Notes from a Dead Girl

Im alive again.

After being left to wither away and starve in that godforsaken psychiatric ward, the universe has somehow pulled me back through the veil.

Today is the day. The opening of the National Steinway Invitational.

My twin sister, Brianna, is currently preparing to step onto that stage, clutching the sheet music she stole from my desk. In my previous life, I made the mistake of confronting her. I screamed the truth. I demanded my credit.

The reward for my honesty? My own parents committed me. They told the world I was suffering from a "persecution complex," that I was a jealous, delusional girl who couldn't handle her sisters brilliance.

Brianna used my soul, note by note, to become the "Darling of the Classical World." And when she no longer needed me, she let me rot. She forgot I existed while I clawed at the padded walls, my stomach a hollow pit of agony until the lights finally went out.

If a "prodigy" requires blood to stay in the spotlight, then so be it. This time, I wont fight her. Im going to personally build her pedestal. I will lift her so high that when she eventually fallsand she will fallthere won't be enough of her left to bury.

Im not crying to Mom and Dad this time. Im playing a much longer game.

"Callie? Im finished practicing. Can you come take a listen?"

Briannas voice jolted me awake. I snapped my eyes open, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I was in my room. There was my black baby grand, the finish gleaming under the morning sun. Resting on the music stand were the handwritten scores Id spent three sleepless nights perfecting.

I wasnt dead. I was back.

The memory of the hunger still lingereda phantom iron chain tightening around my stomach. I could still smell the rot of the institution and feel the cold weight of the steel door. Before I died, I had screamed until my vocal cords shredded, leaving nothing but the metallic taste of blood in my throat. I had watched my life drain away while, outside those walls, the radio played Briannas latest hit, Radiance. My life, transcribed into her glory.

I quickly shut my eyes and curled into a ball under the duvet, pretending to be asleep.

Briannas footsteps were light, hesitant. She crept toward the piano and, without a seconds hesitation, snatched the manuscript that held my entire heart: The Leviathans Descent.

Under the covers, my fingernails dug into my palms until I drew blood. That piece was the spark that ignited her career. In my last life, it was my death warrant.

Soon, the muffled sound of my parents excited voices drifted in from the living room.

"Brianna, you wrote this? The melody its so haunting. It tells such a story!" My mothers voice was thick with pride.

"I always knew our girl was born for the stage," my father added with a booming laugh. "This kind of talent? You cant teach that."

"Of course, Dad," Brianna chirped, her voice dripping with that practiced, sugary modesty. "I am your daughter, after all."

My father paused, a hint of confusion in his tone. "But your scales lately, and the technical exercises..."

"Oh, stop! I was just holding back, saving the best for the competition. This is my secret weapon!"

Listening to her shameless lies, I bit my tongue until I tasted copper.

The door to my room creaked open. My mother walked in, and seeing me awake, a flicker of awkwardness crossed her face.

"Callie, youre up? Sorry, your sister got a bit excited. Did we wake you?"

I rubbed my eyes, feigning a dazed, sleepy fog. "Whats going on? I was out cold. I didn't hear a thing."

Mom visibly relaxed. She walked over and tucked the edge of my blanket in, a gesture that felt more like a dismissal than an act of love.

"Nothing important. Your sister is entering a major competition, and were just celebrating the good news." She hesitated, her tone turning cautious. "You should try to practice more too, Callie. I know you don't have Briannas natural spark, but hard work can make up for a lack of talent. Don't waste your time dreaming about things that aren't realistic."

I looked down, hiding the ice in my eyes. "I know, Mom. I understand."

She gave my head a pitying pat and turned to leave, eager to get back to the living room to toast her "genius" daughter.

I listened to their laughter and smiled into the shadows. This time, Im going to build Brianna the most magnificent scaffold the world has ever seen.

A week later, the inevitable happened.

Brianna won the gold medal with The Leviathans Descent.

The local papers and TV stations swarmed our house. She sat at the piano in a white silk dress, bathed in the glow of the cameras, looking like some ethereal creature untouched by the grime of reality.

She spoke to the reporters with a rehearsed grace. "My inspiration? It came from a documentary about the ocean. Watching a great whale die in the deep... how its body sinks and nourishes an entire ecosystem for decades. That kind of grand, tragic sacrifice it moved me deeply."

