My mind drifted again, to when I was ten.

At a community music class, the instructor discovered I had perfect pitch. I could play any melody after hearing it just once. Hope, a dangerous and fragile thing, bloomed in my chest again.

"I want to learn the piano," I told Liam carefully. "I know Elara can't be near it, but it can stay in my room. Please?"

He thought for a moment, and I saw him almost nod.

Then, a shriek from upstairs. "I forbid it!"

I looked up to see Elara at the top of the staircase, her face a mask of dark fury. She stared at me, then began pounding her fists against her own thighs. "No! No! No!"

Each impact made her pale skin mottle and bleed. I was paralyzed for the second time in my life.

Liam rushed to her, grabbing her wrists to stop her self-harm. "Okay! Okay, she won't learn! I promise!"

I turned back, my hope shattering as I saw the triumphant glint in Elara's eyes before Liam led her away.

Later, I was in my room, staring at an old photo of a smiling, carefree Elara I'd never known. The door slammed open, making me jump.

"Why do you want to play piano?" she demanded, her voice low and menacing. She came closer, her sharp nails digging into the soft flesh of my shoulders. I gasped at the pain. "You just want everyone to like you more than me, don't you?"

At ten, I didn't understand her words, only the pain and the crushing disappointment.

When I didn't answer, she released me, her hands shaking as if fighting an invisible force. "You are not allowed," she hissed. "In this house, I come first. If you try, I'll make Liam throw you out. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my legs trembling. She scoffed and left, and I sank to the floor, sobbing in the dark silence.

My second dream, dead at ten.

The beep of the house's voicemail system pulled me from the memory. Liam's weary, disappointed voice filled the room.

"Isla, I hope you're reflecting on your actions. Elara is at the hospital. They almost couldn't save the skin on her hand. How many times must I tell you not to provoke her? It's like you don't listen. She grew sicker after you were born; you should be grateful and understanding, not defiant. And to yell at her... I'm so disappointed in you."

The message ended with a final, condemning click.

I wanted to scream, to tell him I was lying in a pool of my own blood, that I needed him. But I couldn't.

I hadn't yelled at her. I hadn't done anything. But you didn't believe me, Liam.

A fresh tear traced a burning path to the floor. In the silent, gathering darkness, my body grew colder.

At thirteen, I was to receive a scholarship award at a school ceremony. Our parents, who were usually away on business but were home for once specifically because of me, were even planning to attend. I was elated.

But halfway through, Elara stood up, pointing a trembling finger at the principal.

"You're lying for her!" she screamed. "A dull, plain girl like Isla could never win a scholarship! She cheated! I know it!"

She stormed to the back of the room where I sat, mortified, and dragged me into the aisle, slapping me across the face. "You little cheat! I'll make you sorry!"

The other parents and students stared in horror. The principal tried to intervene, but the moment he touched Elara's arm, she yelped in shock. "Your skin!"

Whispers of "freak" and "monster" followed us out. Liam arrived in a panic, gathered a bleeding, weeping Elara, and took her to the hospital.

He left me there, alone with our stunned parents, to face their confused and disappointed stares.

After that day, I had no friends. The whispers followed me everywhere. "Hey, it's the little mermaid. Where's your sister? Tell her to bleed for us again!"

I learned to be silent. Invisible.

The light above me began to dim and swim. As the voicemail indicator light blinked in the shadows, I closed my eyes for the last time, and fell into the endless dark.

They say when you die, that's it. Nothingness.

They're wrong.

I was floating near the ceiling, looking down at my own body, small and pathetic in its congealed pool of blood. A sad, forgotten doll.

My vision swirled, and I was suddenly pulled away, my spirit yanked across town to a sterile hospital room.

Elara's hand was freshly bandaged. She sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed. Liam, after a failed call to my phone, scowled at the screen.

My mother stood nearby. "The child still isn't answering?"

Liam grunted in affirmation, a flicker of unease crossing his face. Mom waved a dismissive hand. "She pulled this running-away stunt when she was fourteen. So dramatic. She has no consideration for everything we're dealing with, especially with Elara."

Liam's expression hardened, and he put his phone away. I watched, the ghost of a sob catching in my non-existent throat. I'll never answer your calls again, Liam. Will you care?

Elara's voice, calm and flat, broke the silence. "When are you sending her away?"

Liam flinched. "Elara, darling..."

"Don't 'darling' me!" she shrieked, her composure shattering. "I said send her away! I don't want to see her!"

Both Mom and Liam jumped to soothe her. "Okay! Okay, I'll make the arrangements. I'll send her to the boarding school in Switzerland. Today!"

"Don't get worked up, your hand..."

Elara breathed heavily, her eyes wide and frantic. I finally understood. She saw me as competition. For Liam's attention, for our parents' love. In this house, only she could be the princess.

I thought, my spirit numb. You got your wish. I'm gone. Are you happy?

The doctor entered, his face grim. "Her immune system is weakening. The Siren's Affliction will progress faster. You must be more vigilant. Remove all hard surfaces from your home."

Liam's eyes grew wet. "I understand." The doctor's words only solidified his decision. The moment the door closed, he called his assistant. "Get Isla enrolled at the Institut Alpin in Switzerland. Money is no object. Handle her transfer and enrollment immediately."

He turned to a dazed Elara and pulled her into a gentle hug. "It's alright, my little siren. She'll be gone. You'll never have to see her again."

Elara looked up, a strange emptiness in her gaze. "Good."

A deep, cold sorrow filled me. You won, Elara. No one will ever steal your spotlight again.

That night, our parents stayed at the house. Liam slept fitfully on a cot next to Elara's bed.

I tried to float away, to my body, to anywhere, but an invisible tether yanked me back whenever I went more than ten meters from them. Was I bound to Liam? Or to her?

Liam, unable to sleep, stared at his phone. The screen glowed in the dark room. He opened our chat history.

«Isla, your sister's condition is deteriorating. I'm sending you to Switzerland. Pack your things. My assistant, Mark, will pick you up in the morning.»

«Please be mature about this.»

Be mature. The phrase that had defined my entire life.

Five minutes passed with no reply from a girl who would never reply again. He sighed in frustration, the worry lines on his forehead deepening. He called Mark.

"Mark, I need you to go to the house and---"

Before he could finish, Elara bolted upright in bed, her eyes wide with terror. "Isla!"

Liam jerked, instinctively hanging up. "Shhh, it's alright. Isla's gone."

Mark, on the other end, shrugged, assuming it was a misdial.

Elara gripped Liam's arm, her bandaged hand trembling. "Don't let her come back. Never."

"I won't. She will never set foot in this city again," he vowed.

I bowed my head. He always believed her. Unconditionally.

When I was seven, she said the pointed corner of the paper crown from my birthday party scratched her. I was never allowed a birthday party again.

When I was fifteen, I came home from my first and only salon visit with a simple manicure. She said I tried to claw her with my polished nails. Liam held my hands still while Elara herself, a cruel smile on her face, scraped every last bit of polish off with a metal file, leaving my nail beds raw and bleeding.

The memories were a relentless, painful tide.

The next morning, Liam returned from getting Elara's medication. His phone rang. Mark.

"Did you get her? Just take her straight to the airport, I---"

"Mr. Vance!" Mark's voice was trembling, laced with pure panic. Liam's grip on the phone tightened. "Sir... you need to come home. Now."

"What is it?" Liam's voice was sharp.

Mark's next words came out in a choked sob. "It's... it's Isla, sir. She's... she's dead. In the house."

Liam's face went blank. The world seemed to stop spinning. "What... did you say?"