Parallel Lies Chapter 01
Author: Cyan A.
Amelia’s POV
My mother, Amy Flynn, pressed a hand against the edge of the table and let out a long sigh.
“Finally,” she whispered, her eyes red. She was smiling. “Rosamund is coming home.”
My father, Roger Silverstone, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We’ve waited for this for far too long.”
They were celebrating my replacement before I had even blown out the candles on my birthday cake. I was so stunned that all I could hear was a loud buzzing in my ears.
Amy looked at me. “When did we start waiting again? Oh, right. Since you turned 6. By then, you looked less and less like her.”
I swallowed, but it felt as though it had gone down the wrong way. I doubled over in a violent coughing fit as tears welled in my eyes.
No one tried to help.
Amy had started pointing out how little I resembled my sister, Rosamund Silverstone, when I turned 6. Once, she gave me the dress Rosamund had worn at that age and forced me to put it on. It was far too small. The collar constricted my throat until I could barely breathe, and the sleeves squeezed my arms so tightly they felt like restraints.
She frowned in displeasure. “Rose didn’t look like that when she wore this.”
She showed me home videos of the sister I was supposed to replace. She would pause them halfway through and point out things like, “Rose never showed her teeth when she smiled,” “Rose held her pencil like this,” or “Rose spoke softly.”
Every day, I learned to become her. I mimicked everything she did. I could style my hair the way Rosamund wore hers in my sleep. I could imitate her mannerisms, habits, and even her tone of voice better than I could recite anything I learned at school.
I tried so hard to become her. I truly believed my parents would be happier if I did.
But no matter how hard I tried, they always looked at me with disappointment.
“She’s still not like her!”
“She’s not good enough!”
One day, I finally managed to wear that dress perfectly. I even called out to Amy the way Rosamund did in those videos.
Amy looked at me and burst into tears. “Stop pretending to be her, Amelia. No matter how good your acting is, you’ll never be her!”
I dragged myself to my bed and cried the entire night. When morning came, I got up and tried to copy Rosamund’s mannerisms all over again.
What finally stopped me was Caelan Jackman. He caught me in high school trying to memorize Rosamund’s diary entries, snatched the diary from my hands, and threw it into the trash.
“You’re not anyone’s replacement, Amelia! You’re you!” he had said.
Those words gave me the courage and strength to live as Amelia Silverstone. They were also why I still hoped he would vote “No” in that poll.
He voted “Yes.”
“So, you want to trade me for her too?” I asked, my voice sharp.
He avoided my gaze and cleared his throat. “It’s just a test, Amelia. It might not mean anything.”
My tongue went numb. “Did you… did you even think about what it would be like for me when you picked ‘Yes’?”
He frowned. “Can you stop trying to pick a fight, Amelia? Your mom’s already upset enough. She just misses your sister. That’s all.”
Roger pulled my ID out of my bag. I tried to stop him, but he shoved me aside.
“Rose needs it when she comes back,” he said.
“But what about me?” I asked, meeting his eyes.
“You are sisters! Sisters share their things!” he snapped.
I returned to my room and took out my degree. My fingers had barely brushed across my name when the letters began to change. “Amelia Silverstone” slowly faded until “Rosamund Silverstone” emerged in its place.
The picture on the degree blurred until only a vague silhouette remained.
I stared at it in disbelief. I forgot even to blink.
Only when my eyes had gone dry did I slowly close it. Tears spilled from my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.
Amy walked into my room, saw what had happened to the degree, and lit up.
“Rose never got the chance to grow up,” she said. “I’m so glad she finally did.”
I looked at her, tears streaking my face. “But what if I have to die for that to happen?”
Her grip tightened around the edge of the door. I could hear her fingernails scraping against the wood.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sneered.
Then she closed the door.
My knees gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my face against my knees.
Amy had changed my contact name.
I was no longer “Amelia.”
Instead, I was “Rosamund’s vessel.”
