I was never the favorite.
That was my little brother. He was special. The spotlight was his.
No matter what I could do, or who I became, I was never my little brother; Aedryan.
It started from the moment he was born, pink and fuzzy headed. He made not a sound, just whisked gently into consciousness, and therefore ruining my existence as a person. I may’ve been just a whelp myself, but I remember.
There was rain. Thunder resounded in the distance. Panic fluttered on the wind, between the cabins and the shops, until they all came to rest outside of my window. They weren’t looking at me, oh no, they were looking at him.
It wasn’t until years later that I really understood why. He bore the marking. It nearly swallowed his entire left foot, at first. A black paw print, much like the one great grandfather had. They cooed and awed, until I broke the window. Then they just shouted at me, and stitched my hands up. I still can trace the scar across the back of my hand.
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