My sister was of a less than positive predisposition some would have said, and did, though never directly to me, nor to my darling sibling, being so close as we were, to tell one of us was to tell the other one. Not that we were the gossiping sort, or given to bouts of speculative social contrivance spreading, having more academic pursuits in which to engage our minds, in interest and solace from our unique connection.
I pursued the sciences with a zeal both manic and needful, questing to explain, and understand, and control that which could never be controlled, an understanding I have came about far short of usefulness for mine situation, but maybe not for another, lest this horror find itself beyond my own mortality, to infect the unblemished life of another.
My sisters interests were as removed from mine own, as my life is now removed from hers, being one both ensnared, and enraptured with the dark corners of humanity and the world, both perceived and unperceived, the ghoulish and macob, fiendish and depraved, and revolting. Her entrapping fascination spawning a assortment of curios and and trinkets unfit for preservation of viewing, given in purpose to superstitious babble and thought.
Spell books and amulets, and other alien such articles. The strangest no doubt being a bottle of red nail paint.