I was Born the Unloved Twin - Chapter 1

Chapter 1






I woke up alone, tired and absolutely helpless. But I woke up aware of who I am and my surroundings.

I am Rosalia Therese Ventrella and I have lived this life before.

Or at least that's what it feels like... how else do you explain my supposed entire life playing out like a badly made movie?

After arriving to this world as a newborn I fell into a deep sleep. It was peaceful, restful even until the dreams turned into a nightmare that would not end- not till I died a gruesome death.

I was born the eldest child to a powerful noble household. My grandfather was the hero of this land, his name resounds far and wide, well respected in this semi-peaceful world. I grew up well taken care of, like a rose in a greenhouse. I grew up twisted by the humans around me.

I was not alone.

I had a sister who was born just minutes after me. She was the source of so much of my suffering, whether she knew it or not.

My younger twin sister- Lilyanne Maria Ventrella.

We had the same face and yet our fates were so different I could cry at the thought, or is it a memory.

The minute after the strike of midnight passing into the New Year, the holiest day of this world, came Lilyanne's birth. She was a prophecy come true, the dawn, the light and the future. Or so the 'wise men' foretold.

I was born too early, a minute before midnight, a minute before the end of the passing year. It was not necessarily a bad omen but not a good one. That would come later, the implication was clear. Still I was the firstborn child to the only daughter of the hero and the country's future prime minister. It was impossible to mistreat me.

It was pure neglect, that's what I saw watching Rosalia's memories. Mine now, a part of my soul whispers. Sometimes being ignored, being a ghost, was more painful than being physically hit.

Since the beginning Lilyanne came first. Her frail health grew into a delicate constitution and then into a pure nobleness incomparable to any other lady.

The Lilyanne I knew was called the perfect woman with her angelic beauty, gentle air and renowned artistry in the delicate arts. Even without her status as the Holy Maiden, blessed with the unheard power of prophecy, she was perfect.

The Lilyanne I knew was not the perfect woman, no she was something far worse. She was my beloved little sister, clumsy and far too naive for her own good. This is the most painful part; I loved her, loved her dearly.

She came first, our parents and everyone else loved and praised her to the high heavens. And I was just there. I was there to accompany her. At best to be her keeper but in reality it was to serve as a foil, a contrast. Even with the same face I was different from her, I was not enough, never enough in my whole life.


But I was good enough to be a sacrifice.

The country to the north, powerful in a way ours wasn't reached their hands out in peace. Their son and heir would be an agreeable pair with a noble granddaughter of the great hero. As the eldest it would make sense to arrange for my marriage before hers. But really I was to be thrown away as a political pawn by the time I reached 18.

But here's where the real kicker lies: they fell in love.

Against all odds, the cold brute of a man called my fiance and my sweet foolish little sister had fallen in love.

What could I do with that? How was I allowed react? What would anyone else do in my place?

I tried to be wise, to follow all the proper decorum and more, but it burned something terrible. It hurt more than anything I've ever faced in this already painful life. It hurt so badly because it was my own sister who did this to me. And the worst part was that it wasn't even her fault, not really.

I lashed out.

As much as it pained them, as much as songs and stories will weep for them, it's what ultimately killed me.

I hate her so much.

I resent her with every fiber of my being, everything wrong with me can be linked back to her. I hate and I raged and burned...and I loved her still. How pathetic of me right?

It wasn't her fault, not really. She wasn't innocent, not in her ignorance, her foolishness or in what she allowed to happen. But she wasn't solely to blame in this world. In the end she was the only one to sincerely weep as I died. I remember her ugly sobbing face with a sick sense of satisfaction, even through all the sorrow.

"I did it, I hurt you in such a way you will never recover from dear sister. And with my death I'll set you all free from the past, from me."

That's what I wanted to say as I laid bleeding out but I had no strength left. I had nothing left, not even hatred. Nothing but regrets that is.

This is not what I wanted, I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I want to live too.

I want to be happy too.
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I'm sorry.

Somewhere along the line between dream and consciousness Rosalia's words and mine melded together. All the horrible guilt, unbearable sadness and lifelong regrets bubbled boiled and mixed into a terrible potion that seems to make up my blood.

I get it now, I really do.

My name is Rosalia.

I repeat it to myself and not my old name....that doesn't matter really, not anymore. I am her and she's me, and just maybe we always were one in the same. If I want to live, really live here I have to let go of some of those regrets. And if I can't, I'll just have to live twice as hard.

That is the only resolve I can make for our past selves.

I understand that despite all common sense I've been reborn as a newborn Rosalia, the light led me to a new life.

A more crude cynical side of me just says that the light was a literal exit point.

After the traumatic ordeal of being born again with the rush of my new identity, I can only move on. I don't want any more regrets.

I'm alive, that's all I can say. I'm alive.

To all my loved ones, I'm sorry and thank you. I'll never forget you.

But I have to live now.