Jelly Pudding
Three years ago, on a full moon night, my mother jolted awake at midnight, claiming the Moon Goddess had delivered a prophecy:
On the day of my twentieth birthday, the feral gene inside me would spiral out of control. I would shift into a wolf and kill my sister.
At first, my parents were skeptical.
But after I awakened my wolf at eighteen, my sister would seize up whenever she was near me, clutching her chest and collapsing to the ground in violent fits of gasping.
To protect her and force my wolf into dormancy, my parents resorted to every harsh measure they could devise.
They poured suppression potions down my throat that ate away at my organs, and clamped a restraining collar around my neck so my sister could keep me on a leash.
Eventually, my wolf vanished completely. And somehow, I survived to my twentieth birthday.
A flash of joy hit me, and I reached for the cake on the table. My father backhanded me so hard I went flying.
"That feral gene in your blood really is impossible to tame!
"If anyone eats first, it's your sister. What makes you think you can touch it?"
Clara stepped forward as if to soothe things over, but my mother pulled her behind her back, eyes full of wariness as she edged away from me.
Then my father dragged me up to the attic and bolted the door shut.
Through the door, they said, "Stay put and get through tonight. The prophecy will be broken.
"After this, we'll give you half the love we've shown your sister."
I sank my teeth into my lip, not daring to make a sound.
Years of the suppression potion had already hollowed out my body. My consciousness was fading, piece by piece.
Mom, Dad, in that dream the Moon Goddess sent you, did she happen to mention this part?
That the one dying today might be me?