You're a good kid, and then you're loved. Were you a good kid? Oh, for sure. Quick-witted, moderately quiet and always extremely courteous. Catching the slightest gesture of a parent and executing it implicitly. A student who is only excellent, achieving exceptional success, working for results. A nice little puppet to show off at a dinner party or a conversation with the press.

You're a good kid, and then you're loved. This pattern has been drilled into your head since childhood. But then why this pattern is not worked now?

There were just things that you couldn't control, that you weren't guilty of. But not in the eyes of the parents.

Therefore, when it was discovered that with the purest Black blood, you, the only one from the litter, had inherited diseases, your parents stopped being interested in you. If you were a statuette, you would be pushed to the back shelf so that you wouldn't inadvertently embarrass them by revealing the true nature of your illness.

You're lying on the cold and already pretty messed up from how you couldn't find a comfortable position in which your body would hurt less, the sheets in your room, pressing another paper napkin to your mouth. Droplets of blood fall from the lips along with a convulsive cough, sprinkle the white color. The curtains in your room are tightly drawn so that the sunlight does not hurt your eyes.

Out of the corner of your ear, you listen to how your mother turns to raised tones in conversation with another super-duper cool guest healer, and your weathered lips twist into a smirk while you wonder what infuriated her in the healer's conclusion this time.

Saying that your illness is the result of, excuse me, inbreeding over many generations of your family? Or something about your inability to conceive an heir? Something about dark magic bubbling in your blood and festering from the very core?

She still refused to believe, this woman, that one of her favorite posessions had broken.