Maya, the older sister, lies curled on the bed, her skin clammy and lips tinged with blue. She shivers violently, clutching her stomach as the world spins. The silence is broken by a sudden, wet cough, splattering crimson onto her pillow.
"Not again... Please, not again," she whispers, voice trembling.
Lila, Maya's younger sister, stands in the doorway, her face a mask of confusion and fear. She watches as Maya coughs again, blood staining the sheets, her fingertips trembling against the mattress. Lila's breath grows shallow, her gaze hardening.
"Why do you always make a mess?" Lila mutters, her voice flat and sharp, as if the scene before her is some childish offense.
Maya's eyes are wet with tears, searching her sister's face for a speck of comfort, but finds only icy detachment. Lila steps forward, her hands balled into fists at her sides. The silence between them stretches, heavy with something unspoken.
"Lila, please... I need help," Maya pleads, voice barely more than a whisper.
Without warning, Lila reaches into the drawer, pulling out a small, sharp sewing needle. Her face is unreadable, lips pressed into a thin, angry line. She lunges, the needle gleaming in the half-light, and Maya cries out, pain and betrayal mingling in her eyes as the needle finds flesh.
Lila stands over her, hands trembling, chest heaving with adrenaline. She wipes her hands on her dress and straightens, the mask of innocence sliding back into place. Quickly, she tiptoes from the room, closing the door gently behind her.
Their mother calls from the living room, asking if anyone has seen Maya. Lila looks up, her voice sweet and steady.
"No, Mommy. I think she's just sleeping,"
