My Mother, My Murderer

My mother, Samantha, believed I was born a liar. Because she was deceived by my father's sweet words in her youth and abandoned after giving birth to me and my sister, Mia, she harbored a deep, bitter hatred for lies. She begged a witch for two magic rings. The rule was simple: if the wearer lied, the ring would glow red and burn them with magic. Mia's ring never hurt her, even when she broke a vase and blamed it on me. But if I simply said, "I'm thirsty," my ring would sear my flesh until I screamed. At first, I tried to defend myself, but Mom would just say, "The ring doesn't lie. Only through repeated punishment can your wicked soul be cleansed." After thousands of burns, even I started to believe I was naturally evil. On the day of the Blood Moon Ball, Mom was getting ready to take my sister out. A sudden, agonizing pain hit my abdomen. I curled up on the floor, begging, "Mom, my stomach hurts so bad. Please help me." But the ring just glowed red, constantly releasing its burning magic. Mom looked down at me, drenched in cold sweat, with utter disgust. "Faking sick just to tag along to the ball? You never change!" She turned, took Mia, and slammed the front door behind her. The intense pain made my body feel light and floaty. Dizzy, I thought to myself: Maybe when I'm dead, I'll finally be an honest child, and Mom will be happy.