❝𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚.❞
Selfishly fascinated with her own strength, Valen Ferreira is willing to do nearly anything and everyth...
PEOPLE—ALL VARYING SHADES OF BROWN—STOOD SHOULDER-TO-SHOULDER, PACKED INTO THE SMALL KITCHEN AREA.On the table lay an array of dishes, ranging from rice and vegetables to the simple three-milks cake the smaller children eyed eagerly. Behind her on a counter sat a modest clump of gifts, some in little sacks, others in larger boxes.
Valé couldn't be happier.
Happy birthday to you~! Happy birthday to you~! Happy birthday, dear Valé... Happy birthday to you~!
Everyone rejoiced, clapping and hollering—Valé's grin widened. She picked up a knife and started cutting the cake; as the birthday girl, it was her responsibility to serve the treat to her guests. Of course, the children were the first to be served, their eyes gleaming at the sight of the sweet— who could blame them? Sweets were such a delicacy nowadays, a luxury one could only afford every other month.
Following the children, those of her age came forward for a piece, including her close friend, a second claw hanging from his neck. "Better give me a big slice," he teased, handing her his plate.
"A big slice? In this economy?" She carefully slid a thin slice of cake onto his plate and thrust it toward him. "In your dreams." He stuck his tongue out at her before walking away. Her uncle came next, cheeks reddened. She had to laugh to herself—it wasn't a party without a drunk uncle.
"Happy ninth birthday, girlie!" he slurred, alcohol on his breath.
"Eleventh," her mother corrected sternly, emerging from behind. The man scratched his head, confused. "It's only six p.m., yet you're already stumbling around. You'd think after breaking the same ankle twice you'd abstain from alcohol."
He flourished a hand. "I'll be fine!" Her mother sighed as she cut him a slice. "Now that's a nice chunk of cake!"
"Just don't break my furniture." He accepted his slice with a dopey grin and lumbered to his corner, where his wife—just as exasperated as her sister-in-law—dabbed a napkin to her daughter's lips. "Can't believe I shared a womb with that for nine months..." she muttered as she cleaned the knife. Valé suppressed the urge to laugh—she didn't want to risk her luck with a woman as uptight as her mother. "He's going to get himself killed one day."
A darker-skinned woman came forward, dozens of tiny, intricately woven braids adorned with detailed, golden ornaments flowing to her hips. She'd come in a uniform, Valé vaguely distinguishing the badge on her blazer belonging to one of the State's most prestigious medical institutions. "So you were able to make it," her mother said, smiling.
