Sisters Born in Darkness
The sisters had been born into darkness from the very moment they entered the world. Their parents, forced into marriage by an unwanted accident. A father lost to alcohol and violence. A mother who cheated and gambled, abandoning the house for her vices. Every evening, the home shattered under their screams and brawls, leaving the girls with nothing to do but cling to each other in a corner of the room, sobbing quietly. The sisters' world—devoid of even a single drop of love since birth—had always been shrouded in shadow.
"If only you two hadn't been born...!"
"Why did I have to give birth to trash like you...?"
Whenever their parents looked at them, their eyes brimmed with contempt and disgust, as if gazing upon loathsome insects. Yet the sisters were never truly alone. The older had her little sister. The younger had her big sister. They comforted and protected one another, enduring the gloom without surrender. Until their mother vanished.
After she was gone, Father's rage only intensified. With one target lost, he sought another. And that fury turned squarely on the sisters.
"It's because of you bitches being born! That's why I'm living this miserable life!"
From birth. From the very start. Their parents had branded them as harbingers of misfortune.
"You two were a curse from the beginning! Disasters! Get out! Follow that whore and get out! Drop dead somewhere!"
With Mother gone, Father unleashed his resentment in torrents of rage and violence. He bellowed for them to die, eroding their spirits day by day. One man's deep malice and murderous intent bore down on them, sweeping them away before they could even resist. The sisters had no choice but to endure it all. To be precise, the older sister bore the brunt.
Whenever violence erupted, she shielded her little sister, holding her close or hustling her into a room. When the curses flew, she plugged the girl's ears, locking eyes with a forced smile. When malice rained down, she absorbed it all, desperate to spare her sibling. She wanted her sister to know love, at the very least—and to suffer no more pain. That was the older sister's deepest wish.
The younger watched her every time. Peeking through door cracks when ushered inside. Looking up from protective arms. Even with ears covered and tears threatening, she'd swallow them back and mimic her sister's smile. She knew better than anyone that her big sister sacrificed everything for her sake. And so, the younger resolved to grow strong. No matter her frail body or small stature, she swore to protect her sister someday.
But when the older turned thirteen and the younger eleven, they fled from their father wielding a blade. No one could ever comprehend the helplessness burning in the younger sister's heart as she ran, powerless to act.
※ The sisters had no sanctuary, no allies. They were each other's only refuge and comrade. The police? Useless. A call might resolve the immediate crisis, but the root never budged. Above all, Father was a hypocrite inside and out, flipping like a coin—always pretending all was well, smoothing over issues with feigned normalcy.
They tried the city hall, the district office. No different from the cops. Who would care about worthless beggar girls from the slums? To them, the sisters were just trouble. They sent "family instructors" or some nonsense, claiming it would help, but nothing changed.
As a last hope, they approached the Hero Association. Turned away at the gate, not even worth a word. To them, the beggar sisters were less than dust. Heroes were meant to protect everyone. But the sisters weren't part of that "everyone."
In the end, they had nowhere to go. Dodging Father's wrath, they clawed for survival amid the malice. No allies in the world, no safe haven to rest. Yet perhaps even for them, salvation existed.
The night they fled the blade, they met a plump man.
"You girls... runaways?"
"I'm the director of an orphanage. Want to come with me?"
"Lots of kids like you there. You'll make friends."
His cheeky grin seemed warm, trustworthy. For the first time, something like a refuge appeared. At the orphanage, they found other kids just like them—welcoming, easy to befriend. It was their first joy in connecting beyond each other.
Crowded bunks and meager meals, sure. But it was better. No nightly terror keeping them awake. No violence, no curses. Just one oddity: doors locked "for protection" at bedtime. They overlooked it. And so, two years passed.
But was kindness ever truly free? Or had the first warmth blinded them to the truth from the start?
The lock rusted, or the door faulty—that night, it opened. Deep in the night as all slept, the older sister slipped out for the bathroom. Drawn by light leaking from the director's office, she peered in. And overheard.
"Heh heh. Nice... Let's see... Kids to sell off next month..."
