When Twin Flames Unite

Something To Believe In

Red dust swirls in an urgent greeting around the lone wooden cabin that patiently waits for its owner. It desired care and company. The barren yard was lonely, save for a thorny bush. The mahogany wood had seen better days.

Still, it had served Ala well. Not too shabby, nor too fancy, it withstood the test of time. Its foundation strong, and its structure is safe. A fire inside ignited, and smoke puffed out the chimney. As Ala pulled Shen over the threshold, the house welcomed them in its warm embrace.

A wash basin big enough to sit in was settled in the corner. She pulled out the wash basin and set it in the center of the room. It was a struggle to get him inside it. Her muscles burned with fatigue. Still, she ignored the feeling and went to the well outside.

It took five trips to get the basin filled halfway with cool water. When the pot above the fire started to boil, she poured it slowly, stopping every so often to check the temperature. It took three pots to get the water hot.

She was careful to make the transition smooth. Testing it to ensure it gradually went from warm to hot. When it was satisfactory, she decided it was safe to let him soak for a moment.

She went out into her yard and started to dig. Buried a few inches down was her spare scale. It had been buried here to ferment until her next birthday. A loose scale wasn't common, and a trip to heaven for healing water even less so. But this was an emergency, and while it wasn't in its purest state, it should be enough to encourage a healing.

As she poured half of it into the basin, Shen started to stir. A distant burning started up in his nerves. A wounded cry broke through his subconscious. The hardened purple skin was already starting to thaw. The fear that the hellhounds had gotten to him was enough to make him conscious. He was ready to remove his soul, but when he saw Ala's tired and worn face, he resisted the urge.

"Here," she said and held the flask up to his lips.

He took a sip. The sweet and crisp flavor was a pleasurable distraction as his skin started to swell and throb. It was as if he could feel his tissue and blood vessels being snapped and pulled away. To distract himself, he focused on Ala dabbing the washcloth over him.

In the comfort of her home, she laid her defenses down. Like two pieces of sea glass, the sharpness of the brown was worn down by the day. Soft and muted, the weariness in them was apparent.

"Why do you do that?" he asked. His voice soft and low.

"Do what?" She responded. Her voice taking the same softness.

"Your eyes. They've changed."

"Habit, I guess."

"You make a habit of changing who you are?"

"I'm not really changing myself. Just," she paused. Thinking of the best way to explain herself.

"Hiding parts of who I am."

"Why?" he asked.

"To keep myself safe."

"From what?"

She stopped dabbing to look at him.

"What is this? An interview?"

"Humor me," he grimaced in pain.

"The world is full of dangerous things. It's hard to say."

"Hmm," He hummed. Not wanting to admit his own fear.

Since he was in a receptive mood, Ala took the chance to ask what had been weighing on her mind.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.