I'd be lying if I said that didn't please me. I'd be lying even more if I didn't say that my obnoxiously self-assured intelligence didn't irk my father.
I had the audacity to be born first and female. And not pale and sickly, withering and giving me my chance.
It was a simple question that came as the steel whispered against my throat. "Why?"
That tiny little dig, the little twist. Trickling warm.
I try not to laugh, imagining every subtle insult I could make. Imagining the knife I felt in my heart when I learned it was him, not me, who would inherit everything.
"It was him or me. And he was littler."