She recited my words, my soul-searching, my private thoughts, word for word. It became her "inspiration."

My parents stood behind her, beaming, as if they were admiring a flawless diamond they had personally cut and polished.

I, meanwhile, was ordered to stay in my room.

"We don't want the press getting the wrong idea," Dad had told me earlier. "If they see two sisters and only one with talent, they might write something nasty about favoritism. Its better for Briannas brand if you stay out of the shot."

I became the "extra" that didn't fit the frame.

When Brianna returned from the awards ceremony, the house was packed for a victory party. Our villa was teeming with socialites and relatives, all clamoring to touch the hem of the new prodigys dress.

"The Voss family must be so proud! A world-class pianist in the making!"

"Shes always been special. You can just see it in her eyes."

I stood in the corner with a glass of orange juice, a shadow in the periphery, watching the coronation. Brianna eventually spotted me. Clutching a glass of champagne, she navigated the crowd and cornered me.

She lifted the heavy gold trophy, leaning in so only I could hear her. "See this, Callie? This is where I belong."

Her eyes were cold, predatory. "Stop daydreaming. People like you? Youre just the dirt that makes the flowers look brighter."

I looked up at her. I didn't show the rage she expected. Instead, I gave her a dazzling, supportive smile.

"Brianna, you were amazing," I whispered. "You really are the greatest musician I know."

She froze. The sneer she had ready died on her lips. She had expected me to scream, to try and claw the trophy out of her hands like I did in the other life. She didn't know that I wanted her this high. I wanted her at the very peak.

From that day on, I became Briannas most devoted shadow.

When she went to the studio, I had hot tea and pastries waiting. When she "ran out of inspiration," I played her my "discarded" sketches and fragments, letting her take her pick. I spent every cent of my allowance on rare sheet music and concert tickets for her.

At first, she was suspicious. She watched me like a hawk, looking for the trap. But eventually, she decided I had simply "broken." She began to accept my service as her birthright, treating me as her personal muse and maid.

My parents were thrilled by my "maturity."

"Callies finally growing up," I heard Dad say one night. "She knows Brianna is our hope. Shes stopped being so difficult."

"Its how it should be," Mom agreed. "One sister in the light, one in the wings. Its for the good of the family."

They cut my music budget and poured everything into Brianna.

"Callie, your playing is just a hobby," Dad told me. "Lets not waste money on elite tutors for you anymore. Your job is to make sure Brianna has everything she needs. Thats how you contribute."

I nodded submissively. "I understand, Dad. Brianna needs it more."

Of course they felt that way. They didn't need two stars. They needed one goddess and one servant to keep the temple clean.

Perfect.

Three years vanished in a blur of fake smiles and stolen melodies.

Brianna was now a national sensationthe "It Girl" of the American classical scene. Her repertoire was stunningly diverseBaroque one day, avant-garde the next. The critics called her range "miraculous."

Only I knew that every "shift in style" came from the crates under my bed, filled with manuscripts the world had never seen.

By day, I was the dutiful sister. By night, I was a ghost at my piano, teaching myself composition software and complex orchestration, pushing my soul into territories Brianna couldn't even imagine. My technical skill far surpassed what I had achieved in my previous life.

Brianna, meanwhile, had gotten very good at signing autographs and wearing couture, but her understanding of music was still stuck in high school.

Soon, the whispers started in the industry.

"Don't you think Briannas work feels disjointed? Like its missing a core identity?"

"Yeah, her style is all over the place. Theres no signature Voss sound."

"I tried to talk to her about the counterpoint in her latest sonata backstage," one critic whispered at a gala, "and she looked at me like I was speaking Greek. Shes remarkably vapid for a genius."

The rumors eventually reached Brianna. She became erratic, paranoid.

One afternoon, after a critic wrote that her performance was "technically brilliant but emotionally hollow," she lost it.

"He doesn't know anything! He's just jealous!" she screamed, tearing my latest scores into confetti. The paper drifted down like snow. "Everyone is just a hack! They want to tear me down!"

Mom rushed to comfort her, cradling her like a wounded child. "Don't listen to them, honey. Theyre just commoners. They can't comprehend your level of art."

