Poisoned by My Sister, My Family Regretted Madly

At the auction house, as Anna's painting sold for the highest price of the evening, I died alone in a dark basement studio.

No one knew that painting was stolen from my imagination.

I was the Hale family's most gifted artist, yet I'd always lived in Anna's shadow—all because our works bore an uncanny resemblance to each other.

At first, people called it "sisterly intuition."

Later, when Anna stole my paintings and exhibited them before I could, I became the thief in everyone's eyes, while she became the celebrated artist everyone wanted to know.

"See? Hard work beats talent every time," they'd say, shaking their heads at me with disappointment.

Before the auction, my family locked me in the studio. "Don't you dare ruin Anna's big night."

Anna slipped me a piece of bread through the door. "Lily, eat something. After the auction, we'll go out for a proper celebration dinner."

"Look how sweet Anna is, still worried about whether you've eaten." Mother kicked me hard in the ribs.

But she didn't know Anna had laced that bread with poison. One bite, and my skin erupted in angry welts. My lungs seized. Every organ felt like it was tearing apart from the inside.

As I suffocated, I managed to dial my boyfriend Ed's number, but all I heard was his disgusted voice: "Lily, stop with these pathetic attention-seeking games!"

The busy signal was the last sound I heard before everything went dark.

When they returned home, drunk on success and champagne, they assumed I was sulking, too stubborn to join their victory dinner. They had no idea I'd already drawn my last breath in that lightless room.

01

No one realized I was dead.

Right now, they were all celebrating Anna's record-breaking sale.

But that painting—the one critics were calling "a masterwork of raw emotion"—was copied from a sketch I'd drawn at fifteen, a throwaway piece I'd never even finished.

My spirit hovered above them, watching it all unfold.

"Where the hell is Lily?" Dad checked his watch impatiently. "Isn't she usually the first one at the dinner table?"

Funny how they'd forgotten that just last week, after I'd accidentally smudged Anna's new oil painting while dusting, they'd punished me by allowing me nothing but vegetable broth for seven days straight.

I wasn't trying to ignore them.

I was just so hungry that I'd eaten that poisoned bread.

And now I could never answer them again. I could only float here, invisible, watching.

"Lily! You have one minute to get down here, or we're leaving without you!" Mom shouted toward the basement stairs.

When no response came, she huffed in frustration. "That girl. Always thinks the world revolves around her just because she's the youngest."

Revolves around me?

Ever since I was twelve—since the day Anna stole my painting and exhibited it as her own—I'd been branded the copycat, the family disgrace.

From that moment on, they'd forbidden my work from ever appearing in public again.

I'd been the one bending, breaking, disappearing all these years. Not her.

Anna's voice cut through the air, soft and concerned. "Maybe... we should skip dinner tonight? Lily might be upset. I'm not really hungry anyway..."

I stared down at her performance, feeling nothing but revulsion.

I used to think stealing my art, monopolizing our parents' affection, even spitting in my food when no one was looking—I thought that was as evil as she could get.

I never imagined she'd go so far as to actually kill me.

Dad's face darkened. "Anna, Lily's an ungrateful brat. Stop wasting your kindness on her. Come on, let's go. Don't let her ruin our celebration."

Mom yelled one last time: "Lily! This is your final chance! Your little tantrum won't earn you any sympathy!"

I floated there in the silence, watching her angry face, tears streaming down my translucent cheeks and dissolving into cold mist.

"But Mom..." My voice was soundless, unheard. "I'm already dead... I'll never ruin your good mood again..."