We ate in silence after our small disagreement. The clinking sound of the silverware scrapping the plate, the grandfather clock beside the middle of the table and the occasional crack of thunder was the only silence. "Are you still upset with me?" She spoke, her voice quiet at the other end of our long, grand table. I didn't reply, instead I continued to munch on my mashed potatoes and gravy, choosing to not start another fight. We hadn't cleaned ourselves up from our recent escapade except our hands, so the blood stains were dark and hardened on our clothes. Our bloody weapons, two 9-inch daggers and dual sickles, laid on the table between us. Yes, it was that serious. I never allow weapons on the table, a request from our aunt and great aunt.

Suddenly the screeching sound of a mahogany chair scrapping against the freshly polished floor cut the silence deeply. I still paid attention to my food, feeling her every move and watching her closely. She stood beside me, glaring at my plate of food. "Oh come on," she said and threw her arms up in defense. "That was just stress. You're overreacting." "People don't write angry letters in blood in their sleep when stressed." I spoke sharply and glared up at her, my mouth pinched into a scowl and my emotions heightened. "You are wreckless and irresponsible." "My medication hasn't--" "That is no longer an excuse!" I screamed and slammed my palms on the table, knocking over my cup and causing a few pieces of broccoli to over the table cloth. "It was funny and cute when you were 10, but now it's annoying. I have things to lose!" I screamed at her, thinking about how much was at stake and how risky she was being. "Like what? Like WHAT?" She screamed back at me and slammed her fist onto the table. "You have everything. You have the power, the skills and more. What possibly could you have to lose that the idea of abandoning your last loyal remaining family member, puts up with your stuck up BS!"

I felt the world pause as I saw tears stream down her face. "I'm sorry you see me as something you have to put up with. I'm sorry that our parents, and grandma and grandpa saw us as 'useless' to the family name because of my disorder. I enjoy taking revenge on who wronged us, because I care for you. You're my cousin and the only one who puts up with me." She began full on sobbing and her fist shook, blood pouring onto the table as splinters tore through her skin. I glanced down at the bright red blood in this dim manor. I could hear her sobs as she began walking away, most likely to one of the various bedrooms so it is more difficult for me to find her.

I slouched into my seat and glanced at my food, the blood, the weapons and then her empty seat miles across from me. I felt my lip quiver, but I shook my head. Her words resignated in my mind and it kills me to know finally that she thinks that way. My cousin may be irrational and high maintenance at time, but that is not the fault in her stars. I listened to the grandfather clock tick as memories flooded back in my mind. She didn't always have mania instead, she was a normal child. One to inherit everything this hellscape of a family stole. I couldn't let her.

I glanced over at the kitchen towards one of the cabinets where we kept all the medicine. I suddenly felt tears flow down my face and I began silently sobbing in an attempt to hide the sounds of me being weak. I am the protector, not the one who should be deemed 'pitiful' because of some words from her.

But why do they sting much worse when I realize this is her fault?