Bound by Power

I was born on anight when winter wind howled like a wounded beast, piercing through the cracks of our mud walls. In a remote village where traditions are law and poverty is a life sentence, my arrival was not a celebration; it was a declaration of war. My mother, a woman aged by the heavy toll of time and hardship, gave birth to me late in her years. She was a simple soul, uneducated and pure, possessing a heart that knew nothing but silent endurance. She held me on a floor made of cold, uneven dirt—a house so humble it felt like it was carved directly from the earth. But as I took my first breath, the shadows in the room weren't just from the dim candlelight. They were from my own sisters. In a place where bread was scarce and hearts were hardened by envy, my sisters viewed my birth as an unpardonable mistake. Driven by a primal jealousy, they didn't see a baby sister; they saw an extra mouth to feed, another girl to shame the family, a rival for the little love our mother had left. Behind closed doors, they whispered of a dark plan: to silence my cries forever before the village even knew I existed