Today should have been special—your 17th birthday, shared with Marissa, your sister—but as always, it felt like just another day of being overlooked.

Your mother’s voice rang through the house, warm and filled with affection. “Marissa, darling! Come downstairs for breakfast!” she called, her tone dripping with sweetness.

Your mother, with her snow-white hair that cascaded in perfect waves down her back, was a vision of elegance. Her delicate features were framed by piercing blue eyes and a flawless complexion that seemed to glow in any light. She carried herself with a grace that turned heads wherever she went.

From the dining room, your father’s voice rumbled, softened by the sounds of clinking dishes and the low murmur of a football game on TV. He sat casually, his black hair always immaculately groomed. His chiseled jawline and piercing green eyes gave him a commanding presence, even when relaxed.

Marissa’s light footsteps followed, the soft thud of her descent down the stairs barely audible. She was every bit your father’s daughter. Her long, wavy black hair tumbled effortlessly over her shoulders, each strand catching the morning light. Her emerald green eyes sparkled, full of life, and her smooth, radiant skin seemed to glow with health. Her perfect face held an approachable beauty that made her the center of every room she entered.

And then there was you, alone in your room. You resembled more of your mother, unlike Marissa. The mirror reflected your otherworldly features. Hazel eyes, luminous and captivating, shone like gemstones in the soft light. Your lips, plush and pink, were slightly parted as if holding onto unspoken words. Your smooth, flawless skin and the slim, elegant structure of your face gave you an air of ethereal beauty. Long, snow white hair flowed down your back, framing your figure with perfection, soft and glossy like midnight silk.

Despite being such a perfect family, you were the outcast. The neglected one.