[Overheard words]
The director was trafficking the children for cash—brothels, adoptions, whatever paid. Luck spared her detection, but the shock shattered her. He'd seemed kind, caring. Now she saw: this was his pen for twisted desires.
Luck held this time, but her sister could be next. She grabbed the younger and fled. But nowhere to go. They'd escaped horror, forgetting the outside was darkness too. No light for them. Their only return was the frigid home. Praying desperately not to die, they went back.
Had God answered? Fearing the blade, they found Father weeping, begging forgiveness. Vowing to change, to cherish them. They didn't buy it fully—no home left—but hoped it lasted.
Life quieted, unlike their childhood. Decent meals, a touch of warmth. Best: nights without fear. And school—for the older, at least. She'd teach the younger after. Quick learners, they progressed swiftly.
But school wasn't sanctuary. Overt bullying, teachers' disdainful stares. Worse: one teacher's lecherous gaze, slimy as a tongue trailing from legs to throat. Unlike the orphanage's evil, this was raw predation. Fine in elementary, but middle school brought growth—and their beauty outshone all.
The younger stayed home, spared it. The older endured. Father slipped back slowly, but she could block him now. Bullies? Childish compared to home. With her sister, she held on. Plan: save till high school, then escape together.
But the shadows over them ran too deep.
"Hey. Don't go to school."
An ordinary morning. Father's order puzzled her.
"There's that rundown supermarket, right? Go there."
Empty shell, one old man inside. Why? Defiance meant fists, so she went. Regretted instantly.
Inside: the man panting like a pervert. Viler than any gaze before. She'd take nudity in the streets over that.
"Why? Move!" she screamed. He blocked the door, chuckling.
"Your dad sold you. Didn't know? Heh heh heh."
Her soul fled. The fragile trust on that tightrope snapped. Parents' "care" since reunion? Delusion, false hope. But she fought—outmatched in size, strength. Danger closed in.
"Unni!!!"
A massive rock smashed the door, cracking the man's skull. The younger saved her.
Grown prematurely in despair, the sisters were mentally beyond their years.
"You okay? Hurt? That bastard on you...!!!"
"Se Eun-ah...?!"
No longer just protected—the younger raged, teeth grinding, murderous toward "Dad." She calmed her sister amid talk. But the older, shamed by her vain hopes, broken faith, exceeded limits, could only weep.
"...It's okay, Unni."
This time, the younger comforted. Crisis averted, but home worse. Father cackled, asking if she'd "done well." Fury boiled; for the first time, she confronted him.
Why sell her? How? Parent?
Bold now, not cowering child. But he exploded back.
"You think I took in trash like you for nothing? Hilarious! It was for extra welfare cash!"
"Cursed from birth, just like your mom—uppity bitches!"
"What the fuck? Run? You bitch, you ran?! After the money I got? Go now!!"
The old blade-wielding terror flashed; fear gripped despite growth. Trauma lingered. But they pressed—both unleashing pent-up rage.
Spent, they left. Outside: still darkness, enemies. No refuge, no allies. City hall, police, heroes—all failed them. Utter isolation hit hard.
Nothing left, they wandered aimlessly. Past crowds, buildings. How long? Sister snapped to: unknown place. Younger gripped her hand tight. Snow fell; cold deepened. Only each other.
Exhausted, no solutions. Trash piles caught her eye—cardboard, crayons. Discarded cats in boxes mewled. Dead ones too, but some saved.
In despair: Maybe if we stay like cats...
She unfolded a box, made a sign from scraps:
Pierced with glass, tied with rags around neck, into the box.
"Unni? What're you doing?"
"...Figure if we wait like this, someone might take us. Like cats."
"Cats? Hehe. We get to be cats? Fun!"
Curious, then joining without question. Snow worsened—deathly cold outside. But they were always together; older sacrificed always. Younger stayed silent beside.
She knew it futile, mad. Emotions crushed, mind fraying. Better to die? Then—a man approached, staring.
Lust again? Why always her? If they want this body so bad, just give up everything... Tangled thoughts, sad smile.
"...Mister. Could you... pick us up?"