she's fanged and armed with a pairing knife; this is your fault, she says, and you believe her because she's pretty, prettier than you'll ever be (her hair falls down her back in ringlets and she's you, but just not close enough- you'll never make her your twin, but you'll try, god, you'll try) and then she's down at your thighs, sawing away, and she's up near your shoulders and suddenly you're dainty and small and dad! grandma! aren't you proud? i did it! but there's blood pouring out your mouth and god does it hurt.