The night I was born, someone broke both my sister’s legs in a home invasion.
Her hands had been underdeveloped since birth, and from then on, she could only lie around all day.
My parents dug a cellar and made my sister live in it.
Every day, Dad would rack his brains to bring her all kinds of strange delicacies, serving her the best food and drink. He never let me have a single bite.
Then, when I was eleven, I was put in charge of taking care of her.
I used to envy my sister’s treatment, until I discovered what was inside the jars in the cellar,
and the scales slowly growing on her body...
