhaps we could talk when I have the time?"
Before turning away and leaving without looking back.
Eventually, I stopped trying to reach out to her. Completely becoming just another audience member for the play that she was performing. Her life.
Her presence altogether became rarer with time. The estate no longer felt like home, and perhaps that was why she rarely stayed, using those meetings and meet-ups with her friends as an excuse to shorten her stay or simply... leave the estate entirely.
One day, after coming home from school, walking down the opulent hallway of the Auclait main estate, I passed by Marianne's room.
I stopped in my tracks, standing in front of the room's door, which now felt like an imposing castle gate that threatened to crush anyone who dared to approach.
I'm unsure whether it was curiosity, worry, or something else entirely. But I walked closer and pressed my ear against the door. It felt strange, but perhaps I still cared for her-despite everything.
What I heard, when I was expecting silence, assuming she would be away like always, broke everything.
It wasn't rage.
Not silence either.
Sobbing.
Small. Quiet. Gentle sobs.
It was Marianne. Undoubtedly Marianne.
I stood there for a long time.
And in the end, I did nothing.