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i.
it’s a thing you’re used to by now. always standing in the shadows. quiet. unobserved.
but you don’t like looking in the mirror and seeing a face that isn’t yours.
“i can’t do this,” you tell her quietly, frowning at yourself as you tug on your hair. you don’t even look like her - your face is too broad, your mouth too wide, your eyes too narrow. even with foundation caked on and blush highlighting your cheeks, it’s obvious you’re not the radiant beauty your sister is.
ii.
you aren’t listening closely until you realize that this isn’t the plan you heard.
slowly, you lift your head, staring. that puppet of hers dances around, cackling, and you watch, imagining her laughing at her own cleverness, throwing her hands around, beaming with delight.
this isn’t the plan. this isn’t the plan at all. this isn’t how it was supposed to go.
“hey!” you say, stepping closer. “wait just a minute!”
it turns towards you, tilting its head.
iii.
they always seem to think you can predict her, but you can’t. you just adapt quickly.
you wonder whether it’s natural or whether you learned it. is it because of her that you react so well to change, that you have such sharp reflexes and keen eyes? is it thanks to her that you’ve gotten where you are now?
regardless, it is what it is. you act as her shadow, changing with her as fluidly as if you were bound together.
in some ways it’s as if she were your opponent, but she’s much more than that.
iv.
“so what are you saying?” it asks, but it isn’t the puppet asking - it’s her, her manic grin, her gleaming eyes. “you’re not going to cooperate? if you don’t, i will have to penalize you!”
you stare, raising a hand to your face. “huh? penalize…”
normally, you would know exactly what to say, exactly how to respond, but the puppet is in the way. without her face, you aren’t sure how to handle her.
you’re frightened.
v.
you don’t dislike her. you love her dearly. but sometimes…
it’s easy to resent her. how easily she takes the spotlight, how even as the older sister you’ve never been the more beloved, the more important, the more famous.
you’ve stood in the shadow of your younger sister for most of your life.
you love her nevertheless. after all, she is your sister.
vi.
it charges at you, and you jump back. most opponents, you can read easily, but this thing - even knowing that somewhere behind it is her, you can’t understand its motions.
instinctively, you swing up and kick it down. it hits the floor under your heel and you stand over it, pressing down, all the fury in your body channeled towards her and her puppet.
“there, are you satisfied now?” you shout.
“i should ask you the same thing,” it replies.
your blood runs cold, and you realize you’ve made a mistake.
vii.
“you’ll be fine,” she reassures you, cupping your face in her hands. “i promise, you’ll be fine.”
you look at her face: perfect skin, pretty eyes, pouty lips. you look at her hair and her makeup and her flawless features, and her slender shoulders, and her impressive bust, and her long neck.
you will never be her.
but you know how she acts; you have grown up by her side, learned her mannerisms, memorized her voice. you know her temper and her glee and her misery. you know her public persona and her private moods. you have spent your life being her shadow, and if you’ve learned nothing else, you’ve learned her.
you will never be her, but she’s right.
you’ll be fine.
viii.
there’s a burst of white-hot pain in your chest.
you don’t have time to think or respond before it happens again, and again, and again. you can feel your pulse pounding through your entire body.
they always seem to think you can predict her, but you can’t.
you should have been able to react faster. everything you’ve done, all your training, all your work, all for this. the puppet, you think, is laughing. you’re covered in blood. you realize it’s your own.
you can’t predict her at all.
“huh…?” you manage, weakly, staring down at the spears in your chest. “what……?”
this isn’t the plan. this isn’t what she told you would happen.
“isn’t…that…strange,” you breathe, reaching up. blood soaks your hands, hot against your cold skin.
she lied, you realize slowly. she lied, and you never saw it coming.
“why…was…i…” you try to ask, but your breath runs out. you try to take another, but it just bubbles in your throat. blood runs down your chin.
she’s your sister, you think as the room starts to fade.
she’s your sister.