There was once an innocent image of a kind and loving child—
blue eyes, hair touched with black and blue-blond hues—
a boy who always stood in front of his younger twin, shielding him from the chaos he caused wherever he went.
His name was Ramien.
But innocence does not survive attention.
Another image followed soon after—blurred and fractured.
A child worn thin by whispered taunts and open laughter.
The protector slowly becoming the protected.
The older brother mistaken for the younger in the eyes of the world.
And the world never corrected itself.
But as the roles reversed, so did the weight.
The one who once watched over everything began to care less and less about how he was seen.
And so the first set of lies were born—
not spoken, not chosen, but accepted.
That Ramien was weak.
That Ramien was harmless.
That Ramien was the younger twin.