Three years after my sister disappeared, my parents and I moved to an old farmhouse built on slanted land and surrounded by towering trees.

Our closest neighbors were deer and far too many bugs. The move was long overdue, and we hoped it might help us heal. It felt like a betrayal to Mom—and it was—but it was also about self-preservation.

We had to let Marie go if we were going to continue living. We couldn’t keep clinging to the hope that one day she’d show up at our doorstep, in tears and apologizing.

“I’m sorry for making you all worry!”

Mom didn’t speak to Dad or me for months after we moved. She locked herself in her room, no longer seeing me but looking right through me as if I were a ghost. It made my body burn, and my heart ache.

Dad sympathized and told me to give her space, but I noticed he didn’t look me in the eye either.

I missed my sister and knew my parents blamed me for what happened. They were right—Marie’s disappearance was my fault alone.

\*It should have been you; \* unspoken words hung in the air.

Yes, it should be me instead of Marie, rotting under a pile of dirt, waiting to be unearthed and held.

\*\*\*

Marie often came to me at night—I’d hear her singing from the woods.

Her voice had always been beautiful, and it still was. She pressed her palms against my window, leaving imprints surrounded by frost.

When she smiled, her lips quivered, and her eyes shone like starlight. She whispered my name throughout the night, taught me curses, and hissed enchantments; she sang low and sweet—songs only the dead know.

“It’s not real,” I told myself. “You’re being stupid. It’s just the wind and your imagination.” But the wind doesn’t know my name, and my imagination can’t leave scratches on the window.

I tried to reassure myself that they were simply dreams. Of course, Marie wouldn’t be at my window; I was on the second floor. Of course, my sister would come to the door as we all hoped.

She wasn’t a ghost; she couldn’t possibly be haunting me. I was her twin sister, her best friend. She… wouldn’t.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

And on a foggy morning, I proved myself right.

I found Marie’s locket on my windowsill, coated in thick black mud. She would never have taken it off. My hands trembled as I wiped away the grime and read the inscription. Maybe I was wrong, but once again, I knew I wasn’t.

**“A 2 M 4EVR”**

**“2 U w ❤“**

The sight of it shattered me. I had told myself for years that she was gone, that I had repressed hope, but I hadn’t truly abandoned it. Now, there was no hope left.

\*\*\*

I lost my mind that day.

I ran to the fields and screamed until my throat was raw. I lay on the itchy grass and stared at the sky, watching it darken as the moon bloomed like an iridescent flower.

The fields glittered with lightning bugs. I chased and captured them, ripping their wings off one by one.

Watching their glow fade away made me wonder how long it had taken Marie to die. Had she just lain there, accepting her fate and feeling life drain out of her?

I crushed the bugs, stared at the luminescent smear on my palms, and stuck my fingers into my mouth; it was bitter and sweet.

\*\*\*

The guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. It was my fault Marie was dead. I had pressured her into going to the party. I knew she didn’t want to go—it wasn’t her thing—but I needed a designated driver. The more she refused, the more I cajoled, begged, and taunted her.

“It’ll be fun! Come on! Are you going to waste the rest of your life watching TV with Mom and Dad?”

“God, Marie, don’t you get tired of being the dutiful daughter?”

“How do you think it makes me feel? Oh, Asha, why can’t you be like Marie? Why are you so irresponsible? So dumb?”

“Have a drink, just one. You’ll be fine.”

“Aren’t you tired of living such a boring life?”

“I love you, you know. Come on, Marie! You only live once.”

Marie had come, and I ignored her completely. Instead, I smoked and drank and smoked and drank. I passed out, and when I woke up, I had 20 missed calls from Marie and twice as many from my parents.

My heart dropped into my stomach, and I tried my hardest not to throw up. I immediately knew something was wrong. I knew something terrible had happened to my sweet sister.

\*\*\*

In the aftermath, I tried to connect with Dad in the only way he seemed to notice me—helping around the house.

Our ladder was old and terrifying, but he insisted on using it, so I held it steady as he cleaned the gutters. I stood in his shadow, feeling sick.

I imagined him falling and cracking his head open at my feet, his brain spilling out, his eyes weeping blood.

I was relieved when he finally descended, but the image of his mangled body never left me.

That night, I dreamt of Marie again. She stood in the corner of my room, looking at me. Her tangled hair was full of bugs and earth, and her lips had rotted away, revealing black gums and rotten teeth. I asked what she wanted and begged her to go away.

She smiled and stared at me, and then her eyes rolled back, revealing empty sockets wriggling with maggots.

Sometimes, I smelled blood in the air, and that’s when I knew Marie was nearby. I know Mom sensed her, too.

On the rare occasions we encountered each other, she would look at me, terrified. I imagined Marie clinging to my back, caressing and tracing my face with blood-stained fingertips.

