Snow dusted my outstretched hand as I reached the tomb.  Her face, that mysterious girl's, swam into view again—dark brown eyes fixed on mine.

A wish bloomed, unspoken, in my head, my heart hammering.  The air iced over, a blizzard erupting around me, white blurring my vision.  Falling, tumbling scenes—a kaleidoscope of memory—flashed before my eyes until I succumbed to darkness.

"Just let it flow," she whispered, her voice gentler this time.  I closed my eyes, breathed deep against the storm within, then opened them, my fingers already reaching for my violin case, lifting it to my shoulder.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I drew the bow across the strings.  The haunting melody of the mysterious woman lingered, yet it struggled against the cacophony of negative voices dragging me under.

"I wish everything would go back to normal," I whispered, surrendering to the music as it unfurled. The first notes erupted in chaos, my parents' angry voices rising, echoing through my mind. I paused, steeling myself for what lay ahead.

"You can do this, Adi," I murmured, taking a deep breath, settling myself. The music resumed, heartbreaking, relentless.

I closed my eyes, letting the precious fragments of my past surface—broken pieces knitting together. Images flooded my mind, a kaleidoscope of memories, until, in the stillness, I whispered, "Kali.”

My eyes snapped open.  The blizzard ceased, instantly.  A pristine, white landscape stretched before me, the tombs cloaked in a fresh blanket of snow.  And there, shimmering, ethereal figures of purest white.  I blinked, focusing, until they resolved into the smiling faces of my parents.  Emerald eyes, Mum's familiar cascade of brown hair, Dad's curls, black as night.

"What—" I began, voice catching.

"We heard the song," Dad said, his voice a low, resonant hum.  "The song our little Kali composed for you.”

“How can this— How can this be happening?” I stammered, eyes wide as I lowered my instrument.  Tears froze on my cheeks, spent from the weight of the truth.

“Hush now, my dear Adrielle,” Mum whispered, her smile soft and soothing, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

I swallowed hard, frozen in place, adrift in disbelief.  Was this real, or a cruel trick of my mind, a prelude to something terrible?

"You play beautifully, as always," Dad said, his voice warm.  "Kali could have been your singer. She's bound to music, too. Said she was inspired by you.”

"Oh, Kalista could have been," Mum echoed, the repetition of that name striking me like a volley of tiny arrows.  The memory of Kali, now resurfacing, only deepened the wound.  The girl's wish from that night clawed its way back to the surface. My grip on my violin and bow tightened, anger bubbling up.

"What is it with Kalista? Why? Why do you keep saying that name?" I demanded, my voice rising. "Why do you keep favouring her?  It's enough that I forgot her already!”

"Adrielle, dear," Mum said, approaching me, her voice gentle. "We both love you with all our hearts."

"Then why Kalista, always Kalista? Why am I even here? Erase my memories—I don't care if it's all of them, not just my adopted sister's," I cried out.

The lights surrounding my parents intensified, coalescing into a single, brilliant being. A woman, radiant in golden light, with long, wavy hair cascading to her hips.  "Who are you? What is happening to me?" I sobbed, my violin and bow clattering to the ground unnoticed. I stumbled backward, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"Don't be afraid, Adrielle," the woman said, her voice thoughtful, sending shivers down my spine. I paused, hands clutching my hair. "I am the spirit of these hills. I have known you and your family since your traditions began."

"If you're the spirit," I pleaded, "can you erase all my memories?  No more voices—I just want a normal life!”

The spirit's touch was cold against my cheeks, a chilling echo of nostalgia.  "My dear Adi," she whispered, stirring up a torrent of memories—happy moments with my family, with Kalista, before I left home. "Your Mum and Dad love you both equally.  You see, dear, people only see what they want to see," she added softly.

"Perhaps you were blinded by jealousy. Kali loved you very much, too. She wanted to be like you. Even wrote a song for you," the spirit explained.

"Then why did she wish for this? Why did she wish for my life to be ruined?" I cried, tears blurring my vision.

"Are you sure?" the spirit questioned.  Her hand withdrew, and in a blink, I was back in our old house. Kalista sat by her mirror, singing her song, then clutching her chest, collapsing. Time skipped, jumping ahead to Kali in the hospital, watching television.  As she removed her bonnet, her hair—the braids I'd made—was gone.

"Kali's—" I began, but the spirit interrupted.

"Kalista was sick from a young age, even when you first met her. Before she passed, she deeply admired you and composed that song. Her condition worsened after your parents died, and she didn't want to jeopardize your career, so she kept it hidden," the spirit explained. "Every day she suffered, afraid that having a sick sister might harm your fame. Then one day…"  The spirit trailed off, and Kalista, with her long, healthy hair, appeared before us, gazing at the distant horizon.

"I wish my sister will be happy now. If my life ending will make us both happy, then I'll gladly accept it," I heard Kalista whisper, tears in her eyes, yet a smile on her lips.

"Every first snowfall, the same wish escaped her lips. Each time, it went deeper, as her illness worsened," the spirit continued.  I wept, time skipping forward again, to Kalista, the image of her with her hair lost once more reappeared.  She turned, meeting my gaze. "Do you want me to grant your wish? You'll forget about Kalista, about your parents. You'll live a normal life, free from the painful past, the jealousy that consumed you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the world dissolved into a blur.  When I opened my eyes again, a figure stood before me. "Kali?" I whispered, uncertainty clinging to my voice.