AMARA POV:
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I've always hated her.
Even when we were kids, Selena was always the one people stared at — with her pale skin, her wide, innocent eyes. People said she looked special.
But all I saw was a lie wrapped in soft curls and fake sweetness.
Last night, when she fainted in the living room and her top slid off her shoulder… I saw it. That tattoo. That glowing red mark. I thought I imagined it once when we were younger. But now it was burning like fire on her skin.
And they — our parents — just stood there, whispering like she was some sacred thing. Not sick. Not broken. Not dying.
No. They acted like… they knew what she was.
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This morning, I stood outside their door.
Their voices were low, but I caught enough.
> "We should have told her the truth by now."
"No! You saw what happened when the mark reappeared. If her bloodline awakens too fast—"
"We're out of time. She's turning."
Turning? Into what?
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I slammed my door and nearly broke the handle.
Selena's still sleeping. Or pretending to.
She doesn't know I was there. Doesn't know I heard it all. That glowing mark, those whispers — all of it screams one thing:
She's not like us. She never was.
And I've been right this whole time.
The worst part? Even now, even knowing what she is… part of me still wishes I was her. That they'd whisper my name like that. That I was the one chosen. Not her.
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I glance at her through the crack of her door.
Her breathing is slow. Peaceful. Innocent.
But I know better.
> "Sooner or later," I whisper, "everyone sees monsters for who they really are."
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> You felt that chill, right? 😶🌫️
Do you think the sister will betray her? Or is she hiding pain of her own?
Drop your theories — this family's about to fall apart 🕯️
— Mysterious_frnd 🩸