My Curse, Their Endless Guilt

Years passed, but nothing truly changed. Houston, the golden child, grew up surrounded by a wall of love and adoration from my father and brothers. He was their solace, their joy. I was their phantom, a shadow they actively avoided. The house staff, sensing the family's disdain, treated me with similar coldness, often leaving me to fend for myself. Many nights, I fell asleep to the dull ache of hunger, a constant reminder of my invisibility. I grew up, a ghost in my own home, the "curse" that had stolen their happiness. Jered, especially, never missed an opportunity to remind me. "You're a blight, Elia," he' d sneer, his words coating me in a layer of grime. "A stain on this family." Sometimes, I almost believed him. I'd stare at my reflection, a gaunt, hollow-eyed girl peering back, and wonder why I was still here. Was I too wicked for even hell to claim? This morning, as I splashed cold water on my face, the mirror confirmed the years of neglect. My hair was a dry, tangled mess, my cheeks sunken. My appearance was a stark contrast to the pampered eldest daughter of a wealthy family. It was the face of a prisoner. And then I saw it. Hovering above my own head. A vibrant crimson timer, just like Nana Rose's, just like my mother's. 00:00:24:00. My breath hitched. My own life timer. It was my twenty-first birthday, and my countdown had begun. I tried to smile, a weak, trembling curve that never quite reached my eyes. It was finally here. The end. I put down the glass of water, my gaze fixed on my reflection. No friends, no one who cared. How would I spend my last day on earth? I finished getting ready, my movements slow and deliberate, before descending from the attic. My old room, once filled with light and childish dreams, was now Houston's extravagant walk-in closet. The irony wasn't lost on me. I used to watch Houston from my attic window, a small, dark figure peering at his boundless joy in the sunlit garden. He was so innocent, so carefree, basking in the warmth I was denied. I was always in the shadows, a silent observer of the life I couldn't have. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard laughter. Houston's bright, clear laugh. He was still home, along with Fredrick. A rare occurrence on a weekday morning. Houston, his small hands fumbling, was trying to tie Fredrick's tie. It was comically crooked, but Fredrick watched him with a tenderness I hadn't seen directed at me in years. He knelt, gently stroking Houston's hair. "Don't worry, little brother. We'll fix it together. Ready for school?" Houston beamed, his tiny hand slipping into Fredrick's much larger one. They made a perfect picture. A memory flashed. My hands, much younger, struggling with yarn, trying to knit a scarf for Fredrick. It took me days, and it was lopsided and full of dropped stitches. I had presented it to him with trembling hands, hoping for a kind word, a gentle touch. He had recoiled, his face twisted in disgust. "What is this, Elia? It looks like a cursed rag. Get that away from me. It'll bring bad luck." I had given the misshapen scarf to our old dog, hoping it would at least make her bed a little softer, a little warmer. The next morning, I found it in the trash, shredded beyond repair. I fished out the tattered pieces, washed them, and hid them in a small box, never to be seen again. My heart, then, was just as broken as the threads of that scarf. The front door opened, a sliver of sunlight briefly illuminating the hall. Fredrick and Houston were about to leave. This was it. My last chance. "Fredrick? Houston?" My voice was a fragile whisper, barely audible. They both turned, their expressions a study in contrasts. Houston's eyes lit up. "Elia!" he chirped, a genuine smile gracing his innocent face. Fredrick's expression darkened, a familiar storm cloud gathering in his eyes. He stopped Houston, pulling him slightly behind him, a protective instinct that stung more than any blow. He opened his mouth, then closed it, glancing at Houston. "Could we... could we have dinner tonight?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Just one meal, all of us together? For my birthday?" Houston's face brightened. "Yes! A birthday dinner! Can we, Fredrick?" Fredrick's voice, cold and sharp, sliced through the air. "No, we can't." Houston's happy expression crumbled. "Why not?" he asked, his voice full of genuine confusion. My own heart echoed his question. Why not? Fredrick offered a flimsy excuse about a prior engagement, a business dinner. Houston, under Fredrick's stern gaze, remembered some earlier "plans." "Oh, right! We promised to play my new video game tonight, didn't we, Fredrick?" He looked at me apologetically. "Maybe tomorrow, Elia?" A bitter taste filled my mouth. Tomorrow. The word was a cruel jest. I knew there would be no tomorrow for me. But I nodded anyway, a ghost of a smile on my lips. "Of course, Houston. Tomorrow." I watched them go, my heart a heavy stone in my chest. Fredrick paused at the door, his eyes, sharp as daggers, piercing me. "Stay away from Houston, Elia," he warned, his voice low and menacing. "Don't even think about hurting him. Or you'll regret it for the rest of your life."