What returned from the woods is not my brother. It wears his face, and acts enough like him that I can pretend, but its disguise is not quite. Where once my brother's eyes were dull with acceptance now shine with defiance. Where my brother's hands were rough and calloused from unending chores are now smooth, fingers flighty with mischief. My parents now faced a righteous son rather than the meek boy they were so fond of belittling.

I think it’s a changeling, I’ve heard tales about them before, creatures that take children and return them with broken copies. I imagine my brother is still alive, and I somehow know that he’s okay. He is with the fae, and the fae are treating him like their own, unlike his natural parents.

For now, I will act as though I see no stranger of this thing that has taken my brother's place. Let this changeling protect me…let this changeling take the blame for what I must do for us both.