obsession in a young man's game

His life was but a magic act and he was a man of the Prestige. He would always hold the finesse and grace of a skilled hunter while pressing wolves with the fierce and cunning skills that a fighter used to slay his foes. The fact was Angier thought he was perfect and nothing could be better than him. His ego was his hamartia as he would go to extreme lengths in order to prove he was the better brother. He could pull of the best trick of them all: pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He had been pretending to be someone other than Angier Turn since his exile. His exile had wounded his ego and his soul that he almost gave up. It had been four or five words his sister whispered during his leave that made him more confident in himself. Angier, it wasn’t your fault. The words had been an anvil that had been lifted from his chest and his mind. His sister didn’t hate him.

His sister had meant the world to him and he had constantly been battling for her affections and friendship and love with his brother. Of course, he did not like her in an incestuous way but she was the closest thing he had to a friend. The bane, the odd man out, in the Turn family, needed a bit of friendship in his life. He wasn’t a Turn; he wasn’t a Pledge. He was the Prestige. He pondered these thoughts as he walked through the snow laden forest that his ventures had brought him to. His fur was covered with bits of white. Snow covered his pelt up to the top of his head as the storm raged around him. The winter had been a fierce one and he was looking for a reprieve.
"Abracadabra" - My Secrets