She sacrificed her own sister to become rich… She came back to destroy me.

I walked to the end of that dark alley. The air changed as I approached her house. It became thick, smelling of sulfur, dried herbs, and something metallic, like old blood.

The door was open. Maman Dossou was waiting. She sat on a low stool, her skin like wrinkled parchment, her eyes two milky orbs that seemed to see right through my skin and into the rot of my soul. Red candles burned in the corners, their flames dancing to a rhythm I couldn’t hear.

“You have the hunger,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“I want to be rich,” I whispered. “I want them all to bow to me.”

She smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. “Wealth is a living thing, child. It does not grow from nothing. To receive, you must give. A balance must be maintained.”

“What is the price?” I asked. My heart was a drum in my chest.

“Not gold. Not silver. Those are the results, not the cause. You must give something precious. Something of your own blood. The stronger the love, the greater the wealth. The sacrifice must be someone who trusts you implicitly. Their life for your luxury.”

I felt a wave of nausea. I thought of Akosiwa. I thought of the way she smelled like shea butter and the red earth. I thought of her “Daughters of the Sun” sewing dream.

I stood up to run. “No. I can’t.”

“Go then,” Maman Dossou cackled. “Go back to your damp room. Go back to your hunger. Go back to being a shadow that no one sees. But remember… the moon is full in seven days. After that, the door closes forever.”

I didn’t sleep for three days. I walked the streets of the city, looking at the rich women in their Mercedes-Benzes. I saw them laughing, their skin glowing, their lives effortless. Then I looked at my own reflection in a shop window—haggard, dirty, invisible.

On the fourth night, I went back.

The Betrayal
The plan was simple. Maman Dossou gave me a bitter, sweet tea to drink. It made my heart feel like it was encased in ice. It numbed the part of me that was Adjoa, the sister. It left only Adjoa, the predator.

I called the village. I told Akosiwa I had found a job for her in the city. A prestigious sewing workshop. I told her I had a surprise. I told her I loved her.

She arrived three days later. She looked like a flower in that dusty bus station, wearing her yellow flowered dress, her bag full of dreams and thread.

“I knew you’d do it, Adjoa!” she cried, hugging me. “I prayed so hard!”

I couldn’t look her in the eye. I took her to my room. We spent two days together. She showed me her sketches—beautiful, intricate designs. “I’ll call it ‘Daughters of the Sun’,” she said, her eyes shining. “We’ll be partners.”

The night of the full moon arrived.

“There’s a party,” I told her. “In a neighborhood a bit far. We have to walk.”

She followed me without question. She trusted me. That was my weapon. That was the knife I used.

As we got closer to the alley, she slowed down. “Adjoa, I don’t like it here. It feels… cold.”

“Almost there, Akosi. Just around the corner.”

We entered the house. Maman Dossou was there. The red candles were screaming with light.

“What is this?” Akosiwa whispered, her voice trembling.

I didn’t answer. I stepped into the corner, into the shadows.

The ritual was not a dream. It was a nightmare of sound and motion. Maman Dossou had lied. She said Akosiwa would go in her sleep. But she didn’t.

Akosiwa fought. She saw me standing there. As the hands of the invisible world held her down, she looked at me. She didn’t scream for help. She didn’t curse me. She just looked at me with a question in her eyes that would haunt me for eternity.

Why, sister? Why you?

And then, the light in her eyes went out.

I ran from that house. I ran until my lungs burned. I ran until I collapsed in the street. The dogs howled as I passed. Even the moon seemed to turn its face away from me.

The Rise
Maman Dossou said it would take seven days. She was right.

Exactly one week later, I was walking down a main street when a car swerved to avoid a cat and hit a curb right in front of me. The man inside was a wealthy textile merchant. I helped him. I was charming. I was sharp. He hired me on the spot as an assistant.

Within a month, he was impressed by my “instincts.” Within three, I was his business partner. Everything I touched turned to gold. If I bought stock, it doubled. If I made a deal, it was the best in the country.

Money didn’t just come; it flooded.

I bought the mansion. I bought the cars. I met Kojo, a man of status and grace, and we married in a ceremony that was the talk of West Africa. I sent money to the village. I built my parents a palace. I told them Akosiwa had gone to Europe, that she was happy.

I had everything. I was the “Daughter of the Sun” now.

But the sun was cold.