Fading Starlight

The wedding of Autumn Westwood and Franklin Cordon was the event of the year. The place was packed with guests, all dressed to the nines.

Down in the front row, my parents were wiping away tears while quietly sobbing, “Our little Autumn’s finally getting married. She’s our everything.”

Up above, my soul floated in the air, watching, feeling an ache deep inside. Once, they used to cry over me like that, too.

Just then, someone shouted from the crowd, “What a perfect match! Master Franklin and Miss Autumn sure are made for each other!”

“Yeah," someone else chimed in. "Not like that fake, Ginger Westwood. She stole the real daughter’s life for over twenty years. Even six feet under, she’s nothing but bad luck.”

Autumn seemed to hear my name as well. Her hand paused for a second, and then she smiled—a small, mocking curve of her lips.

I laughed bitterly to myself. Of course, she would. I had lived the life that was supposed to be hers for over two decades. She had every reason to sneer at me.

However, the next second, Autumn turned toward the live-stream camera, her voice carrying through the hall.

"Speaking of Ginger," she said sweetly, "I should thank her."

The guests fell silent.

"She even sent us a wedding gift."

"A gift?!" I froze mid-air. From me? I had no idea what she was talking about.

Before I could even piece together a thought, the crowd exploded in outrage.

"She’s dead, and she’s still causing trouble? What a schemer!"

"She was awful when she was alive. Now, she’s haunting the wedding too!"

"That evil girl—it’s probably some kind of curse!"

My mother’s face turned an ugly shade of gray. She leapt up from her seat. “She always tried to steal from Autumn!” she shrieked. “There’s no way she sent anything good! Throw it out! Throw it away! Don’t let it ruin Autumn’s big day!”

Franklin frowned, looking annoyed. He waved his hand dismissively. “Forget it. Don’t bother opening it. It’s just trash. Let’s move on.”

Nevertheless, Autumn raised a hand to stop him, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Really?" she said coolly. "I'm curious. I want to see what she left us."

My parents tried to stop her, but she was already opening the box.

Inside was a thick, worn journal.

I recognized it instantly. It was mine.

But… how? My parents had burned all my things. How had it survived?

Before I could even make sense of it, Autumn flipped it open and began to read aloud.

"February 1, 2024. The real daughter of the Westwood family, Autumn, came home today. She was skinny, dark, and scared of everything. Mom and Dad said she'd suffered a lot out there, and that I should always give in to her, no matter what."

As her voice rang out, a giant screen behind the altar flickered to life. A grainy photo appeared. It was Autumn wearing a faded flannel shirt and cheap jeans, standing stiffly in the corner.

I had taken that photo secretly that very day. Her hair had been dry and brittle, her eyes hollow. Nothing like the polished, luminous woman she was today.

The moment Franklin saw it, he ripped off his tie in anger. "Turn that off! Who let that play? The past is the past! Autumn’s not like that anymore!"

"Exactly!" someone from the crowd shouted.

"Ginger was always jealous! She even kept ugly photos like this just to humiliate her!"

"She must have hated Autumn from the very first day they met!"

"All those things Ginger did to sabotage Autumn later—it was all planned from the start!"

My parents were furious now, practically shaking with rage.

"If we had known how vicious she was," my father yelled, "we would have gotten rid of her that very day!"