I Burned My Brothers Alive

I was born a paper-crane spirit, and ink was the only thing that kept me alive. Every Valentine’s Day, three people bound to me by blood had to write me a letter in their own hands and burn it for me. The ink would then transform into flesh and blood, keeping me alive for another year. Three letters bought me three years of life. If even one letter was missing, my body would begin to turn white and brittle until, eventually, I became nothing more than a paper crane. Before my grandmother died, she told my three older brothers the secret. They promised they would never forget. This year, on Valentine’s Day, I set a brass basin in the courtyard and waited for their letters. My eldest brother arrived first. I smiled and reached out to take the letter, but he walked straight past me and handed it to the girl standing behind me—my best friend. "Summer, tell me if the wording sounds right." My second and third brothers came in right behind him. I hurried toward them. "Guys, please! Give me the letters. There isn’t much time left!" They exchanged awkward glances. Before either could respond, my eldest brother strode over and snatched both letters from their hands. "Enough. These are for Summer, too." "She’s been having a run of bad luck this year. I heard burning a letter and making a wish is supposed to bring good fortune." With that, he tossed all three letters into the basin. The flames leaped high, illuminating the delighted face of the girl making a wish. My eldest brother turned to me, where I stood frozen, and offered a dismissive explanation. "As long as the letters are burned, it counts. Nobody said they had to be written for a particular person. Relax. You’ll be fine." I stared at the ashes in the basin, then at my fingertips, which were already turning pale and translucent. That isn't how it works, brother. Never mind. If nobody was willing to write even a single line of ink for me, then I would simply become a paper crane again. Wherever the wind took me, I would go. … 1 "Wren, what are you still standing there for?" My eldest brother, Grant, called from behind me, his voice carrying the casual entitlement of someone who had never imagined I might refuse him anything. "The fire’s gone out. Get inside before you catch a chill." I didn't turn around. A gust of wind swept the cold ashes from the bottom of the brass basin, scattering them across the hem of my skirt. I lowered my eyes to my pale fingertips. The edges of my nails had begun to glow faintly, as thin and translucent as paper held against the light. Before Grandma died, she had clasped my hand in her rough, weathered one. "If nobody burns letters for you on Valentine’s Day, there are seven things your loved ones can do to make up for it." "Seven things, one each day, starting with the easiest and ending with the hardest." "As long as someone who truly loves you is willing to do them, even if they complete only the very last one, you'll survive." I drew a shaky breath and hid my trembling hands inside my sleeves. Then I turned to face the three men who had already reached the steps. "Grant," I said, my voice dry and hoarse. He stopped and looked back. "I want a bowl of plain noodles made by your own hands." It was the easiest task Grandma had mentioned. A bowl of noodles, personally prepared by someone bound to me by blood, could preserve the last of the life force slowly slipping away from me. Grant's brows drew together as though I'd made an outrageous demand. "It's late. We have a housekeeper. Why don't you ask her?" "I want you to make them." I took a step toward him. My second brother, Miles, interrupted from the side. "Wren, stop throwing a tantrum. We only borrowed your basin to burn a few letters." "Summer's been having a rough time lately. What's wrong with us cheering her up?" My youngest brother, Owen, immediately backed him up. "Exactly. Grant has a meeting first thing tomorrow. He doesn't have time to stand over a stove making you noodles." I ignored them and kept my eyes fixed on Grant. "Please. Just one bowl. It'll take ten minutes." My breathing had grown uneven. The cold in my fingertips was creeping up my arms, following the paths of my veins. Summer peeked out from behind Grant and tugged innocently at his sleeve. "Grant, if Wren wants noodles so badly, why don't you make her some?" "Actually…" She gave a little, bashful smile. "The smell of those ashes is making me hungry, too." Her gesture was so natural, so effortlessly endearing. Grant's expression softened at once. He reached out and ruffled her hair. "Fine. If our Summer's hungry, I'll cook." Then he looked at me, his expression already returning to indifference. "I'll make you a bowl while I'm at it. Come inside and wait." My fingers curled tightly into my palms. While I'm at it. Grandma had been very clear. The meal had to be prepared wholeheartedly for me. Anything less wouldn't count. But I no longer had the strength to argue. I followed them into the living room just as the doorbell rang. Cole, my boyfriend, walked in carrying