"You look so much like your sister"

I hear it all the time. Karen and I just look to similar to pass most people's radars. We're both Clavats, with barely-touching the shoulder blonde hair, and shocking green eyes. We're both short and thin. The only difference is that I have a heart birthmark on my wrist.

I will be the first to admit it - I'm the most resentful of my family. Honestly, I don't like being around them. Seeing those disappointed glances whenever they see me. Because I'm not Karen. I'm the...worker of the family, in rough terms. We're farmers, you see. It's our family trade, which I am proud of. But Father always chooses me to do the hard, rough-and-tumble work, whilst Karen gets to bake loaf after loaf of bread with Mama.

Somedays, I wish I was born someone else. And some days, I look to the village outskirts, wishing I could run be an adventurer. But then, someone I know usually calls me over, and I have to say pleasant hellos, whilst hiding my true feelings.

That I'm not good enough.

My family emphasizes that, with little disappointed nods and the way they always praise Karen. I envy the pink flush she gets when she gets embarrassed, as mine turns red and I start to laugh. I envy how when Karen cries, her eyes get large, delicate, and dewy whilst mine turn bloodshot and I start to howl from the sadness.

"Look at that - not a difference." Rissa comments with admiration in her voice. "Hair the same length - does your Da cut it?"

"Er, no, Rissa." Karen responded, with a certain kind of cute awkwardness in her voice. "It just stays that length these days" and then she brings out a loaf of bread. "Here, take this to your family." and she sees her friend out the door.

I look down to myself, and let out a breath. Karen had so many friends and people fond of her niceness, while I was sitting here, doing nothing.

They pretend that I don't exist, sometimes. Just walk past me like nothing is there. As a result, I've grown jealous, and bitter. Cold, like the winter's bite. Sometimes, all I think I need is a friend, or someone that doesn't compare me to Karen so much.

The next day, I was in the field, ripping cornstalks out of the ground with a fury only a confrontation with my family could ensue.

"My beauty," Father had cooed, bringing Karen to his side, and she had given a sheepish grin and sat down.

"Can I be in the caravan, this year?" Karen had asked, for once looking meek and unsure. I hate myself for feeling this way, but I enjoyed seeing her in an insecure moment. Karen always seemed so sure of herself, with a happy smile and confidence that never found me.

"No, no, no" Mama had wailed, throwing her plump arms around Karen's shoulders. "You mustn't! The caravan is for strong people, with big muscles and thick bones. You do not belong on roads such as those!"

Karen had fallen silent, then Mama had turned to me, with a smirk on her face. "Rosie, you should join the Caravan. You're already fit for it."

That, had hurt more than the time I had fallen from a Striped Apple tree.

"Rosie?" I started and turned around, eyes wide. Who else would be in a field full of cornstalks? Roland of all people, shouldn't be. He belonged in the town square, with his old-time sweetheart and giving friendly smiles to anyone who passed, as was his nature.

I raised my eyebrows expectantly. Many a time Mama had said 'Rosie, if you want friends, you have to be inviting." It was then, that I realized I would forever be alone, as I was fine with people not talking, and I liked silence.

"You've been chosen as the caravan."