My sister Alessia.When she was born, the delivery room stayed silent. No crying. No struggle. Just a small, still thing that made the nurses exchange glances and my mother call for a priest.Not a priest, as it turned out. A specialist. The kind of man who dealt in problems that didn't appear on medical charts.I remember him walking through our front door—a thin man in a thin coat, carrying something that smelled like old churches. He barely glanced at the bassinet. Instead, his eyes found me across the room and stayed there, unblinking, like I was the only thing in the house worth his attention.Your daughters' fates are tangled, he'd said. This one—he pointed at me—she's feeding on the younger one's life force. Draining her. If they remain under the same roof, the baby won't see twenty-five.After that, my parents looked at me differently. Like I was something that had wandered in from the cold and refused to leave.I tried. God, I tried to make them want to keep me.I brought my f
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