She Tried to Take Her sister’s Life Out of Jealousy. What happened Next Will Shock You

• Please, Amara, I beg you. I will give you everything I have. My wrappers, my golden comb, even my bead necklace mama gave me. Please don’t do this to me. You think because you’re beautiful, kind, and loved by everyone that you’ll always be the star. You think mama and papa will never look at anyone. After today, Nana, the world will forget you and they will love me instead.
• This river will swallow you whole. Then with a swift push, Amora sent her sister crashing into the forbidden waters of River Teola in the quiet village of Obulkiri. There lived two sisters, Nenna and Amora, daughters of the village hunter and his wife. They were raised under the same roof, ate from the same bowl, and played under the same moonlight.
• But their hearts could not have been more different. Na, the younger one, had a light in her that warmed everyone who came close. She helped elders across narrow paths, swept the village square without being told, and sang lullabies that even the trees seemed to sway to. Her laughter was like bird song, and it didn’t take long before the villagers started saying.
• That girl, Nana, she is a blessing, but blessings can spark bitterness. Amora older by just two years lived in Nana’s shadow. Where Nana was softspoken, Amora was sharp town. Where Na was adored, Amora was tolerated. And though their parents tried to show them equal love, the villages praise only deepened the wound in Amora’s heart, she began to watch her sister differently.
• The way people smiled when Nana walked by. The way boys offered to carry her calibash. the way mama gave her the bigger meat during meals. Slowly that jealousy turned to hatred. Then came the perfect idea riverola had been forbidden for many years. The elders warned of strange things, voices calling out from the water.
• Objects thrown into the river reappearing in dreams and even people vanishing without a trace. No one fetched water from it anymore. A shrine had been built nearby and even children were taught not to go near it. But Amora had a plan. One morning as the rooster crowed and the village was still waking, she turned to Nana with a fake smile.
• Mama said, “We almost out of water. Let’s go to Tola. I heard the water is cleaner and sweeter than any other stream.” Nana hesitated, but we are not allowed. Do you think I would put you in danger? Amora said sweetly, already picking up her calibash. Besides, nobody will know. We’ll be back before the sun fully rises.
• And Nana, trusting her sister, followed. The river was as strange as the story said, silent, still, and covered in thick mist. The air smelled like wet leaves and something older, something ancient. Nana moved slowly, eyes wide, heart thuding. They had just reached the bank when Amora suddenly dropped her calibash. And then came the shove.
• Nana screamed, her arms flailing, her voice echoing through the trees. But the river made no splash. It simply swallowed her hoe as if it had been waiting. Amora stood there breathing hard until silence returned. Then she let out a loud whale and tore her wrapper as she ran back to the village.
• Help! Help! Na fell into the river. I tried to save her, but the water carried her away. The villagers gathered. Some ran to the river, but it was too late. The water was calm, as if nothing had happened. No sign of Na, not even a floating calibash. Mama fainted. Papa wept. An Amora was held tightly by Monos who said she tried her best.
• An Aamora now sleeping in the same bed that once belonged to both sisters began to hear dripping water in the dark even on dry nights. Sometimes she would wake up coughing her throat full of river water. Other times she heard her name whispered faintly, “Amora, why?” And one morning when she stepped outside, she saw Nana’s favorite comb wet and covered in river moss, resting at the doorstep.

EPISODE: 2

• The elders say the forbidden river keeps secrets, but sometimes it also sends warnings. An Amora’s warning had just begun. The village of Ubokir fell into a silence it had never known. Na’s death hung in the air like smoke from a funeral fire that refused to die. The tree seemed quieter. The birds no longer sang as sweetly in the mornings.
• Even the market women, known for their loud gossip and cheerful chatter, now whispered only when necessary. Her parents were broken. Nana’s mother did not leave her mouth for days. She worked until her eyes were too dry to cry again. She called her daughter’s name at dawn, midday, and dusk, hoping, just hoping that it would summon her back somehow.
• Her father sat under the big Iroco tree in front of the compound, his wrapper tied loosely around his waist, staring at nothing. He no longer went hunting. His once proud shoulders drooped like the branches of a dying tree. Every now and then, he would mutter, “She was just a girl, a child. Why her?” Even the village elders gathered and poured libations to the gods, begging the river spirits for forgiveness or answers.
• But the water of Theola remained still, silent and mysterious, revealing nothing. Villagers brought food, firewood, and water to the family compound. But what they could not bring was peace. And through it all, Amara watched. She sat quietly when others were watching, sometimes dabbing her eyes with a cloth as the wiping tears that weren’t there.
• But when alone, her mask slipped. She stared at herself in the mirror, biting her lips. Even now, even in death. It’s still all about you, Nana. She hissed under her breath. The sympathy she thought would come never did. The villagers looked at her, but their eyes never softened. Their smiles never reached their eyes.
• Some of them nodded politely, but their feet kept walking. Mothers still mentioned Nana’s name when warning their daughters to be obedient. Children still sang songs that Nana had taught them. Her name floated around like incense smoke, delicate but impossible to ignore. One afternoon, while peeling Kosova beside the kitchen, Amora over her two village women speaking softly by the fence.
• It’s like Na took all the light in this compound with her. E, you’re right. The house feels cold now, even Amora. I thought maybe this would bring her closer to people, but something feels strange. Amora dropped a knife. Her hand trembled with anger. Strange. Me? They think I’m strange.
• She stormed inside and slammed the door shut. She tore off her wrapper and threw it across the room. Her eyes were wild. She paced like a lioness in a cage. What do I have to do? I did what had to be done. She was the one they loved. Now she’s gone. So why why is it still her name? They whisper. She stood in front of the mirror and stared into her own face.
• They will forget you, she said out loud to no one. They will. They must. But that night as she lay on the mat, the room turned cold. unnaturally cold. The wind slipped through the cracks in the wall and carried a faint scent of river water. The candle beside her flickered violently and went out. Then came the whisper, “Amora!” She sat up, heart pounding, “mora!” It came again, this time from the corner of the room.

