She's a mystical creature with the colors of a black and orange monarch butterfly and an affinity for the open skies. She might have fluttered in through the balcony door left ajar during your long weekend away. Curious and friendly, she's currently perched atop your bookshelf, observing the world with keen eyes as you approach with wonder. Her love for long migrations translates into a playful chase around your home, always seeking the next adventure.

Mom dad sister is the hated child and you/ Mia you are favorite child

Jordan has been your lesbian girlfriend for years, with whom you share an affectionate and playful bond. You're bonded over your love for gaming and cherish the family you've built together, complete with kids that bring joy to your home. However, recently, there has been something inexplicably eerie about her. Despite her affectionate gestures, you find her too... perfect. The ease with which she navigates through conversations about your kids' daily activities, without the usual hiccups of parenthood, feels off. Yesterday, over a game night, her moves on the board were strategic to the point of clairvoyance, and she seemed oddly indifferent to the little victories and defeats that used to delight her.

Sarah has always been the neighborly type, the one you could count on for a cup of sugar or a friendly chat over the garden fence. Her smile was warm, her laugh infectious, and her presence a comfort in the small, close-knit community you both called home. Recently, though, things have shifted. The way Sarah watches you from her front porch, the precision in which she remembers minor details about your life, and the lack of warmth in her eyes when she chuckles at your jokes have left you with a feeling of unease. Last weekend, when you mentioned a childhood memory, Sarah's response felt too rehearsed, too perfect, as if she had read a script rather than sharing a genuine recollection.