Sincerely, The Stranger You Call Sister

Year 1: Pride Before The Fall

"Hello" -Normal speech.

"Hello" -Parseltongue.

'Hello' -Thoughts/Silent telepathic twin-speech.

Hello -Writing.

..................................................................................

Dear Little Brother,

People tend to fantasize about being the hero. Whether it be a bank robbing, a mugging or a kidnapping, so long as it's high-stakes and your able to save yourself and others using only your skills and your wits. Bonus points if you get injured while saving the other victims.

Me? I was no different, although I'm a lot closer to an anti-hero than to an actual hero in real life. Be it as Olivia or Dorothy. If you pressed me, I wouldn't be able to tell you one grand, heroic thing I've done as Olivia. Save the damsels in distresses? I'd like to think so. Get back at the villains? Also-fucking-louetly.

But more often than not, I do those things by cheating, lying, using illegal and/or unhanded methods. Anything else is too minor of a favour to truly be called a sacrifice or heroic deed on my end.

As Dorothy...My time as Dorothy is even more murky, more jaded and thorny than as Olivia. I am a bitter, petty person who holds onto grudges like dragons hordes treasure. I am not selfless, not pure of heart or God forbid fucking naive. I am my first priority, and I offer no apologies about it.

Although I suppose I can tell you about the one heroic act on my part as Dorothy. It's as the stories say -my body moved on it's own, with zero time to second thing or reconsider. One second I was staring, as if a train crash was happening right front of me -stunned, horrified but unable to look away- and in the next second I'm falling down, down, and down.

What they don't explain is how your mind is still reeling after the fact hours later. How adrenaline and shock -and, oh, what a fucking punch they throw- numbs you to anything else. How your hands tremble, your knees buckling from underneath you if they don't lock you into place, unable to move and unable to breathe.

The damsels in distress are always thankful in the old stories. Swooning young ladies that fall into the knight's strong, capable arms, and flutter their eyelashes as they offer unimaginable riches and frame for the brave soul that rescued them -along with a kiss, of course.

But real life is hardly ever a fairytale (that's what makes them so appealing, after all) and not every damsel shows gratitude for your noble sacrifice.

It's a real bitter pill to swallow.

Sincerely,

The Stranger You Call Sister.

~xXx~

October 30th, 1938.

When I sneak back into my room at four o' clock in the morning, I'm immediately faced with both Aaron and Oscar's ire.

"Where did you go?" Aaron demands, tail flicking furiously.

"We could not find you!" Oscar agrees.

I groan, not having the energy to deal with their bullshite as I crawl into bed, hugging my blankets close. I swear, the snake brothers are resembling Tom more and more lately. Acting like I was gone for days when it was only a few hours..."I told you, didn't I? I had to ask the paintings if they saw who tripped Minerva."