She quickly changed the subject, her hands trembling as she picked up an apple to peel. The shaking was uncontrollable and her body betrayed her in ways she couldn’t hide.

It was the somatic symptom of depression, an unwelcome flare-up Dorothy hadn’t anticipated. Her fingers worked frantically, but the apple slipped from her grasp, landing with a thud on the floor. A sharp sting spread across her hand as a cut appeared.

"What’s wrong?"

Ivan rushed to grab tissues, trying to tend to the wound, but his gaze fell on the deep scars crisscrossing her wrist.

"What is this? Sis, have you been hurting yourself?"

Dorothy jerked her hand away, her voice trembling. "It’s nothing! I just cut myself by accident."

But the truth was harder to hide. Since the depression had taken hold, her body had become an unwilling accomplice, shaking uncontrollably, making simple tasks like holding a spoon or fork a battle.

There were moments, dark and suffocating when she longed to escape it all. And the scars on her wrist? They were all from times she had sought solace in the sharp bite of a blade, a release after Kyrie’s cruel words and actions.

Ivan froze, his face draining of color. Then, without warning, he broke down, tears streaming down his face. "Sis! I can’t keep doing this! Don’t sacrifice yourself for me, leave Kyrie!"

As Ivan cried, the last trace of color drained from his face, his breaths quick and shallow.

Dorothy froze in horror. "Ivan, no! I’m fine! Don’t move!"

Ivan’s grip tightened around her hand, his voice hoarse with urgency. "Sis, you… leave him!"

The terror in his eyes was unmistakable. Dorothy’s heart skipped a beat as she realized his heart condition had worsened. Panic seized her chest and she screamed, "Nurse!"

The nurse rushed in, her face ashen. "The patient’s condition is critical. We need emergency treatment!"

Before Dorothy could speak, Ivan was immediately wheeled into the emergency room.

She hurried to follow, but at that very moment, her phone rang. It was Kyrie calling.

"Portia wants blueberry muffins from Fort Wayne. Go get them."

Dorothy gripped the phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her voice cracked with desperation. "My brother’s heart just flared up. I can’t leave right now. Can you…"

The cold, unfeeling voice on the other end cut her off. "Even if he dies, you must get those blueberry muffins for Portia."

Before Dorothy could respond, the phone went dead, the line gone as though nothing had ever happened.

She cast a lingering glance at the emergency room, then down at her phone, the weight of the choice settling heavily in her chest. After a long breath, she gritted her teeth and resolved to stay at the hospital.

Hours later, Ivan was finally wheeled out of the emergency room. It had been a narrow escape.

The doctor’s voice was somber but hopeful. "He’s stable for now, but his condition remains serious. Please, try to keep the stress to a minimum."

Dorothy nodded quickly. "Thank you, Doctor."

In the quiet of the ward, she sat by Ivan’s side, her eyes tracing every detail of his pale face. The dam she’d been holding back for so long finally broke and silent tears spilled down her cheeks as she whispered, "Ivan, you haven’t given up on me, so I won’t give up on you."

Outside the window, the first snow of the season began to fall, each flake drifting softly to the ground. Dorothy’s gaze followed them and her mind wandered back to a time long ago.

When she was young, her parents’ arguments echoed through their home, growing louder and more frequent. The threat of divorce hung heavy in the air and both of them wanted to take Ivan with them as if he could somehow heal all the broken pieces.

When Dorothy had knelt on the cold floor, feeling like nothing more than a discarded piece of trash, Kyrie had stormed in. He’d grabbed her hand with a grip that almost felt desperate, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip. "If you don’t want her, I do!"

At fourteen, Dorothy and Ivan had been forced to face the world alone after their parents died in a plane crash, their lives forever altered.

Relatives who had once shown kindness turned into ruthless vultures, eager to divide them up as though they were mere objects. Just when it seemed they would be torn apart, Kyrie had stepped in.

Back then, at only sixteen, Kyrie had been young, but his courage had been unmatched. He had stood tall against the world, facing down the elders with a fierce resolve. "Anyone who dares to touch them will have to answer to my family."

