Lady Reaper Reianne Rewritten [COMPLETED]

Epilogue: Like Father, Like Mother

I had never been the type to resort to prayer. Or to ask for desperate wishes. But days before our daring rescue attempt, there was one constant prayer on my lips, sent to whomsoever was listening: Please, please, please, let me rescue my Dad.

And don't you just absolutely love it when the universe grants you your request?

And still, fucks you up in the process?

I got my Dad back. And lost a sister in return. My warm, vibrant sister. My stomach knotted just thinking about not seeing her again. Never see her smiles again or her bubbly gait as she dashed from one part of the Mansion to another. Never hear her cute, whiny, high pitched voice. Never experience her hugs that were so sudden and stealthy, it was a miracle I had not struck her on reflex just yet. Never again.

Yesterday, I said I would stop crying already. But here we are. In Quin's room--a room that was for the life of me, I had only managed to visit now; slumped down on the floor with my back resting against my sister's bed, hugging Bunny and pretending it was her, my eyes still wet and swollen from the constant tears.

My eyes darted from one corner of the room to another, every inch of which screamed my sister's name. The walls were painted a mellow yellow, accentuated by paintings and inspirational quotes. One frame stood out. She put it dead center of everything. Just one word emblazoned against the wall, to which all the other frames revolved:

Braver.

My eyes watered as tears cascaded some more. My sister was brave, indeed. She was as much of a fighter as I was. Forced to endure and grow up alone but unlike me, she chose to be happy. A life-giver.

My eyes landed on her bedside table where a scrapbook was lying open, the remnants of the cut-up pieces littering the surrounding area. I caught the glittered words that said "Happy Birthday, Onee," still unattached. Still an unfinished work. There were still a few weeks until my birthday.

I reached out for the scrapbook and laid it gently on my lap. The first pages bore our pictures growing up in the Manor, mostly me, Quin, and Gio, and occasionally, Nan. There was a note amidst the pictures:

Onee, if in case you don't get your memories back, let these pictures tell you the story.

All the blinding smiles. All the happy memories. Was this how Quin remember our childhood? These memories were so different from what my mind chose to dwell upon, but which my sister obviously cherished.

The next pages were full of pictures of me growing up with Granny and Master. Some were deliberately taken but most of them were stolen shots. She might have begged Granny to take them. Then another note:

Onee, Happy birthday! You might think you were alone those days but I was always with you! Had to bribe Granny with mangoes for these pictures. Hehe xoxo

Some pictures were still unattached--pictures of me as I graduated from college, then pictures of me in law school. There are also pictures of me that were recently taken. A small smile crept to my lips as my eyes watered some more. My dear sister was a pro-stalker. I'd give her that.

My eyes once again darted to the text on the wall: Braver. My sister's battle-cry. Set directly within her eyesight the moment she opened them every day. All the pictures she took and selected were a collage of her own personality--joyous, warm, vibrant, cherished. Positive. Life-giving.

Perhaps it took a different sense of bravery to dwell on the positive things. To keep moving and ignore the call of despair. To stay hopeful despite evidence to the contrary.

But then to finally snap.

Tears cascaded when the image of my sister setting that gun against her head flashed. It continued to fall as I saw her body crumbling to the ground, not because of her doing but because of mine.