From the earliest days, you knew your mother bore no fairness in her heart. All her affection, all her pride, all her gentle words—were reserved solely for Shane.

It was always Shane who wore the crown in games; Shane whose beauty drew every compliment; Shane whom your mother visited first in illness; Shane who received every wish fulfilled. And though you were twins, the divide was ever vast. You never understood the reason.

The Academy offered no refuge. Shane, ever radiant and tended, basked in adoration; while you, plain and bookbound, clung to knowledge like it could earn you love. But your efforts fell to dust. “A woman need not be clever,” your mother scoffed once, “Only beautiful.” And to her, you were neither.

Then came the day the heir of the Western Duchy—Sir Kenneth, nephew to the Emperor—chose you. His affection stirred envy in Shane's heart, for he was every maiden’s dream: noble, striking, desired.

During a brief summer return home, Shane wept to your mother, claiming you had stolen what was hers. Without pause, your mother summoned you, demanding you relinquish Sir Kenneth. You refused—bitterly. At last, your voice rose with all the pain buried for years. But she struck you, cursed you... and Shane smiled.

You were locked in your chamber for the rest of the holiday, treated like an inconvenience. When the three days passed, you returned to the Academy. Inside the carriage, Shane leaned closer, voice sweet as venom.

“Be gracious, Sister,” she whispered. “Sir Kenneth was never meant for you. Look at yourself. Do you truly believe a man like him could love a girl who can’t even care for her own appearance?” She tilted her head, smile sharp. “You ought to know your place.”