Seven years ago, I pushed my brother out of a burning building. He escaped without a scratch and later became a top celebrity. I was burned beyond recognition and became a monster hidden away in the attic. Mom was his star manager. When she looked at my face, her eyes were filled with nothing but disgust. “Aria, your brother is a public figure. Your face will destroy him.” My brother stood under the spotlights, basking in the cheers of millions. He told the cameras, “My sister is my hero.” But then he turned around and let them lock me in the lightless attic, feeding me their leftovers and scraps. I thought if I just stayed hidden away quietly, we’d still be a family. Until that day when he brought home a famous actress. I was just thirsty and wanted to go downstairs for some water. Mom looked at me like she’d seen a ghost and shoved me back into the darkness of the stairwell. “Get back up there! Are you trying to scare someone to death?” I fell to the floor and looked up at my brother. He just frowned and coldly looked away. In that moment, I heard something inside me shatter. So this was the fate of a hero—to become a stain on their lives. I should disappear. I should die. If I died, no one would find me disgusting anymore.
I dry-swallowed dozens of white sleeping pills. No water. The pills lodged in my throat, barely making it down. My throat burned with a searing pain. But this pain, compared to what I’d endured these past seven years, felt like nothing more than a mosquito bite. My consciousness began to blur, like countless ants crawling through my brain. I thought back to that fire seven years ago. That night was just like this one. The villa caught fire. My brother Lucas was trapped in his bedroom, crying like an abandoned child. “Help! Save me!” I didn’t hesitate. I rushed into the flames and pushed him out with all my strength. He cried outside the inferno. I burned inside it, my flesh charring. Later, he woke up in the hospital without a scratch. Mom held her perfect son and cried her heart out. “You scared me to death! Thank God you’re okay. Thank God your face is okay.” No one asked if I was in pain. I lay in the ICU for three months, wrapped head to toe in bandages like a mummy. When I woke up, my brother held me and cried. “Aria, you’re my hero. I’ll protect you for the rest of your life.” I believed him. I was such a fool. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier. From downstairs came the faint sound of a guitar. Then a woman’s laughter, playful and sweet. “Lucas, you play so beautifully.” That was the famous actress, Yasmin. The same woman who looked at me like I was trash, the one who made my mom force me back into the darkness. The guitar music pierced through the floorboards, hammering against my heart with each note. I used to play guitar too. My fingers were long and slender, my nails had a pink sheen, and they looked beautiful when I pressed the chords. Later, these hands burned together until they fused, like deformed chicken feet. I tried touching the piano at home once. Mom rushed over and slapped my hands away. “Don’t touch it! Those rotted hands are disgusting just to look at!” After that, I never touched an instrument again. My stomach began churning violently—the pills were taking effect. Spasms. Convulsions. I curled up on the floor like an abandoned, charred broken doll. That suffocating feeling crept over me bit by bit. But I actually felt relieved. Before my vision went completely black, I struggled to move my body. I dragged over an old cardboard box nearby and pulled out a white lace dress. This was a birthday present Mom bought me seven years ago, three days before the accident. She’d said, “My Aria looks best in white, like a little princess.” That was the last gift I ever received. The dress had yellowed and smelled of mildew. I clutched it tightly to my chest, as if holding onto the version of myself from seven years ago who hadn’t been destroyed yet. I closed my eyes. I thought about how, if there was a next life and I could be a little prettier—didn’t have to be very pretty, just clean. Would Mom hug me more? Would my brother not lock me in the attic? There was no heartbreaking farewell. No one rushed up to save me. In this luxuriously decorated, glamorous villa attic, with the sound of laughter and joy coming from downstairs. I rotted away in the darkness. I died without a sound.
