Page 10 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
The pack council has unanimously voted to formally recognize your sister as the rightful cultural ambassador for the Everhart bloodline.
The letter was signed by Rowan Thorne himself — her former Alpha, the man who had promised her everything before publicly humiliating her with his rejection. The signature was bold and slashing, taking up more space than necessary.
Alpha arrogance, even on paper.
Marigold stared at the letter, hardly believing the words before her.
"How could she?" she murmured, the betrayal cutting deeper with each second. "My own twin."
She forced herself to look back at her reflection.
Same emerald-green hair as Magnolia, though hers was pulled back in a severe bun while her sister always wore hers in loose waves.
Same sunset-orange eyes, though now hers were bloodshot and hollow. Same sprinkling of freckles across their noses that their mother used to call "fairy kisses."
But Magnolia had succeeded where Marigold had failed.
She had secured the pack's approval.
Had stolen it, rather.
The letter continued more salt in the wound.
Magnolia wishes to express that she harbors no ill will and hopes that, in time, you'll understand this transition was inevitable. She's quoted as saying, "My sister was always borrowing time in a role that should have been mine. The universe simply restored balance."
"Borrowing time? Restored Balanced?" Marigold's voice rose, echoing in the empty dressing room. "I earned every moment on that stage! Every blister, every broken toenail, every sixteen-hour rehearsal day!"
Her reflection showed a flash of something beyond pain — a spark of the fierce independence that had always made her different from the other omegas.
The spark that had probably doomed her from the start.
She let the letter fall to her lap, her mind racing through a kaleidoscope of memories —Magnolia watching from the wings during Marigold's solos, Magnolia's too-tight hugs after successful performances, Magnolia's "helpful" suggestions to Rowan about pack protocol that gradually isolated Marigold.
"It was all calculated," Marigold whispered, the realization washing over her like ice water. "Every smile, every sisterly word of encouragement. She was just waiting for me to fall."
The phone on her vanity buzzed with a text. Marigold glanced down to see Magnolia's name on the screen:
Hope you got the update from the pack. Just wanted to check if you're coming to tomorrow's performance. We could have dinner after. I'd love to hear what you think of my interpretation of the Black Swan's thirty-two fouettés. I've added my own little flourish to the ending. xoxo
Marigold stared at the message, feeling the knife twist deeper.
Unbelievable. Madness!
Her heart hammered against her ribs as if trying to escape the agony blooming inside her chest.
With trembling fingers, she crumpled the letter, the expensive paper crinkling like autumn leaves underfoot. The sound filled her dressing room — the same room where she'd once prepared for countless performances, now a mausoleum to her former life.
"She planned this," Marigold whispered, her voice barely audible even to herself. "All of it."
The letter compressed into a tight ball in her fist, each wrinkle another betrayal. Her sister hadn't just stolen her role — she'd methodically dismantled Marigold's entire existence: her career, her relationships, her pack, her identity.
"My own twin." The words caught in her throat as tears threatened again, having to repeat or else her mind would never accept such cruelty.Her sister…of blood, a reflection of herself could be so sinister.
She wouldn't cry.
Not anymore.
Magnolia had already taken enough.