For four years, Kyrie had kept them safe, standing by their side through thick and thin.

The three of them had been inseparable, their bond stronger than anything. But now, because of Portia, that bond had shattered beyond repair.

Dorothy couldn’t fathom it; could loving someone really change Kyrie so completely? Could it really turn him into this cold, heartless stranger?

But if you truly loved someone, how could you ever look for a substitute?

The question lingered in Dorothy’s mind, but no answer came.

After a long, silent wait, Dorothy finally left the hospital, the weight of the day pressing down on her. It wasn’t until she was home that she remembered that she had forgotten the blueberry muffins for Portia. By then, the night had settled in and the snow was falling thick and fast.

The house was shrouded in darkness. Dorothy stepped inside her heart racing. As her eyes adjusted, she saw him, Kyrie, sitting motionless on the sofa.

A cigarette dangled from his lips, a haze of smoke swirling around him. Empty bottles of alcohol lay scattered at his feet, the remnants of a long, lonely evening.

When he heard her footsteps, his head snapped up, his eyes cutting through the gloom like a blade. "You finally decided to come back?"

Dorothy’s fingers curled tighter around the hem of her clothes. "My brother’s condition... it flared up. It’s serious. I couldn’t leave, so I..."

Her voice faltered, but before she could finish, Kyrie was on his feet, closing the distance between them in an instant.

With a grip like iron, he seized her neck, his fingers digging into her skin. "Didn’t I tell you something today? Did you not understand me?"

As his words left his lips, Kyrie pressed the burning cigarette onto Dorothy’s chest with brutal force.

Dorothy screamed, the searing pain shooting through her and tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. "Please, don’t!"

In a flash, Kyrie’s expression shifted, panic flooding his features. He quickly flicked the cigarette away, his face twisted with distress as he looked at her. "I’m sorry, Dorothy! I didn’t mean to…"

Dorothy’s eyes shot up to meet his, filled with pain and confusion. "Kyrie, you..."

But before she could finish, his eyes turned cold again, his gaze filled with rage. Bloodshot and burning, they locked onto hers. "Why did you come back? Give me back, Portia! Bring her back to me!"

Her body trembled, her lip trembling as blood leaked from it, a result of her desperate bite. "But this is my body!"

Kyrie’s fury erupted like a volcano. "I don’t care!"

In an instant, he shoved her out the door, his hands firm and cruel. "Go find the blueberry muffins now! If you can’t, don’t bother coming back!"

Dorothy struggled, her heart racing. "Wake up! They’re not the same person!"

"I don’t need you to remind me!" he snarled.

As panic gripped her, Dorothy caught a glimpse of Portia standing at the door, watching her with a cold, twisted smile. The door slammed shut before she could speak.

The snow kept falling, heavier now and Dorothy trembled in the biting cold. Tears mingled with snowflakes streaked down her face as an absurd thought suddenly flashed in her mind.

Portia had been the one to occupy her body for six long years, part of the manipulation. Could it be that Kyrie had only been a puppet in all this?

Her phone buzzed, breaking her train of thought. It was a message from Portia.

[If you don’t bring back the blueberry muffins, your brother will be discharged from the hospital tomorrow!]

With a growl of frustration, Dorothy gritted her teeth and plunged into the snow, determined to find the shop.

But when she arrived after what felt like an eternity, the shop was closed.

She pushed on, searching through the snow-laden streets, until, finally, she found a dim sum shop still open, a dim light glowing through the window.

She had just paid for the items, ready to head home when another message from Kyrie buzzed on her phone.

[Portia doesn’t want the blueberry muffins anymore. Go buy her shortbread cookies instead.]

Frustration gnawed at her as she searched for the new item, but the shop didn’t carry shortbread cookies. So Dorothy pushed on. By the time she found a store that sold them, Portia had changed her mind again.

Back and forth, like a pawn in their game, Dorothy was tossed around for what seemed like forever. By the time she made it home, it was late, her clothes drenched with snow, a mess of exhaustion and frustration.

