After Death, I Gave Up

Destined to Clash

When my sister Melody was born, something about her was already strange. In the delivery room, every baby cried the moment they entered the world, except her.

My mother freaked out. She said it had to be some kind of curse and dragged in a local psychic to check on her.

But the moment he stepped into our home, his gaze didn't fall on Melody; it fell on me.

He said our fates were in conflict, that my presence would drain Melody's luck and weaken her very life. According to him, I had to leave the house, or Melody wouldn't survive past twenty-five.

From that day on, my parents were consumed by the thought of how to get me out of the house.

I felt it, so I tried everything I could to win my place, to please her.

I would sneak my favorite toys into her room, though her shelves were already overflowing with the newest dolls, stacked neatly in every cabinet.

When I got close to her, she looked up at me with that sweet, innocent smile. For a second, I thought she liked me too.

I was wrong.

She shoved over the blocks she'd just stacked, sat down on the floor, and burst into tears.

When my parents rushed in at the sound of her sobs, they went straight to Melody, leaving me standing there. That was when my mother's hand struck me.

Ringing filled my ears. Blood trickled down the corner of my mouth.

In that instant, I realized something I had known deep down all along. Melody and I could never get along.

Eventually, I was sent to live with my grandmother, who raised me on her own.

Years later, out of nowhere, my parents decided to bring me back home. I had longed for their love and care, so I agreed.

…

Back at my desk, I booted up my computer and stared at the designs on the screen.

Melody had spent her entire childhood studying dance. When did she even learn art and design?

I asked my colleagues for the files of her previous submissions. Soon, one arrived. It was a folder filled with Melody's designs.

I flipped through them, and with each page, my chest tightened.

They were all identical to mine. Every single one.

Some designs were even sketches I had never released, private works I had created for myself. Yet here they were, public for everyone to see.

How was this possible?

Some of those designs were my own private projects, intended as the foundation for a future studio. No one else was supposed to know about them.

I deleted all the files from my computer, trying to steady my trembling hands, forcing myself to stay calm.

I had died once and come back. There had to be some flaw, some crack in all this that I hadn't seen.

From high school, I had studied art relentlessly, earning top honors and a direct recommendation to art school, before moving on to specialize in jewelry design. My foundation was solid, my craft precise.

I took a deep breath, letting determination replace shock.

No matter what tricks she used, I would design again. I would create something new.

I shut my computer. After all this, I couldn't risk being copied again.