Victor had been tiny and frail from birth, so my parents poured all of their attention into him.When I fell and bloodied my knee, they would still be holding Victor, smiling at him as though nothing else mattered.Growing up, the thing I heard most from my mother was that I had to put my brother first.When I was ten, my parents sought out a ritual master who claimed he could bind Victor's fate to mine.They forced me through a grotesque blood-marking ritual and made me drink something bitter he had blessed.After that day, I always felt as though something foul clung to my skin, and I became quieter and quieter at school.No matter how desperately I tried to please my parents, they barely looked at me.When Victor said I did not deserve good clothes, I stopped getting anything new. I wore only the things he had stained, torn, or discarded.On my twelfth birthday, I cooked dinner and made my own cake, then waited at home until after midnight for the parents who had promised to
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