The Saint is Not My Sister, The Real Saint is Me

Saying “I love you” isn’t a universal pardon for everything, you know? I hate my little sister.

My twin sister, Emil, was born as a saint.

Blessed with special powers, kind-hearted, and always whispering words of love, my sister was even kind to me-the twin sister born without power, a worthless failure.

“Yuna-oneesama, I love you. Let’s always be the best of sisters, okay?”

To outsiders, Emil was a sweet, sisterly girl, and everyone would say, “You’re so lucky to have such a wonderful little sister.”

But they were wrong. My twin sister, who shared my face, claimed to love me while directing an almost obsessive attachment toward me. She tried to monopolize me, imitating me, taking everything from me, and locking me away.

Whenever I coldly pushed her away, she would cry softly, and because she was a saint, our doting parents, my fiancé, and even the townspeople would condemn me as a cruel sister.

I hated my sister.

And yet, because she was family-because she was my one and only twin-l endured it all…