The bruises stayed for days.
Deep purplish stains along her cheekbone,
finger-shaped marks blooming on her throat,
a dark line across her jaw where her mother's hand had struck her.
Every time Ela looked in the mirror, she didn't just see the bruises
she saw the moment her mother's hands closed around her throat
as if she were someone unwanted,
someone disposable.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to what came after.
Because after the beating, after the choking, after the humiliation
Ela was forced to apologize.
Forced to kneel, eyes burning, her voice shaking,
and say:
"I'm sorry, Mom.
I was wrong.
I'll be good from now on."
Even though she had done nothing wrong.
Even though she had only spoken the truth.
Then came the next order:
"Apologize to Mira."
Ela froze.
Her father looked away.
Her mother's glare sharpened.
Mira folded her hands sweetly in front of her, hiding the smirk tugging at her lips.
Ela swallowed hard, throat still sore, and whispered,
"I'm… sorry."
"Say it properly," her mother snapped. "Respectfully."
Ela's voice cracked as she forced the words out.
"I'm sorry, Mira…
I shouldn't have accused you."
Mira's eyes glittered with triumph
the kind of triumph that comes from crushing someone completely.
After that day, everything spiraled.
Nothing Ela said was believed.
Nothing she felt mattered.
Her parents didn't just ignore her pain they dismissed it.
They treated Mira's words like truth carved in stone,
and Ela's own like childish lies.
She was ordered to speak sweetly to Mira,
to listen to her,
to never question her,
to never accuse her "again."
And Mira used this power mercilessly.
Daly humiliation became routine.
The mocking comments.
The taunts disguised as jokes.
The laughter whenever Ela stumbled or forgot something.
The smug look she wore whenever Ela's mother shouted at her.
Mira savored it.
She fed on it.
And jealousy sharp, burning jealousy
became Mira's shadow wherever Ela went.
Whenever someone praised Ela
her delicate features,
her clear skin,
or her naturally straight, silky hair
Mira's expression twisted for a split second.
Just long enough for Ela to see.
Mira hated it.
Hated how effortlessly beautiful Ela was.
Hated the quiet admiration Ela received.
Hated that despite everything, Ela still shined.
She couldn't stand seeing Ela at the center of attention,
even for a moment.
So she made sure Ela never stayed there for long.
A whispered insult,
a snide remark,
a story twisted just slightly to make Ela look foolish
Mira used them all.
And each time,
each tiny cruelty,
brought a spark of joy to Mira's eyes.
As if hurting Ela wasn't just a habit
but a pleasure.
A reward.
A victory she chose to win every single day.