The Girl of Shadows [COMPLETE]

Twenty-Five

["Your voice sang melodies in my ear, ancient songs long before I heard you speak." -Elise]

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May 22, 2190 - May 30, 2196
It all started from the beginning ; where the bright hospital lights shone in our closed eyes, giving sight to our parents that their identical twin daughters held hands in the womb. Squealing as a baby did, our grip was torn and our lives in the cruel world began.

From the small age of three months, I remembered seeing Maren for the first time. Who was this person? And why did she look like I do?

I had many questions for such a small child, almost too inquisitive for my parents' discretion. It was just us, bonding over the things only we understood. And I guess it was inevitable, as we shared features not many had the chance of.

Our first birthday. Full of the color pink - though both of us were unfamiliar with color names at the time - feeling dazed at the sudden screams of relatives as we ate cake in our overused highchairs. Man, this is way too messy. Even for me. I thought.

At bedtime, one of us would manage to squeeze ourselves into the other's crib, feeling the warmth of another presence. That was the first mistake our parents made - having us share a room. But we both knew it was worth the muffled scolding, for we had each other.

Memories spent at Lake Michigan's beach, feeling the sand between our freshly painted toes. Building sand castles and giving the crabs homes, as well as burying dad in the sand. All of it made me miss those times.

Then the day the both of us rued, feeling the pain we felt at the ripe old age of four. The day we were diagnosed with the forbidden, most looked down upon, known as the infamous Sporadic Youthful Neurological Disease. Maren and I'd watch our sobbing parents across the doctor's office once they received the news.

And everything went downhill from there.

Our parents worked a lot, so Maren and I spent most of our time with our C Type grandparents. They taught us things - important things - such as useful life skills and table manners. Their kindness was something I'll forever miss, craving that parental care I was extremely lacking.

On the days I was home, on the other hand, I'd feel so terrified of the moment Dad returned home. His inevitable anger, his yelling, and the way he'd hit one of us for saying something the wrong way were things I'd shiver at the thought of. My life was a living hell.

I did recall that one time before we started pre-school, it had been around two o'clock in the morning. I could faintly hear the crickets chirp just outside the window and the street lights glow shimmering in the curtains. By then, I could see every type of spirit. A ton of them were children, though some were adult aged. I'd talk with them, get to know them, and freak my sister out in the process. But I was too articulated for my own good.

Dad bursted through the door, displaying nonchalant fury in the deep blue eyes my sister and I had. I cried throughout the night, hearing the night whispers of the sorrowful spirits giving me pity. I didn't need it, however, but it was comforting in a way a child that age could comprehend.

He didn't speak with me, though Mom was furious with him. She'd scream and yell for his irrational behavior, but also received the same punishment I did. I felt so guilty for that, as her bruises could be seen through the lacy sleeves of her sundress.

Our sixth birthday party was lonely. Nobody from school wanted to come, and nobody ended up showing up. Dad stayed late at his usual weekend banters, and Mom tried to do whatever she could. But with all of the effort, all we did was blow out our candles as the night grew longer on that melancholic Sunday night.