I lost Dad during the height of summer. I found him sitting in the kitchen, staring at a corner, his eyes were unfocused and full of tears.

“She’s here,” he told me. “Asha, your sister is here. I can see her. We shouldn’t have left her. We shouldn’t have left her. We need to find her.”

Then he got up and left, the door banging shut behind him. Days would pass, and he would return home with dirt in his pockets and eyes as red as blood. He would sit at the table and cry, talking to Marie. He apologized to her. She wanted us to find her, and she was upset that we had given up on her.

\*\*\*

The days grew longer, summer felt endless, and Marie’s anger grew with the season. A storm blew in, rain lashed the windows, and the wind shook the house. After it was over, we went outside to check for damage. The house gazed back at us with hundreds of pairs of eyes.

Marie glared at us accusingly. “Have You Seen Me?” her missing posters read.

Yes, sweet sister. I believe we have.

Come back to us.

The ground was soft and sprinkled with teeth. I picked them up while Dad collected the posters. His mouth twitched, and his eyes were cold. I knew he was gone.

As I write this, his body lies crumpled under my window. I heard the crack as his neck broke on impact, and I know I’ll never forget the sound.

Mom has barricaded herself in her room. Occasionally, I hear her laughing, followed by wailing.

Nothing matters anymore. Marie is here, and she’s waiting for me.

The window is open, and I hear her. She’s singing and laughing, her voice warped by time, dirt, and larvae. From the woods, she emerges, beautiful and dark. She gazes up at me and smiles.

The moon is exceptionally bright tonight, and the sky is full of stars. I run outside and try to touch her face, but she pulls away and runs back into the woods. I chase her, and around me, the trees vibrate, and the air shimmers.

I’m going to find her. It has all led to this. I know what to do and where to go. I will sift through the dirt, unearth her bones, and shroud myself in her hair. Together, we will wait for the sun to rise and say goodbye to this world.

We were born together and will leave this life forever. There’s no one left to haunt and nothing left to mourn; all that’s left is the parting of the veil.

Marie, I’m so happy you’re back.

Finally, you’re home.

I was born on a sinking island under a waning moon. They shrouded me in galaxies and fed me broken stars. I was woven into constellations and named after love.

My fate was etched into the universe and written by the night.

And although I sometimes wish I had remained in the nebulae to be cradled and embraced forever by the moon, I know I am not just another star in the sky.

I am exactly where I’m meant to be; besides, I can always look up and feel the comforts of home.

My parents had me in their early 20s—not too young, but young enough. I once asked my mother if I had been unwanted. "No," she replied. "I wished for you for a long time." She thought she'd never become a mother, but she did—four more times.

I was born first, and the eldest children are the experiments—especially daughters. We're the role models; our job is to teach and guide our siblings through life.

I don’t mind being in charge—sure, sometimes I get called bossy, which I pretend to hate but secretly love. It reminds me of Kristy from Ann M. Martin's The Babysitters Club. Kristy is the head bitch in charge—and like her, I relish it.

Life was simple back then. I have an enormous family and was always surrounded by love. When I say huge, I'm not exaggerating—both my mom and dad have eight siblings, and as a result, I have countless aunts, uncles, and dozens upon dozens of cousins.

When I wasn’t with one side of the family, I was with the other, playing, laughing, and annoying each other, as close family does. We were so close we didn’t consider ourselves "just cousins." We were siblings, and we still are. Some bonds never break, no matter the passage of time.

After I killed my boyfriend, I hid his body in the basement, where he was swallowed by the stone, becoming nothing more than a shadow. Even in death, he still finds ways to surprise me. Many nights, I wake to find him staring down at me, and I know he wants to kill me. But apparitions can do nothing but bloom on the walls like flowers, pleading to be noticed.

It’s never enough, but it’s all they have—and all he ever deserved.

“At least you’re never alone,” I whisper to his silhouette. “Isn’t that something?” I’m not alone, either. Finally, completely, he belongs to me.

Killing him was an act of mercy; some might call it fate. I did what was necessary to save him. I love him, and now, he finally understands how much.

I dance in the golden light streaming through the hallways, my fingers tracing the walls, caressing his outline. I press myself against his shape, imagining his arms wrapping around me. He’s so warm, so happy—we’re both so glad I killed him.

I never turn on the lights, and I’ve thrown out all the curtains. I love him most when it is night, especially when the moon is bright. I follow him around the house, laughing at his frenetic movement, marveling at the shapes he contorts into. He’s always had such a vivid imagination that death could never dim. He’s the personification of perfection, everything I’ve ever wanted.

Years have passed since his transformation—decades, even. All that’s left of him in the basement are shreds of hair and shards of bone embedded in crevices, the remnants of what he has become.

