The smell of disinfectant still clung faintly to the air, a futile attempt to mask the metallic tang of blood that had soaked every inch of the kitchen. Six-year-old Yuki Kuran stood amidst the chaos, her small dress a canvas of crimson, her red-brown eyes wide with a terror that mirrored the scene.

“Yuki,” I gritted out, my voice strained, my heart hammering against my ribs. My eyes, usually soft, narrowed into murderous slits as I surveyed the horror. “What did you do?”

She whimpered, her gaze darting from me to the blood-spattered walls. “I’m sorry, Y/N! I just wanted a snack! I didn’t mean for it to… splat!” Her small hands gesticulated wildly, smearing more blood across her already ruined dress.

My thick book, a momentary escape from our cloistered existence, lay discarded on a clean shelf, untouched by the carnage. My sigh was heavy, laced with a weariness far beyond my years. “Why didn’t you call me, Yuki? I would have warmed them up for you. Now I’m gonna have to clean up this mess.”

Her pout was immediate, her lower lip trembling. “But you were busy, Y/N. You were reading your book, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

I rolled my eyes, a familiar exasperation bubbling up. “But now you’ve disturbed me anyway. And made a giant mess.” Another sigh. “Alright, alright. Go to the basement, take off that dress, and leave it. I’ll wash it later.”

Her eyes widened. “But, Y/N,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “I don’t like the basement. It has spiders.”

I groaned. Some days, being the older sister felt like a life sentence.