At the auction, when Anna’s painting was sold for the highest price of the night, I died in a dim underground studio.
No one knew that the painting had stolen my inspiration.
I was the most talented painter in the Hale family, yet I lived forever in my sister’s shadow — only because our paintings always ended up strangely similar.
At first, people said it was the bond between sisters.
Later, after my sister stole my paintings and exhibited them first, I became the so-called thief who plagiarized her works, while Anna turned into a celebrated, sought-after painter.
“Hard work really is more reliable than talent.” That was what people loved to say.
Before the auction, my family locked me away in the studio.
“Don’t ruin Anna’s big night.”
My sister Anna handed me a piece of bread.
“Little sister, have something to eat. When the auction’s over, we’ll go celebrate with a nice meal.”
“Look how kind your sister is — she still worries you’re hungry.”
Mother kicked me hard.
But she never knew Anna had poisoned the bread.
After just one bite, my skin broke out in rashes, I could barely breathe, and pain tore through every part of me.
Before I suffocated, I called my boyfriend Edd.
All I got was his cold scold:
“Lily, stop playing these cheap tricks!”
To the busy beep of the phone, I took my last breath.
When they came home triumphantly, thinking I was just being moody and refusing to join the celebration, they never knew I had stayed forever in that dark, quiet studio.