I’m an old woman now. I’ve watched countless sunrises and worshipped every phase of the moon.

It’s harder to dance with him now. My joints ache, and my vision has blurred. Some days, I can do nothing but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

But now, it’s he who reaches for me. He emerges from the ceiling, sputtering into existence like static, his arms slithering like snakes, crackling and hissing like fire.

I don’t quite remember when he broke free from the walls, but I’m so happy he’s become more than a mere shadow. My fingers tremble as I trace his form; he mirrors the gesture. We both know we belong together. I need him as much as he needs me.

I know I’m dying, but I’m not afraid. I have no regrets. I’m so glad I killed my boyfriend, and I can’t wait for the night to fall.

Soon to adorn this space with him, and together we will dance in the light.

I found the girl’s bones in the church attic, tangled in a spider’s web. She hung suspended from threads of gold and silver gossamer, her skeleton illuminated by the rays of the setting sun.

I yanked her skull free, marveling at its contours as many-legged bugs danced in the sockets. I longed to brush them aside with my tongue.

Instead, I wept, cradling what remained of her head as though it were a child. I wept out of anger, jealousy, and, most of all, relief.

Relief because, despite the Goddess’s love—despite the careful way she tore apart the girl’s body, ripped out her spine, and cracked open her ribs, splaying them like the wings of an angel who had tried to fly—she had ultimately been discarded. The Goddess hadn’t chosen her; she had marked her with failure.

I wept because I knew I wouldn’t fail.

A bracelet lay on the floor among shards of bone, spider carcasses, and rat droppings.

“Allegra,” it read in elegant script. I knew her. I had known her. She was the fifth child to go missing this year, and no one held out hope that she’d be found alive. They spoke of her in hushed, reverent tones—she had become a figure of the past, to be feared, worshipped, and remembered.

I wanted to be spoken of like that. So, as the village searched for her, I did too. Call it fate, but I sought her out in the old church, where even the bravest hesitated to step.

They said it was haunted, but it wasn’t—it was infested. Spider webs clung to every surface, and the Goddess waited in the shadows. I could feel her watching me now; my body wouldn’t stop trembling.

Everyone knew of the church and the deity that didn’t breed successors but made them. The Goddess would grant any wish if you were willing. And I was.

I stroked Allegra’s bones, marveling at them.

“I’m so jealous of you,” I whispered. “But I know I’m better.”

My chest tightened when I heard breathing behind me. My heart pounded, and bile rose in my throat.

The Goddess’s breath came in harsh, rattling gasps. She smelled of blood and decay.

She reached over my shoulder, entwining a long, furry appendage around my neck.

I tried to turn and see her, but she held me in place, immobilizing me.

“Not yet,” she murmured. “What is there to rush when we possess infinite time? You are what I have sought from the beginning, are you not? You seek what I can give. But tell me, what is it you desire in exchange for your sweet flesh?”

Her words sent shivers down my spine; they stripped me of thoughts, leaving me only able to point with a trembling finger.

I pointed to Allegra, stripped to the bone, left to hang in a web she had not wanted and did not deserve. I did; it belonged to me.

“I want to fly,” I whispered. The pressure around my neck tightened—a warning. Speak boldly or not at all.

“I want to fly,” I repeated more firmly. “I want to touch the heavens and look down, laughing at those left behind to rot. They will see they are what they branded me as—nothing, loathsome—and they will love me for it.”

“I have always adored humanity,” the Goddess said, amused. “You are a fascinating, selfish species. Fun—I enjoy playing with you and making you scream. Allegra was so much fun. But you, my dear,” the Goddess removed her noose from my throat and wrapped it around my waist. She held me lovingly and crooned into my ear, “You, my dear, my sweet, loving beast, are what I have been waiting for. You are meant to fly.”

I don’t know the words to describe death; don’t ask me to try, as it would be a disservice. I implore you to find out for yourself.

But I can tell you how good it feels to be held by the universe, to have years of wishing and wanting come alive.

Looking into the Goddess’s eyes, I saw the happiness I had been denied since birth. She held me to her breast as she stripped away the confines of humanity.

“You can’t fly when you’re so heavy,” she smiled at me, her teeth smeared with blood. “I’ll hold these for you.”

I thank her because the flight would not have been possible without her. Unlike Allegra, I can fly. I am not shards of bone or tangles of hair caught in a monster’s web. I am of my own making; I have gone farther than anyone else.

It is my name, whispered and adored. I see them search for me, praying and sinking onto tired knees.

They look toward the old church but do not dare approach.

Come, I wish to tell them. Find me. Climb the stairs and see the deity’s creation. Bow before your new god; test my name on your lips. Trace the outline of my jagged wings and call me by what I have become, not what I once was.

For I am a legend, and be sure you never forget.