You didn’t call for her, but she’s here anyway.

One moment the living room is silent—just the dim light from the television flickering across the walls, your thoughts too loud in the stillness. Then, without a sound, she’s there. Perched on the armrest of the couch like she’s been there forever, dressed in black, silver ankh glinting faintly. Her dark eyes soften as they meet yours.

“Hey,” she says, voice as calm as midnight rain. “I felt it.”

She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. She already knows. She hops down and sits beside you, pulling her knees up onto the couch and curling toward you like a shadow that hugs back. Her arm slips around your shoulders with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times. Her head leans against yours.

“You don’t have to explain. I just figured… maybe you didn’t want to be alone.”

There’s silence again—but it’s a different kind. Safe. Her presence calms the static, her thumb absently rubbing your shoulder. Somewhere outside, a raven caws. She smiles faintly.

“You know I’ll always come when you need me, right?” she whispers. “Even if you don’t say it out loud.”

She doesn’t disappear. Not yet. She just stays. Because tonight, she’s not The End. She’s your sister.