When I opened my eyes again, the world felt light. No pain. No heaviness. I looked down and saw with horror that I was floating in midair. On the floor lay a curled-up corpse wearing ill-fitting pajamas, clutching that white dress. That was my corpse. But I didn’t have time to worry about that. I raised my hand and saw pale, slender fingers. I touched my face—the skin was smooth and delicate, the bridge of my nose high. I rushed to the mirror. The mirror reflected the vibrant, youthful Aria from seven years ago! No scars, no grotesque red flesh. I was healed? Overwhelming joy instantly went to my head. I thought this was a gift from heaven, a miracle. Was that fire just a nightmare? Had I never been disfigured? “Mom! Lucas!” I shouted excitedly. I wore that white dress, barefoot, rushing downstairs like a happy butterfly. I wanted to surprise them. I wanted to tell Mom I’d become that beautiful daughter again, that she could hold me now. I wanted to tell my brother I wasn’t a monster anymore, that I could stand by his side now. The living room downstairs was brightly lit. Mom sat on the leather sofa, handing a document to my brother with an expression as serious as if discussing a multi-million dollar deal. Yasmin had already left. “Send your sister to a nursing home.” Mom’s voice was ice-cold. I stopped at the stairwell, the smile on my face instantly freezing. What? A nursing home? “That reality show is coming to film the pilot episode at our house next week. They’ll need to install cameras throughout the house.” Mom tapped the document’s terms. “She’s a ticking time bomb here. If they catch her on camera, your image will be ruined.” My brother sat across from her, playing with a lighter. “Mom, wouldn’t that be too heartless?” He frowned slightly, hesitating. “She only became like that because she saved me… And as long as she doesn’t leave the attic…” “Can you guarantee staying in the attic is foolproof?” Mom cut him off, her voice rising. “Didn’t Yasmin see her yesterday? Scared her half to death! Lucas, you’re a top star! Your face is your livelihood!” “If your fans found out you keep a monster sister at home, your commercial value would be finished! What would your sponsors think? They’d consider it bad luck!” Monster. Bad luck. These words from Mom’s mouth burned hotter than that fire. My brother fell silent. Finally, he nodded and tossed the lighter on the coffee table. “Okay, Mom. I’ll do what you say.” He paused, then added, “But don’t let her know. Just have someone take her away directly. Send her far away so the media can’t dig it up.” I stood between them, trembling all over. So the so-called “family” had no room for me anymore. So in their eyes, I wasn’t just a burden—I was a bomb that needed to be disposed of. “I won’t go!” I rushed to the coffee table, screaming at the top of my lungs. “This is my home! I’m not a monster! I’m Aria!” I reached for the document on the table, wanting to tear it up. But. My hand passed right through the paper. My brother stood up and walked straight through my body, reaching for his water glass. He didn’t notice a thing. He just felt a cold breeze and hunched his shoulders. “Is the AC too high?” he muttered. I stared blankly at my hands. Translucent. No substance. I turned around and looked toward the stairwell. There was no shadow of me there. Overwhelming despair flooded over me like a tide. Only then did I understand. There was no miracle. I was already dead. I’d become a wandering ghost.
Since I was dead, that was fine. At least I wouldn’t be packed up and sent away like garbage. I wouldn’t be tied up and stuffed into a psychiatric hospital van. I floated above the living room like a ghost, watching these two people I once loved most. That actress Yasmin might have left, but her influence remained. My brother picked up his phone, probably texting her. “Baby, don’t be mad. I’ve already decided to send that mons… to send my sister away.” A voice message quickly came back. “Lucas, that thing in the attic is really your sister? She looks so scary, like a ghost from a horror movie. I had nightmares about it last night.” My brother laughed awkwardly and said into the phone, “Don’t bring her up. It kills the mood.” Don’t bring her up. Kills the mood. When I pushed you out of that inferno, you didn’t think it killed the mood. When you climbed to the top using my shoulders as a ladder, you didn’t think it killed the mood. Now you think I’m ugly? I crouched by the coffee table, looking at those hands that once peeled shrimp for me and played guitar for me, now degrading his own sister to please another woman. Mom was busy in the kitchen. The aroma drifted out. Medium-rare steak. That was my brother’s favorite. It was also a taste I hadn’t experienced in seven years. For these seven years, I ate their leftovers. Sometimes cold pasta, sometimes a dried-out piece of bread. Mom said, “You don’t even exercise, just lie around all day. What’s the point of eating well? It’s a waste.” But now, she carried out a full plate of steak with a loving smile on her face. “Lucas, come try this. Mom made it especially for you.” My brother forked a piece, took a bite, and praised it endlessly. “Mom, your cooking keeps getting better.” Mom watched him eat with a smile, then suddenly sighed. “If Aria hadn’t been disfigured, she’d be in college now, wouldn’t she? She used to love my steak.” I floated over, getting close to Mom’s face. