It wasn't always a good thing
prompts:
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Mary Bancroft changed first, soft blue eyes now twisted steel. And when she cried, the sky opened, dripping solace and pain entwined.
It was meaningless, this power she held. It couldn't put food on her mother's table and it couldn't return what the war had stolen.
Mary Bancroft fell first, not a single cloud in the sky.
In all things, Ania followed Marian, eyes eager and longing to be just as her sister was. Because Marian Poplawski was perfect. She had the smallest nose in the family, the most fashionable tight curls, and the most elegant glide Ania had ever seen. Her older sister was like something out of Hollywood, something you couldn't help but mimic yet never manage to capture what made the original so great.
She was breathtaking, and for years, all Ania ever wanted was to be her sister rather than a shorter shadow, less than in every way.
Their father had warned them of the awakening, but she'd just assumed the blood had skipped her, just as it had Marian. But a daemon caught Marian in an alley, her sister's soft sobs awakening a storm of fury that crackled in Ania's fist.
The daemon falls, its ichor ruining Ania's second hand shoes. But Marian's cast offs never fit her right, anyway.
In September, a month before her 18th birthday, they found little Leah Miller sitting at her vanity, a lime curl clutched in her bloody hand.
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