My Five Year Old Self Bought a Dying Sister

Summary

The moment I saw the girl, pale and curled up like a discarded doll, the words started floating. They always did when something big was about to happen—text flickering above my head, sometimes silent, sometimes a faint whisper only I could hear.

[Ugh, the true heiress suffered for eighteen years, only to come home and immediately be left to die, and her so-called family is still on vacation with the fake one.]

[They only regret it after she’s dead. Too little, too late.]

[I’m so sick of this "dead girl literature." I'm sending the author a box cutter.]