THE HEART THEY STOLE: Rebirth of the Scapegoat Bride

"If you die, just think of it as paying back the air you've wasted for twenty-three years."

My mother's voice was as cool as the sterilized tiles of the operating theater. She didn't look at my face. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the

 surgical consent form in her hand, her thumb stroking the paper with a rhythmic, anxious twitch. She wasn't worried about the needles that were about to pierce my skin; she was worried the ink wasn't dry enough on the legalities that would save her 'precious' son.

"Sign it, Elara," my father added. He stood by the window, the harsh afternoon sun casting his shadow long and jagged across the floor. He smelled of expensive cedarwood and the metallic tang of the hospital. "Leo is the only heir this family has. You? You're just a girl with a cursed mark and a debt to pay. This heart is the only thing you've ever possessed that is actually worth something."

I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, the hospital gown-thin, scratchy, and smelling of industrial bleach-clinging to my damp skin. My fingers traced the small, raised ridge behind my ear. The rose birthmark. To me, it had always been a petal-shaped kiss of fate. To them, it was the mark of a thief-a reminder that I had remained safe while my twin sister, Elena, had been snatched away into the dark.

"I've already given him my kidney," I whispered. My throat felt like it was lined with glass. The surgery from three weeks ago still throbbed, a dull, biting ache in my side every time I took a breath. "The doctor said I haven't healed. If you take my heart, I won't wake up."

"Then don't wake up," my mother snapped, finally looking at me. There was no mistaking the vitriol in her eyes. "Elena is back now. We have our daughter. We don't need the one who let her get kidnapped. Giving Leo your heart is the only way you'll ever be equal to her sacrifice."

The door to the private suite swung open with a soft whoosh of pressurized air. Elena walked in. She was draped in silk the color of cream, looking every bit the fragile survivor they believed her to be. She held a thermal flask in her hands, the steam smelling faintly of bitter herbs and something sickly sweet-the 'special soup' she made for Leo every morning.

"Is she being difficult again?" Elena asked, her voice a melodic pout. She walked over to my mother and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Mom, don't be upset. Elara is just scared. She's always been... sensitive. Even when we were kids, she'd cry for attention while I was the one actually hurting."

I stared at her. I saw you run, Elena, I wanted to scream. I saw you slip out the gate because Mom didn't get you that doll. I tried to grab your hand and you pushed me into the