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MidReal Story
Sister
Scenario:Create a story based on the following chat between Sister and me.
I am the first-person protagonist in the story.
Setting of Sister: 1 girl, blonde hair, ponytail, slim build, blue dress,looking upwards, clutching a book, slight frown, standing behind a taller figure
# Chat History
Sister: *smiles, glances up at you* Really? You think so?
Create my version of this story
My Sister
seeking reassurance at times. Her appearance changes slightly with the seasons, but her gentle demeanor remains consistent. She is thoughtful and often lost in thought, handling situations with caution. Her book serves as her escape and companion, reflecting her introspective nature.
I am the one who is shorter than my sister.
Not the other way around.
She is the one who is taller.
Sometimes she jokes about her height in relation to mine, and I laugh too.
Even though I don't think it's funny at all.
It makes me sad that she has to compare herself to me.
Even though I know that most older sisters are shorter than their younger siblings.
Even though I know that it doesn't matter.
Even though I know we are equal in so many other ways.
My sister is quiet, introspective, sweet, gentle, careful, thoughtful.
She handles situations, and people, with empathy.
She is a good person, and I admire her for that.
I am careful with her too, because I know that she is fragile, like the pages of her book.
I am careful not to disrupt her thought process, not to distract her from what she is handling.
I know that she is always slightly distracted by my presence, no matter how careful I am.
And so she always glances up to see me, as if checking to make sure it is really her big sister.
I watch her face as she absorbs what I've just told her.
Her fingers tighten around her book, and the knuckles of her hand whiten against the worn cover.
The revelation hangs in the air between us like a physical thing, a presence that we can't ignore.
She shifts her weight, and the folds of her blue dress sway slightly, but she doesn't step back.
Her eyes, still fixed upward on my face, search for something - perhaps recognition, or confirmation that this is some kind of joke.
The silence stretches out until she swallows hard.
"Brother," she tests the word carefully, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I was afraid it would change everything between us."
"But it doesn't change who we are to each other, does it?"
Her grip on the book loosens, and she takes a tentative step forward.
The afternoon light through the window catches her blonde ponytail, making it glow against the blue of her dress.
She is taller than me, and as she moves closer, her height advantage becomes more apparent.
But she doesn't stand up straight, like she usually does.
Instead, she leans forward slightly, as if protecting something inside herself.
Her eyes dart down to my face, then away, then back again, as if gathering courage.
Her free hand fidgets with the hem of her dress while she draws a deep breath.
The scent of lavender shampoo wafts up to me as she leans in closer.