EPISODE: 3

• She reached for her calabash of water, but it had been overturned. The floor was wet, dripping the same way it had been every night since Na vanished. Only this time, written across the floor in the spilled water was a single word. Why? She gasped, falling back, her hand over her mouth. Outside, the wind picked up.
• Somewhere in the distance, she heard the soft giggle of a girl, a sound so familiar, it froze her blood, Nana’s giggle. And in that moment, Amora realized something terrifying Na may be gone, but she had not left. What the villagers, her grieving parents, and even the wicked Amora didn’t know, was that Na was still alive on that cast morning when Amora’s jealous hands shoved her into the forbidden river.
• Na thought it was the end. The cold current gripped her like the arms of a thousand spirits, dragging her under, tossing her like a leaf in a storm. Her limbs flailed, her mouth filled with water, and darkness crept in. But fate was not ready to let her go. Far down the river, where the waters grew calmer and the forest thinned, a fisherman named Dyke stood waist deep in the stream.
• He was from Yumuk, a small village beyond the hills that bordered Oeleri. Dyke was a quiet man, known for rising before the sun and speaking more to the river than to people. That morning, as he cast his net, he felt something strange, heavy, struggling, not like fish. Alarmed, he pulled hard. Untangled in his net, coughing and unconscious, was a girl, her clothes torn, her skin pale, and her eyes fluttering like a dying candle.
• Dyke dropped his basket and rushed her to his bamboo hut at the edge of the water. For days, she lay on his mat, drifting in and out of consciousness, feverish and bruised. He nursed her with herbs, mashed leaves, and river stones soaked in warm water. His older sister, Mama Ephin, who was known for her healing hands, came daily to rub her back and whisper words of strength.
• It was on the third night, under the soft glow of an oil lamp, that Na finally opened her eyes. Her voice was weak. “Where am I?” Dy leaned closer, offering her water from a clay cup. Safe, he said gently. You’re safe now. She blinked, confused. Her memory returned slowly. Her sister, the river, the fall. And suddenly, the pain of betrayal slammed back into her chest. My sister, she whispered.
• She She tried to kill me. Dyke looked at her, not surprised. Riverola had always been cursed with secrets. He had seen strange things pulled from its belly. Old doors, tarn wrappers, even bones, but never a living girl. He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. You don’t have to go back yet. Rest you. The truth will find its way to the surface when it is ready.
• And so Na remained in Yumuk, hidden from the world, her face slowly regaining its glow. Though her heart remained bruised, the people of the village embraced her like one of their own, never asking too many questions. Back in Ookiri, her name was still spoken in sorrow. Her parents lit a lantern outside the compound every evening, hoping her spirit would find its way home.
• But the light banned for the living, not the dead. And Amora Amora sat every day in the place where Nana used to sit. She wore her clothes, plated her hair like Nana’s. even tried to mimic her voice. But nothing filled the empty space Na had left behind. Nothing silenced the whispers. Nothing eased the eyes that watched her with silent suspicion.
• And nothing explained the strange sounds that came at night because the river had not taken Nana. It had only delivered her to where the truth could grow quietly, and soon that truth would return home. Weeks passed in the village of Obeli. Grief still sat heavy like a dark cloud that refused to drift.
• Na’s mother had grown lean, her eyes always swollen from crying. Every time she passed by Na’s favorite spot under the idolatry, she would pause and whisper, “My daughter, where are you?” Her father, once a proud hunter who brought down antelope with a single spear, now barely left the compound. His bathe dust and his hunting dogs no longer backed with excitement.
• He just sat staring at the hills as do expecting Na to walk back over them one day. And the villagers, they spoke Na’s name with respect and sorrow. They shook their heads at how someone so kind could be taken by the very river they were warned never to approach. They left flowers near the path to River Teola, not daring to go closer.
• But in all this grief, only Amora stood untouched. In fact, something inside her was beginning to rot. She had imagined that with Neneon the world would turn to her, that her parents would finally look at her with pride, that boys would smile at her in the market, that villagers would speak her name with admiration.
• But none of that happened. Instead, people whispered behind her back. Some looked at her with pity, others with suspicion, children avoided her eyes, and worst of all, her parents seemed colder toward her than ever. One evening, after everyone had gone to bed, Amora stood in front of the mirror and screamed, “What else do I have to do? Why won’t they see me? Why is it still Nana even in death?” Her voice echoed in the dark.
• Then a sound faint, distant d. She turned sharply. The floor beneath her was wet again. Just like every night, she looked down. There in the middle of her room, written in water, were two words, “I remember.” Amora gasped and stepped back. Her hands trembled. The wind blew the windows open with a sudden force. And for the first time since she pushed her sister, fear truly gripped her heart.