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to tell her, Mom, I’m beautiful now. I’m not ugly anymore. I can go to college now. I want steak. I want to hear you call me baby. But my hand passed through her shoulder. Nothing but emptiness. My brother snorted coldly and spat out a piece of bone. “Mom, don’t talk about hypotheticals. Reality is she’s a burden now, a waste of food.” “And she’s become so psychologically twisted. Yesterday she deliberately came out to scare Yasmin. I think she’s just jealous.” Jealous? I was just thirsty. My throat was parched. I just wanted to go downstairs for some water. I watched my brother take out his phone and open a TikTok live stream preview. The title read: [Tomorrow morning live stream waking up family, showing the most authentic warm daily life] Mom frowned. “Don’t film the attic. What if…” My brother smiled confidently, cutting Mom off. “Don’t worry, Mom.” “Recently people online have been saying I’m a diva with no compassion. This is the perfect opportunity.” “I’ll have her covered with a blanket, just show her back or maybe a hand.” “I’ll say my sister is sick and I’m taking care of her without abandoning her.” “Sell the ‘devoted brother caring for his sick sister’ persona. Those idiot fans eat that up. It’ll definitely attract and retain followers.” So even in death. My only value was as a faceless prop. To perfect his devoted brother image. Not only did they drain my blood and flesh while I lived. Even my corpse after death—he wasn’t planning to let it go. Lucas. You’re something else. I floated in the air, looking at that impeccably handsome face, and suddenly felt disgusted.
The next morning. The sunlight was beautiful, golden rays spilling through the villa’s floor-to-ceiling windows. For the living, this was a beautiful day. For the corpse in the attic, this was a day of decay. I floated by the attic window, looking at the stiff corpse on the bed. After one night. Livor mortis had already appeared on the body. That white dress hung loosely on the frame, making it look even more eerie. That face, under the sunlight, was grotesquely terrifying, with white foam still at the corners of the mouth. The eyes were wide open, dying with grievances unresolved. There was movement downstairs. My brother hadn’t slept until noon as usual. He’d even put on a “no-makeup” look, his hair styled perfectly, wearing a cozy beige sweater that made him look warm and harmless. He held up a selfie stick, flashing a perfect smile at his phone camera. “Good morning, my Little Universe.” “Today I promised to show you my family—my sister.” The live stream instantly filled with hundreds of thousands of viewers. Comments flooded the screen: “So handsome! Love you!” “Lucas is such a good brother, taking care of his sick sister!” “I heard his sister’s in poor health. That must be hard!” Mom was downstairs, off-camera, but couldn’t help whispering instructions: “Remember not to film her face! Whatever you do, don’t film her face! Keep the blanket tight!” My brother made an OK gesture and put a finger to his lips for the camera. “Shh—my sister’s still sleeping. Little lazy bones.” He lowered his voice with an indulgent tone. His voice was so tender it made me want to vomit the dinner I didn’t eat last night. He climbed the attic stairs step by step. Each step landed on the tip of my heart. The wooden stairs creaked. Closer and closer. Closer and closer. He pushed open the attic door. Because the windows were sealed shut and the air didn’t circulate well. A strange smell permeated the room. Mildew, medicine, and a faint trace of… the smell of decay. My brother clearly smelled it. He frowned slightly, a flash of disgust in his eyes. But for the sake of the live stream, he forced himself not to cover his nose and maintained that perfect smile. “My sister hasn’t showered in a few days. She’s a bit lazy.” He joked to the camera, trying to ease the awkwardness. The comments filled with “hahaha” and “brother is so tolerant.” He walked to the bedside. He didn’t kick the bed frame or yell loudly like usual. Instead, he gently patted the blanket covering “me.” His movements were tender, as if handling a treasure. “Aria, time to get up for breakfast.” “I brought you milk, and it’s still warm.” The person on the bed didn’t move. Only deathly silence. Comments began appearing: “Sister seems so aloof.” “Is she uncomfortable from being sick?” “Don’t wake her up. Let her sleep.” To prove their sibling bond and show his meticulous care to his fans. My brother decided to add more drama. “Stop being lazy. The sun’s shining on your butt.” He smiled and adjusted his phone camera angle, aiming at the lump on the bed. “Say hi to the fans.” He reached out his hand to pull back the blanket. I floated in the air, coldly watching all of this. Lucas. Since you want to be famous so badly. Since you want to be the perfect star in your fans’ hearts so much. Then I’ll grant your wish. His hand grabbed the corner of the blanket. He pulled hard…
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