an elegant cake box. "What a lively evening," he said with a smile as he kicked off his shoes. He came over and slipped an arm around my shoulders. Yet instead of giving me the cake, he handed it to Summer. "I passed that bakery you love and picked this up for you." Summer's eyes lit up as she accepted the box. "Thank you, Cole! I knew you'd understand me best." I stared at my boyfriend. "Didn't you say you had to work late tonight and couldn't come over?" Cole hesitated for a moment before pinching my cheek with an indulgent smile. "Summer posted that she was upset about not getting any Valentine's Day gifts. Your three brothers are all here keeping her company. I couldn't exactly be the only one who didn't show up, could I?" "Wren, you're always so understanding. Surely you're not going to get jealous over something this trivial?" I lowered my eyes to the hand resting on my shoulder. Through the fabric of my clothes, he couldn't feel how unnaturally cold my body had become. A few minutes later, water began to boil in the kitchen. Grant emerged carrying two steaming bowls of noodles. He placed one in front of Summer and slid the other toward me. Summer's bowl held two golden fried eggs, a scattering of chopped scallions, and a few drops of fragrant sesame oil. Mine contained nothing but clear broth and noodles. "Summer likes fried eggs. There happened to be only two left," Grant explained casually as he wiped his hands with a paper towel. "Wren, you don't usually like greasy food anyway. Make do with it." I picked up my chopsticks and lifted a strand of noodles. Steam rose from the bowl, but not a trace of warmth reached my body. "Grant, you're playing favorites!" Summer complained sweetly, biting her chopsticks. "Why does Wren have more noodles than I do?" Cole laughed. "She has a bigger appetite. You eat like a kitten. Giving you more would just be a waste." Miles tapped Summer lightly on the forehead. "Eat up. I'll take you home afterward so you can rest." The four of them gathered around the dining table, laughing as if they were the happiest family in the world. I sat beside them like an unwanted spectator. I swallowed a mouthful of noodles. Nothing happened. The white frost had spread as far as my knuckles. Grandma had been right. The spirits wouldn't recognize an act that hadn't been done specifically for me. I put down my chopsticks and stood up. "I'm not hungry anymore." The smile disappeared from Grant's face. "Wren, what is it this time?" "I went out of my way to make you noodles, and you take one bite before throwing down your chopsticks. Who are you trying to impress?" I tucked my hands deeper into my sleeves. "You made those noodles for the girl beside you. I was just getting the leftovers of your attention." "If something was never meant for me, eating it won't help." I turned and went upstairs without another word, leaving their increasingly displeased expressions behind me. The first task had failed. 2 I woke the next morning shivering. The heavy silk comforter lay over me, but it couldn't keep out the cold seeping from the marrow of my bones. I pushed back the covers and looked at my right hand. My little finger had turned completely transparent. Held against the morning light, it was unmistakably thin, translucent paper rather than flesh. I gave it a gentle squeeze. There was no pain. Only the faint, brittle rustle of paper rubbing against paper. Panicking, I pulled my sleeve down over my hand and wrapped it tightly around my wrist. Today, I had to complete the second task. Ask a loved one to brush and style your hair, tying your life to theirs. I stepped out of my room just as Miles emerged from the study, dressed in comfortable clothes with a cup of coffee in his hand. When we were children, our parents were always busy with work, Grant was buried in his studies, and Owen cared about little beyond having fun. Miles had been the one to drag a little stool over every morning and clumsily braid my hair. Grandma used to watch us with a fond smile. "Your second brother has such clever hands," she would say. "When Wren gets married one day, Miles should be the one to style her hair." "Hey, Miles." He stopped and looked at me. "What's wrong? You're so pale. Did you sleep badly?" For once, his voice held a trace of the concern I remembered from childhood. I walked over, swallowing the ache in my chest. "Could you brush my hair for me?" Miles stared at me for a moment. "What are you, five years old? You still need your brother to brush your hair?" He chuckled and set down his coffee. "Go get your brush." My eyes burned. I hurried back to my room and retrieved the wooden comb Grandma had left me. It was the one she'd used throughout her life, and it still carried the faint scent of sandalwood. I sat on a chair in the hallway. Miles stood behind me and took the comb from my hands. The teeth had barely touched my scalp when a sudden cry came from downstairs. "Oh!" It was Summer. Miles's hand stopped instantly. A moment later, her tearful voice drifted up the staircase. "Miles, my hair is caught!" She hurried upstairs, lifting her skirt to keep from tripping. Her elaborate hairstyle had become hopelessly tangled in a rhinestone necklace. "The necklace you gave me last night got caught in my hair. I can't get it out!" Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. She looked utterly helpless. Miles immediately set the wooden comb on the windowsill. "Don't pull it. You'll only make it tighter. Let me take a look." He went to Summer and carefully began separating the tangled strands. "How do you manage to get yourself into these situations? That's a limited-edition piece. Wouldn't you be upset if you damaged it?" "I don't care about the necklace. My scalp hurts!" I remained seated, still holding the posture of someone waiting to have her hair brushed. The comb had been placed too close to the edge of the windowsill. A gust of wind swept through the hallway. Crack. The comb fell to the floor and split in two. It was the last thing Grandma had left me. Miles glanced over, his brows knitting together. "It's just a comb. The housekeeper can clean it up. I'll buy you a better one another day." He returned to Summer's hair. "Wren, you can finish brushing your own hair. Summer's necklace is so tangled that we might have to cut her hair if we can't get it out." I stared at the broken wooden comb on the floor. The second task had failed, too. I bent down, picked up the two pieces, and clenched them tightly in my fist. Wooden splinters pierced my palm, but not a drop of blood appeared. I stood and walked downstairs without a word. That afternoon, I went to find Owen. The third task was simple: a loved one had to give me something for protection, even if it was nothing more than a red thread. Owen was sprawled on the living-room sofa playing video games. Cole sat beside him, scrolling through his phone. "Hey, Owen." I walked over to the sofa. His eyes remained glued to the screen, his fingers flying across the controller. "What? Can't you see I'm busy?" "I need you to give me something." "What kind of thing? Send me a link. I'll buy it later." "Nothing expensive. Just a red thread or some little charm people use for protection." Owen finally spared me a glance. "Since when do you believe in all that supernatural nonsense?" He put down the controller and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. "Actually, I bought a jade pendant yesterday. You can have it." A flicker of hope stirred inside me. If he handed it to me willingly, the third task would be complete. I reached out to take it. Summer emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of fruit and spotted the box. "Wow! What a beautiful pendant." She set down the plate and came over. "Owen, you have such good taste. That jade looks expensive." Owen's hand, which had been reaching toward me, changed direction in midair. He opened the box and held up the pendant for Summer to see. "Of course. What did you expect from your favorite guy?" "Summer, didn't you say you've been having trouble sleeping? Jade is supposed to promote well-being. Why don't you wear it?" Summer covered her mouth in delighted surprise. "Really? But wasn't that supposed to be for Wren?" She glanced timidly in my direction. Cole put away his phone and joined the conversation with an easy smile. "Wren sleeps just fine. She was out like a light last night. The pendant would suit you better." Owen nodded and placed the pendant directly in Summer's hand. "Wren doesn't need this one. I'll find something even better for her another day." Summer pressed the pendant to her chest and smiled sweetly at him. "Thank you, Owen. And thank you, Cole!" I stood frozen, my hand still suspended in the air. Not one of them had asked what I wanted. The transparency had spread all the way to my wrist. I slowly lowered my hand and tugged my sleeve farther down. "Don't bother," I said, my voice unnervingly calm. "I don't want anything anymore." If everything I asked for was always going to be handed to someone else, why should I keep reaching out? 3 By the fourth day, the transformation was getting worse. When I washed my face, droplets of water trickled down my chin and landed on my collarbone. The skin beneath them immediately puckered into unnatural wrinkles, like paper that had been soaked and left to dry. I carefully blotted the water away with a towel. I hadn't even had the chance to ask my brothers to complete the fourth and fifth tasks Grandma had left behind. They hadn't been home all day. Grant had taken Summer to a private art exhibition, while Miles and Owen had gone to help her move the artwork she'd just purchased. Cole had accompanied them the entire time, playing the role of her devoted chauffeur. I sat alone in the empty living room, watching the sun slowly sink below the horizon. By the fifth day, with only three days remaining, I had reached the sixth task. A loved one must accompany you to a place of worship and obtain a protective charm for you. This was the hardest task yet. The old abbey stood on a hill outside the city, and reaching it meant