She knocked for what felt like ages, but no one answered. Her call to Kyrie went unanswered and she hung up before it even rang twice.

Finally, the servant, unable to watch her torment any longer, spoke from the other side of the door. "Madam, the Master and Miss are already resting. Miss Sandoval says the cakes aren’t fresh and doesn’t want them. She wants you to throw them away."

At that moment, Dorothy nearly crumbled. Her hands shook, the cakes tumbling from her grip with a resounding thud.

"It's very cold outside. Could you let me in?"

The servant hesitated, the words caught in their throat. "Sorry, Madam, Miss Sandoval said you cannot enter. She also said you can’t leave before they wake up. Otherwise... your brother..."

"I understand."

Dorothy crouched down, her body curling instinctively as if to protect herself from the biting cold.

Evansville's winter had never been this cruel. Despite her thick clothing, the sub-zero temperatures seeped into her bones, turning her body to stone. Her hands shook relentlessly, unable to find warmth.

The wind sliced through her like a thousand tiny blades. Dorothy struggled to breathe, her throat tight as her tears froze into small, painful beads against her skin.

The door swung open just as the cold began to steal her consciousness. Kyrie's voice rang out above her, sharp and accusatory. "Dorothy, who are you trying to fool this time?"

Before she could answer, he hauled her to her feet. "What, you’re out here freezing just to make me pity you?"

Her teeth clattered, her lips pale, but she managed to speak. "It’s Portia. She won’t let me in."

"What nonsense are you talking about? Am I really that cruel?" Portia emerged from the room, her eyes sharp.

She latched onto Kyrie’s arm, her lips pouting in feigned innocence. "Kyrie, look at her. She’ll say anything just to make you feel sorry for her!"

Kyrie sneered. "You think she’s trying to trick me? Who do you think you are?"

Dorothy quickly pointed toward the servant standing nearby. "Ask her."

The servant lowered her gaze, speaking softly. "Miss Sandoval didn’t give any instructions."

"You..."

Dorothy’s words were cut short as if struck by a bolt of lightning. Before she could even react, Kyrie slammed her to the ground.

"Since you enjoy tormenting yourself so much, clean up the garden and pull every weed! Otherwise, you and your brother can forget about everything going well for you!"

The words drained all the fight from Dorothy, leaving her hollow. Her eyes reddened with unshed tears, but she remained silent. Slowly, she rose to her feet and staggered toward the garden, the weight of her defeat heavy with each step.

The garden had been neglected for days and wild grass had crept into every crack in the walls as though it had been left there just for Dorothy. She had only managed to pull a few weeds when blisters began to form on her hands, a combination of itching and sharp pain.

"How pitiful."

Portia’s voice cut through the air, dripping with mockery.

Dorothy clenched her fists, determined not to respond. But before she could continue, a cold stream of water cascaded over her, soaking her to the bone.

Dorothy gasped in shock, scrambling to her feet, only to find Portia grinning wickedly, holding the hose like a weapon.

"Portia, are you done yet?"

Dorothy’s body trembled with rage, the biting cold wind cutting at her skin like a thousand knives.

Portia giggled. "Seeing you like this makes me so happy."

Dorothy stared at her, her heart hardening with each mocking word. Suddenly, a strange calm settled over her. She clenched her fists. "Portia, you're the same as the one who took over my body, aren’t you?"

Portia froze, just for a moment. Then she twirled her hair, a deeper smile spreading across her face. "Looks like you're not as stupid as I thought. Yes, I’m the one who took over your body."

Dorothy’s eyes widened, her fists tightening so hard that her knuckles turned white. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

Portia studied her with interest, a smile playing on her lips. "Let me tell you something. At first, my target wasn’t Kyrie. It was your brother, Ivan. But he was so stubborn, wouldn’t listen to me and all he cared about was you, his precious sister."

Ivan...

Dorothy’s throat tightened, her breath hitching.

"According to the story, he only had three years left to live. I couldn’t tie myself to someone with such a short life. So, I used a tool to take over my body and shift my focus. As for Kyrie... well, the tool I used helped me win his favor as well."