Tales of The Sisters
Hey there. You know me, don’t you? Elana Moode. Of course you do. How could you not?
You could write a whole big story on me. But this isn’t that. This story is about my sister. Ana.
Ana was six when she was taken. Almost eleven years she was gone. We didn’t stop looking. Grandpa and uncle and aunt, that is. Mom and dad too. We found her at the hospital, after she was in an accident. She was only lightly injured, but we were thankful. If not for that it might have been even longer before we found her.
I don’t remember her much except that she used to be a sweet little girl who ran after me, screaming, “sister, sister”. The seventeen year old Ana that returned is very different. How do I put it? She’s weird. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean in a bad way, at least not entirely. She’s quieter. It’s almost impossibly hard to hear her voice beyond what’s absolutely necessary. Her eyes are deep and dark and sometimes outright terrifying, like you are staring into the abyss. Most of all, however, is her presence. She can be standing in the middle of a crowded room and be completely invisible, or frozen in a distant corner of a large hall and be the center of all attention. All I can say is that there’s something about her.
But she is my sister. And I must do my best to make her feel loved. But sometimes I cannot help feeling that she’s the elder and I’m the younger sister leaning onto her. After all, there’s pretty much nothing she isn’t able to do.
winglessroc · Urban
