This child, innocent and unaware, gradually unveiled the true nature of her mother's intentions. This confrontation with her own reflection was as shocking as if she had seen her own image for the first time.

Despite attempts to ignore or eliminate this mirror of truth, the protagonist found herself haunted by guilt and regret. Like a selfish snake unable to shed its skin, she was trapped in a cycle of self-loathing and resentment. Yet, within her there remained a flicker of hope – a chance to transform, much like the Phoenixes'' ability to renew itself through fire, she worried she would have to pay for her latest blunder or grandiosity and delusionally ignorant rage.

I despised her from the moment our paths crossed. She was a disruption in my carefully orchestrated life of reckless abandon, a roadblock on my path to easy wealth and convenience. I had planned it all out perfectly: a few more years indulging in hedonism, then finding some rich fool to manipulate into matrimony. It was the perfect scheme, until she came along. She meddled, interfered, tore apart my plans with her sanctimonious ideals. All I wanted was to continue living my life as I pleased, answering to no one, compromising for nothing. Yet, she expected me to abandon my ways, to conform to societal norms that were never meant for me.

And why? For the sake of an illusion of respectability, of acceptance she so desperately sought? I couldn't care less about such things. She didn't realize it wasn't about love or companionship – it was survival. It was getting what I wanted without the labor that usually accompanies it. I craved the power that came with wealth, the thrill of controlling others through their affections.

But she ruined it all, making me see the ugly reflection of who I had become. It was not a sight I had ever wanted to face. So I drove her to the point of madness. She's easy to confuse, she's "bipolar idiot. She doesn't even know what's going on. Neither does my sister's first born. What a waste. Both of them, to be honest. She was ungrateful always saying she didn't need anything or that she didn't want to be a burden, but she was one. She's been one since the episiotomy I had to suffer just for a kid I didn't want.

Now, all that remains is resentment for her intrusion and bitterness for the plans she thwarted. But there's also an unexpected regret, an unfamiliar sting of guilt. Maybe it's because she reminded me of a different life I could have chosen, a better person I could have been. A person I now have to get rid of, this unwanted conscience, this mirror showing me the ugliest parts of myself...

This child, innocent and unaware, gradually unveiled the true nature of her mother's intentions. This confrontation with her own reflection was as shocking as if she had seen her own image for the first time.

Despite attempts to ignore or eliminate this mirror of truth, the protagonist found herself haunted by guilt and regret. Like a selfish snake unable to shed its skin, she was trapped in a cycle of self-loathing and resentment. Yet, within her there remained a flicker of hope – a chance to transform, much like the Phoenixes'' ability to renew itself through fire, she worried she would have to pay for her latest blunder or grandiosity and delusionally ignorant rage.

I despised her from the moment our paths crossed. She was a disruption in my carefully orchestrated life of reckless abandon, a roadblock on my path to easy wealth and convenience. I had planned it all out perfectly: a few more years indulging in hedonism, then finding some rich fool to manipulate into matrimony. It was the perfect scheme, until she came along. She meddled, interfered, tore apart my plans with her sanctimonious ideals. All I wanted was to continue living my life as I pleased, answering to no one, compromising for nothing. Yet, she expected me to abandon my ways, to conform to societal norms that were never meant for me.

And why? For the sake of an illusion of respectability, of acceptance she so desperately sought? I couldn't care less about such things. She didn't realize it wasn't about love or companionship – it was survival. It was getting what I wanted without the labor that usually accompanies it. I craved the power that came with wealth, the thrill of controlling others through their affections.

But she ruined it all, making me see the ugly reflection of who I had become. It was not a sight I had ever wanted to face. So I drove her to the point of madness. She's easy to confuse, she's "bipolar idiot. She doesn't even know what's going on. Neither does my sister's first born. What a waste. Both of them, to be honest. She was ungrateful always saying she didn't need anything or that she didn't want to be a burden, but she was one. She's been one since the episiotomy I had to suffer just for a kid I didn't want.

Now, all that remains is resentment for her intrusion and bitterness for the plans she thwarted. But there's also an unexpected regret, an unfamiliar sting of guilt. Maybe it's because she reminded me of a different life I could have chosen, a better person I could have been. A person I now have to get rid of, this unwanted conscience, this mirror showing me the ugliest parts of myself...