climbing more than a thousand steps. I dragged my increasingly brittle body to the breakfast table, where my brothers and Cole were eating. "I want to visit the abbey." The conversation stopped. Grant set down his coffee cup, his brows drawing together. "What for? Those places are full of superstitious nonsense." "I want a protective charm," I said through gritted teeth. Owen rolled his eyes. "Wren, what is going on with you lately? Every day, it's something pointless." "First you wanted someone to brush your hair. Now you want us to climb a mountain. Do you think we have nothing better to do?" I didn't back down. I simply looked at them. "You promised Grandma you'd take care of me." At the mention of Grandma, the room fell silent for several seconds. She was the one subject nobody in this family wanted to discuss—and the only one who could still make them hesitate. Miles sighed. "Fine. We'll go. Think of it as a weekend outing." Summer was nibbling on a piece of toast. She blinked innocently. "The abbey? I've heard the food there is amazing. Cole, can we go, too?" Cole gently brushed a crumb from the corner of her mouth. "If you want to go, we'll all go." Then he looked at me, his tone taking on a faintly reproachful edge. "Wren, you can't keep using Grandma to guilt-trip everyone. Your brothers already indulge you plenty." I turned away without answering. The climb was long. My legs were gradually losing the sensations a human body was supposed to have. With every step, the joints in my knees made the faintest scraping sound. Like paper being folded and unfolded too many times. I fell farther and farther behind. Up ahead, the four of them laughed and chatted. Cole even held a parasol over Summer to shield her from the sun. Not one of them turned to check on me. By the time I finally climbed the last step and reached the entrance to the abbey chapel, cold sweat had soaked through my clothes. An elderly monk stood inside, holding a small protective charm folded into a triangle. "This is the last charm available today," he said. "It will go only to someone whose fate calls for it." I forced myself forward. "Sir, I've come to ask for one." He studied me, and his expression shifted almost imperceptibly. He seemed to understand something about my condition. With a sigh, he held the charm out to me. "Your life thread is dangerously thin. This charm was meant for you." Relief washed through me. I reached out. At last, the sixth task was about to be completed. Just as my fingertips were about to touch the charm, a violent coughing fit erupted beside me. Summer clutched her chest, her face suddenly pale, and collapsed against Cole. "Cole, my chest hurts so badly. I can't breathe!" Grant and Miles rushed to her side. "What happened? Is the climb too much for you?" Owen looked frantic. "This stupid hill! We shouldn't have brought Summer here. What are we going to do?" Cole steadied Summer, then abruptly turned toward the monk and the charm in his hand. "Sir, that charm protects people, right? Wren, give it to Summer first." I froze. "I need it to stay alive," I said, my voice trembling. Grant's expression darkened. He shoved my hand aside and snatched the charm from the monk. "Stop talking about staying alive. You're standing here perfectly fine!" He pressed the charm into Summer's palm. "Here. It's supposed to work. You'll feel better in no time." Summer weakly closed her fingers around it. A few tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Wren, I'm sorry. I really feel awful. I'll get you another one when we get home, okay?" I stared at my empty palm. The monk shook his head, closed his eyes, and turned away. Miles patted my shoulder. "Wren, you're healthy. Don't be so selfish. Summer's been frail since childhood. You can let her have this one thing." Cole came over and put an arm around my shoulders, guiding me toward the path down the hill. "Come on. We'd better get Summer checked out. Think of the charm as a gift from you to her." I violently shook off his hand. The force of the movement surprised even me. Cole stared at me, his expression hardening. "Wren, don't be unreasonable." I looked at all of them as they surrounded Summer and began leading her down the hill. Inside my long sleeves, my arms had lost all warmth. The paper transformation had spread to my shoulders. I had watched the sixth task die with my own eyes. 4 The seventh day was the last. I locked myself in my room and drew every curtain. Without light, I wouldn't have to see the paper-like patterns spreading across the skin of my neck. I was dying. The final task was so simple it was almost absurd. All you need is for a loved one to look into your eyes and sincerely say, "I want you to stay." One sentence. One genuine plea for me to remain. Even if all six previous tasks had failed, those words alone could break the rules and save me. As evening approached, footsteps sounded outside my door. The housekeeper knocked and told me that the young masters and Mr. Cole were downstairs, getting ready to cut Summer's birthday