I am not as pretty as my sister. I knew that from the first day we spent together. My heart was innocent then, how was I to know that my sister, my Lily, would turn it to stone?

Later, I was five and her eyes were so beautiful; I could stare at them forever. To me her eyes were green pools, I remember. I do. The still water from my fantasies, fairy tales really, that reflected dancing wood nymphs. A strange and haunting melody would come to me, like a radio tuning in and out.


My beloved one-


to me

you will always be…

I would dance to the music in my head, twirling, my stringy hair lifting off my face, a faint breeze on my lips. I felt… freedom. Freedom she gave me.

Soon I was ten, lanky and angular. Elbows, knees, nose, cheeks… that was my body then. That's all it was. Lily, my Lily… she was red hair, sun and fire, roses and a warm blanket.

She was a goddess from one of my books. Aphrodite? Athena? Hera? Hestia? Persephone? Artemis? Gaia? As beautiful as Aphrodite, with Athena's genius. Like Hera, she stood up for what she loved. Like Hestia, she welcomed strangers into warm, open arms. Flowers grew wherever she walked. She was aware of the power she held. She destroyed as much as she created. She still does.

Magic, it was real to her. The day she got that letter. It was always real to me. She was my magic. My Lily. Magic was everywhere, in her eyes, in her heart.

Magic destroyed her. Her family. I hated it, but I was glad when she died. She had no chance to mess up, like I did. No regrets.

She will always be beautiful now.