I Raf You - Big Sister Is A Witch

She refused again, but not for defiance. She refused because the ledger was not hers to share. It contained names bound by the soft magic of human dignity; to publish it would be to auction off other people's losses.

"She remembers," he said to me then. "She remembers being someone else. She remembers names that weren't hers. She does this at night. She calls them by the wrong mouth. And when she does, I feel it—like something is taking from me." i raf you big sister is a witch

I kept writing. Why else would I have made this chronicle? Because memory is a defense; because stories are contracts we sign with future selves. This chronicle is not merely a record of deeds, but a manual for survival. She refused again, but not for defiance

I began to write the chronicle more obsessively after that, as if the act could patch the tears in our lives. Writing means ordering; ordering makes predation visible. I wrote down every favor my sister ever did, every trade, every promise. Names leaked like water on paper—Ms. Powell who reclaimed her childhood, the twins who traded their names for the ability to see the future of birds. I started keeping a separate ledger of the things that had not been returned: patience, years of sleep, the shape of a city at dawn. "She remembers," he said to me then

My sister read the contract and then folded it in half and in half again until the paper resembled a stone. She said, "No."