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I remember scorning my half-siblings and their mother as my father showered them with affection. I remember trying to poison my own younger sister after she presented me with beautiful roses. I remember trying to a.s.sault my older sister out of anger as she laid on the hospital bed, nearly dying from her own magic and of poison. And I remember laughing at my younger brother as he became crippled. Indeed, everything was due to my mother pushing me along with hostility, but the fact that I still don't hold any deep hatred for her can only show how vile of a person I am myself.
Surely, I can't be blame for believing my mother's words growing up, though. Not entirely, I mean. My father, for as long as I can remember, despised me and looked down at me as though I was nothing more than garbage. Something I grew to be. At first I believed my mother's words, and thought that my father was simply testing me, but would one day shower me with praises and affection were I to succeed. So being a child who wanted nothing more than to be loved dearly and deeply by both parents, I could do nothing more than believe the selfish words of a vile woman.
It's quite pathetic thinking of how weak my mother was, and how foolish I was not realising the flaws of her beliefs. However, if the chance to relive my life were to be bestowed before me, I'd be more than willing to take hold of it in order to provide myself, and my mother, a happy ending. Because, even if she has caused damaged, I believe my mother is more than capable of living a normal life; had I not followed along with her schemes of hatred and jealousy.