Twin Destinies - Prologue

There were not many times in her young life that Allarielle could remember being unhappy. Life could get complicated and a little hectic, but she had never been truly unhappy; until this day. The feelings of  deep seated fury were coursing through her veins like molten lava, but the worst part was that it wasn’t directed at anyone in specific. It would have been more tolerable if she had a reason to be mad, if there was someone in the world who had wronged her and she could be angry with. As it stood, she was simply angry at the world, at the seemingly immeasurable amounts of injustice that ran deep in the soil.

Your brother is coming up the path.

         She glanced up, brushing chocolate strands of hair from her eyes. Her brother was easy to spot even from this distance, coppery hair glinting like fire in the sunlight. She would not have noticed his approach for several more minutes if it wasn’t for her guardian’s sharp awareness.

Are you ever going to tell me how you do that, Celessa?

I just do , came the simple reply.

         Allarielle stood and wiped her dirty hands on the front of her dress, which was already streaked with mud. Her brother was close now, close enough to hear him when he called her name.

“Allara,” He called, “Are you almost done? I can’t finish making dinner without those vegetables.”

“I just finished with the last of the carrots,” She told him, picking up the basket, “Who’s keeping an eye on mom?”

“She’s fine, she’s taking a nap,” Royce told her, “Today is an okay day for her.”

         Allara merely nodded as they made their way back to the small house they called home, Celessa not far behind. She had chosen the form of a fox today and was enjoying running through the garden beside them; Allara could feel her simply joy coursing through her as if it were her own, a stark contrast to the dark and suffocating anger that really belonged to her. It was a nice change.

“This is her fourth okay day in a row,” Allara said matter - of - factly, half to herself and half to Royce

         Beside her, her brother nodded. They both knew what that meant. Their mother was almost as dependable as the sunlight, but it brought them no joy. She would have four to six okay days in a row, then one really good and lucid one. That was when the worst came. After that one really lucid day, there came the two to four horrible ones. Horrible days where she would forget who she was, who they were and where she was. There was only the three of them, Allara, Royce and their mother, so on those bad days it was up to her and her brother to watch over her; bathe her and feed her and make sure she didn’t wander off or hurt herself. It had been this way for years; her father had been “missing” since she was five. She couldn’t say where he was or what he was doing, or why he had deemed his family as not good enough for his presence. She had asked her mother once and never gotten a straight answer: all Alethea had said was that he’d had to go away. That was the last time Allara ever asked.

         Everything had been okay for those first few years. Alethea was a strong woman, determined to provide for her young children. There hadn’t been a lot of work for a single mother, but they had done okay selling vegetables and meat pies to the people in the town just down the road. Then, sometime before Allara’s tenth birthday, it had happened. She still couldn’t really explain what “it” was. She just knew that one day, her mother’s beautiful mind snapped like a brittle twig under foot. For no apparent reason, Alethea stopped thinking like a conscious, rational being. That was the day Allara’s childhood ended; the day the anger came.

         She opened the door to their humble abode and was greeted with the delicious smell of vegetable soup and freshly baked bread. They had long since come to the agreement that since Allara couldn’t cook to save their lives, she would do the gardening and Royce could do the cooking.

         Her attention was drawn to a small bed in the back corner of the house, one of three, from where she could hear a soft snoring. Her mother was there, sleeping peacefully, her guardian sleeping on her chest in the form of a small but common house cat. Looking at her now, no one would be able to know the turmoil that burned in those pretty hazel eyes.

“Take what you need,” She said then, motioning to the basket, “I’ll wash the rest and cut them up for later.”

         He took three of the biggest carrots from the basket and took up his spot with the soup. Allara busied herself with the carrots, comforted by the sound of her mother’s sleeping. Celessa took up a spot on their small table, watching with half closed eyes as the two young children moved about the house.

“Where’s Calydor?” She asked as she peeled the vegetables

“Chasing sprites,” He answered without looking up, “You know him, always making mischief.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” She shot back, smiling

         They said nothing then, slipping into their daily routine of making dinner in the companionable silence they shared as siblings brought together by strife. It wasn’t the life of most young children, or even the life that she would have chosen for herself, but it was hers. And if she had known then just how soon, how abruptly it would all be ripped so cruelly away from her, perhaps she would have taken a moment to tell her family once more how she loved them.