Dad, looking for a scapegoat, turned on me. "Callie! Have you been saying something to your sister? Youre always lurking around with that gloomy face, dragging down the energy in this house!"

I looked down, my shoulders trembling as I put on my best "victim" face. "I didn't do anything. I was just trying to help."

"Help? Youre probably praying for her to fail!" Dad spat.

Brianna sobbed harder, burying her face in Moms chest. "Theyre all against me, Mom! They want to take it away!"

I watched the performance with a cold heart. The play was reaching its second act.

I stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on Briannas back, my voice a soothing silk. "Brianna, ignore them. In my eyes, youre the only one who matters. Youre a once-in-a-generation talent. No one can ever take that title from you."

Her sobbing slowed. She looked at me with red, puffy eyeseyes filled with a desperate, frantic dependency.

She was hooked. She couldn't breathe without my music.

From that day on, she demanded more.

"Callie, I have a charity gala next week. I need something 'healing' and 'warm.' You get me?"

"Callie, the theme for the festival is 'Fracture.' Give me something that sounds like glass breaking."

"Callie, Im over my credit limit. Give me your card."

She stole my thoughts, my work, my identity. She even found my old childhood journals once and ripped them up in front of me. "Why keep this trash?" shed sneered.

I gave her everything. I even helped her craft her "musical philosophy" for interviews, teaching her the hollow, flowery words she needed to mask her empty soul.

My parents saw her becoming more "professional" and felt more confident than ever. They were already dreaming of Carnegie Hall.

And I stayed in the dark. Even the housemaid pulled me aside once. "Callie, dear, youre so good to her. Why is she so cruel to you?"

They didn't understand. My "kindness" was just arsenic dipped in honey.

For Briannas eighteenth birthday, my parents rented out the citys premier concert hall for a massive debut recital.

It was a coming-of-age celebration and a launchpad for her international career. The program featured ten original compositions, every single one credited to: Brianna Voss.

Every single one was a piece of my marrow.

The night was a gala event. The titans of the music world were therecritics, scouts from the top conservatories, and the man everyone feared: Alister Crowne.

Crowne was a world-renowned conductor with an ear that could detect a lie in a single note. In my last life, he had been the one to dismiss Brianna with four words: "Great hands, no soul." It had ruined her career, but by then, I was already locked away, and no one believed the "crazy girl's" claims of plagiarism.

This time, I had been waiting for him.

Brianna was wearing a custom gown that looked like a night sky, strutting through the backstage area like a peacock.

"The sonata Breaking Light is a masterpiece, Brianna!" a donor gushed. "The way the harmony builds... I could actually see the sun rising!"

Brianna smiled gracefully, basking in the stolen warmth.

I stood in the shadows of the stage wing. A young journalist noticed me and walked over. "Are you Briannas sister? You look so much like her."

I nodded.

"You must be musical too. What do you think of your sisters work?"

Before I could open my mouth, Briannas sharp voice cut through the air. "She doesn't know the first thing about music!"

She marched over, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind her, eyeing the reporter with suspicion. "My sister has health issues. She lives a very sheltered life. Shes completely tone-deaf. Please don't bother her."

She was terrified Id steal even a second of her spotlight. The reporter looked embarrassed and shuffled away.

Brianna leaned into my ear, her voice a frozen blade. "Callie, I told you. Stay in your lane. Do not embarrass me tonight, or youll find out exactly how far I can push you."

I bowed my head. "I understand, Brianna."

Suddenly, the room went silent.

Alister Crowne had arrived.

He was in a charcoal suit, his hair perfectly silver, radiating an aura of absolute authority. He didn't mingle. He walked straight to the large promotional poster of the program pinned to the wall.

His eyes lingered on the final piece of the night, a world premiere: Scorched Sun.

He stared at the title, his gaze deepening.

Briannas breathing became ragged. My parents rushed over, wearing their most sycophantic smiles. "Mr. Crowne, what an honor. Our daughter is a bit shy, please excuse her if shes nervous."

Crowne didn't look back. He kept his eyes on the title. After a long silence, he spoke.

"This piece. Scorched Sun."

Dad nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, its Briannas latest. The inspiration came from"

Crowne held up a hand. His voice was calm, but it carried to every corner of the room.

"There is a problem with this song."