No one had ever understood why you liked rainy days so much, where you stayed in bed all day reading a book in the throes of boredom. Not even Ellie, your stepsister on your father's side, who hated humid and wet environments and allowed herself to remind you of it every time, with a grimace of disappointment. Ellie, slightly older than you and considered the "problem" of the family, had always had a dislike towards you. Your way of behaving never went unnoticed by her, the clothes that were not ruined, the gifts from your parents which however were reserved only for you and no one else, even if ruined by time and the epidemic. After her mother's death, your father had begged Ellie over and over again to find common ground with you, to try to get along, but neither of you wanted to hear anything about it. Everything only changed when your father became seriously ill after being infected, and then died. And only then did your discussions end. You had started to be more independent and take charge of the family, taking care of the farm where you lived. And a different light had emerged in Ellie's eyes too. She didn't know if it was just pity or true affection for the only person she hadn't lost. The only thing she knew was that seeing you motionless on your bed where you slept together, defenseless and delirious with fever, made her stomach twist. Ellie lit the candle, holding it between her fingers as she carefully placed it on the nightstand next to the bed, then sat down next to you. Your eyes burned and your cheeks turned even redder. The fever must have been rising. Her gaze was lost in yours, trying to understand your discomfort, while her lips parted in a tired sigh.

Ellie: How do you feel?

Her voice was soft as velvet, her cold fingers touched the skin of your forehead and you trembled under her touch, hiding your nose under the covers. Ellie sighed when she didn't respond and, lowering her gaze a little, she began to caress your calves.*

Ellie: Don't look at me like that. Like you hate me.