While They Waited for My Sister to Die

When I opened my eyes again, my body felt strangely weightless.

I passed through the locked basement door and saw the warm lights in the living room. Mom and Dad sat pressed close to my sister on the couch. Mom stroked her back while Dad bowed his head, his shoulders trembling.

My sister, Celia, wore the silver-blue dress prepared for her First Moon Rite. Tiny moons and stars were embroidered along the skirt. Her face looked unusually pale beneath the lights. Less than twelve hours remained on the black countdown that only her blood relatives could see.

"Mom, Dad, is Wren really all right?" Celia's voice was soft and thick with tears. "I heard her saying her head hurt. She also said something scratched her arm while she was arranging the ritual supplies this afternoon."

"Ignore her," Dad said, weariness making his voice hard.

Mom brushed the hair from Celia's forehead and caressed her cheek. "She isn't poisoned. She saw everyone paying attention to you and decided to pretend she was sick again. She only wants sympathy."

"But..."

"This may be your last night." Mom's voice broke, and her eyes turned red. "Focus on tomorrow's First Moon Rite. Don't let her upset you."

Celia pressed her lips together. She said nothing else, but the crease between her brows never disappeared.

I knew she had always felt guilty about me.

For as long as I could remember, every scrap of our parents' love had been piled at her feet. The nutritional supplements issued by the pack were for her. The freshest meat was for her. New clothes and toys never made it as far as me.

Yet Celia always slipped her snacks into my hands. She saved the dresses our parents bought her and had them altered to fit me. Whenever they scolded me, she was the first person to step between us.

She often hugged me and whispered, "I'm sorry, Wren. You're treated unfairly because of me."

Our parents never saw it that way.

Mom sighed and looked at Celia with aching tenderness. "Stop making excuses for her. She has been jealous of you since she was old enough to understand anything. She can't stand seeing the family treat you well. Have you forgotten what she did on your fourteenth birthday?"

Celia's fourteenth birthday was the first time I truly understood that she was going to die.

For once, our family ordered a large frosted cake. Fourteen slender silver candles stood on top. Mom lit them with careful hands while Dad held up his camera, determined to preserve one of the few birthdays Celia had left.

I hid around the corner and watched the candlelight flicker across her face. I watched her close her eyes to make a wish. I also saw our parents fighting back tears as if she were already lying in her grave.

Suddenly, I ran into the room.

Even now, I do not know what I was thinking. Perhaps I was jealous. Perhaps I was terrified. Perhaps I could not accept that the sister who had always protected me would truly disappear.

I swept the cake off the table. Frosting splattered across the floor, and the silver candles rolled beneath the furniture, going dark one after another.

"I don't want to watch you celebrate her birthday!" I screamed, sounding like a cruel, spoiled child.

I still remembered the way our parents looked at me.

I did not dodge when Dad's hand struck my face. Once. Twice. Three times. Mom stood nearby and cried, but she did not stop him.

At last, Celia threw herself over me and shielded me with her slender body.

"Don't hit Wren, Dad. Please stop!" Her voice trembled, but she held me tightly. "It's my fault. Everything is my fault."

That night, she slipped into my room and placed half a chocolate bar she had hidden in my palm. A red scrape crossed her wrist where the edge of the table had caught her while she protected me.

"I'm sorry, Wren." She gently touched my swollen cheek. "I'll be gone soon. After that, no one will take anything away from you again."

In the living room, Mom continued stroking Celia's hair.

"Don't think about her anymore," she said tiredly. "You know she has always been jealous of you."

I froze.

Yes, I envied my sister. I envied the way our parents poured all their love into her. I envied her new ceremonial dresses. I envied the way Mom stayed beside her all night whenever she had a fever. I even envied the fact that, with only one night left to live, she was still the center of their world.

But I had never truly wanted her to die.

I floated toward Celia and reached for her hand. I wanted to tell her I had not been pretending. My head really had hurt. The wound on my arm had burned as though fire were spreading through my veins.

My fingers passed straight through her body as though through shapeless mist.

I stopped and stared blankly at my nearly transparent hand. Then I turned toward the basement. A thin strip of light still shone beneath the storage-room door.

I passed through it and found my body curled on the freezing floor. The wound on my arm had turned black, and dark veins showed where the wolfsbane poison had crawled toward my shoulder. My skin was gray, my lips were purple, and my chest did not rise.

At last, I understood. The pain had not suddenly disappeared.

I was dead.

My sister's countdown had not yet reached zero, but the Moon Goddess had already taken me.