cake. Right. Today was Summer's birthday. That was why, on Valentine's Day, all the gifts and affection had naturally gravitated toward her. I changed into a high-necked outfit with long sleeves, wrapping myself as completely as possible, then went downstairs. The living room was ablaze with light. A towering five-tier cake stood in the center. Summer wore a crown and stood surrounded by everyone. They were all smiling. I walked toward them one step at a time. My footsteps were so faint that I might have been a feather drifting to the floor. "Wren, you finally decided to come down." Grant's voice carried a hint of casual reproach. "Come over here. We've been waiting for you." I stopped in front of them, ignoring the cake and refusing to look at Summer. Instead, I let my gaze travel from Grant to Miles, then Owen, and finally Cole. "I need to tell you something." My voice was flat, without the slightest tremor. "Can't it wait until after we cut the cake?" Cole asked, frowning. "Not anymore." I stood my ground. Perhaps my behavior over the past few days had finally worn down their patience. Miles sighed. "Fine, fine. Say what you need to say. Then we'll sing Happy Birthday to Summer." I took a deep breath. Somewhere in my chest came the faint sound of paper being compressed. "Look me in the eyes." I met their gazes. They glanced at me with varying degrees of impatience. "I'm about to disappear," I said, enunciating every word. "If you want to save me, you only have to say one sentence." The living room fell silent for a moment. Then Owen burst out laughing. "Wren, have you been watching too many melodramatic TV shows?" "Disappearing? Telling you to stay? What do you think you are, the tragic heroine of some soap opera?" Grant's expression turned icy. "It's your best friend's birthday, and you have to ruin the evening with this nonsense?" Cole stepped forward and reached for my arm. "Wren, stop this. Everyone's watching." I moved away from his hand and kept my eyes fixed on Grant. "Please, just say it. Is one sentence really that difficult?" Summer's eyes suddenly reddened. She lowered her head, looking wounded. "Wren, are you still upset that I took the charm? If that's it, I'll give it back. You don't have to scare your brothers by saying you're going to disappear." As she spoke, she reached for the red cord around her neck. Her movement was too abrupt. Her elbow slammed into the glass display cabinet beside her. Crash! The little clay figurine Grandma had made by hand fell from the cabinet and shattered across the floor. It was the last thing Grandma had left me—the final trace of her presence in this house. The air seemed to freeze. Summer covered her mouth in horror, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Wren! I didn't mean to. My hand slipped…" I stared at the fragments scattered across the floor. Something inside me, something that had been stretched taut for days, finally snapped. There was no anger. No hysterics. Only an endless, bone-deep exhaustion and a coldness that had settled somewhere beyond pain. Miles immediately crouched to examine Summer's arm. "Did you cut yourself? Does it hurt?" Owen turned on me. "Look what you've done! You had to push Summer until she got upset. Are you happy now?" Grant stared at me with open disgust. "Wren, can you stop acting like this?" "If you want to disappear, then just disappear already. Why can't you do it sooner? Stop standing here getting in everyone's way!" Why can't you disappear already? His words struck like a hammer, shattering the last fragile piece of hope I had left. Time was up. The grandfather clock against the wall gave a deep, resonant chime. I closed my eyes. I could feel the skin around my neck losing its last traces of elasticity, tightening and shrinking toward my back. My blood stopped moving. I was about to become a paper crane. One second. Two seconds. Three. But the disintegration I expected never came. Instead, a surge of scorching warmth rose from deep within my heart and burst through my stiffened limbs. The color returned to my pale fingertips before my eyes. The brittle rustling of paper disappeared from my ears. I opened my eyes and stared at my hands in disbelief. I hadn't turned into a paper crane. Then a bloodcurdling scream erupted from the living room. "AAAAAH!" It wasn't me. It was Grant. I looked up. My eldest brother's tall frame began twisting violently. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his throat with both hands. His skin turned white and shriveled at a terrifying speed, as though every trace of flesh and blood were being drained from him in an instant. "Grant! What's happening to you?" Miles and Owen rushed toward him in horror. Cole stumbled backward, shielding Summer behind him. Before their horrified eyes, Grant's clothes collapsed inward. His bones cracked with a sickening crunch. His limbs folded at impossible angles. Within seconds, the domineering man who had stood before us was gone. In his place lay a gigantic paper crane, nearly as tall as a person, its surface as pale as ash.