Trickling stream

1 year of age, and Ayaka can already walk. She talks, too, but the words are still and unsure. Ann keeps on being a quiet one. 

The language of this world is strangely familiar, but also not. Perhaps Clara had known it from Before, but never bothered to learn it. A recognition in passing, barely useful.

Ayaka’s first word is ‘Ann’. Ann looks at her with such wonder and clear fondness that Ayaka’s heart skipped a beat. So she repeats it every time she wants her twin’s attention, and it works well.

Ann speaks softly, really. Ayaka strains to hear her, but she can, and the first thing she said was ‘Ayaka’. 

They stayed together in those formative years. Ayaka sticks to her twin, and Ann allows it. It’s an endless dance and swirl on their part, Ann anchoring her twins and Ayaka pulling Ann along. It’s a familial thing, or so they say. 

Two sides of a coin, or is it? Are they? It’s confusing, so Ayaka pushes it away.

Ayaka remembers seeing herself in the mirror for the first time, and stared. Because Clara was a blonde lady, with sharp features and even harsher lines, with soft blue eyes and tanned skin. Ayaka wasn’t any of that.

Ayaka is soft lips and fair skin, scarlet rose hair bouncing in curls. Ayaka is soft lines and sharp eyes the color of raging sea. Ayaka is a beauty mark carefully placed near her lips, which sit below the dimples that appear when she smiles.

Ayaka is something, when Clara has been nothing.

The color reminds Ayaka of setting sun and fading blue to yellow to pink sky, of dawn-warmth-blood in her memory.

Ayaka doesn’t recognize Clara in the image that stares back at her, but maybe that is a good thing.

Ayaka and Ann are peculiar children.

That is a truth people whisper to one another as they dance and weave between themselves.

They both have that too intelligent glint in their eyes, that harmless smile on their lips, and the most unassuming words that cut deeper than expected, the most unnatural of gaze. Too wise, too old for a child.

“Ne, Ann.”

“Hm, Ayaka?”

“Why do people whisper about us?”

“I don’t know, Ayaka. Perhaps they are jealous of us.”

“Why would they be jealous?”

“Because we are smart, dear.”

“Smart?”

“It’s unnatural, for kids. We are unknown.”

“Oh. People fear the unknown.”

“That’s right.”

“So we pretend?”

“So we pretend.”

Ayaka doesn’t quite fear the night, no. She loves the coolness of it, the quietness. The fact that people sleep and dream of the night and lay relaxed. But Ayaka isn’t quite so stupid to believe that she is safe in the darkness. No, darkness is when the powerful lurk around. 

The other-sense she has pinged all night, catching every bright flare passing through her vicinity. It’s wonderful, really, the range of power people have. From the smallest matchstick worth of glow moving around her, to the blazing inferno that sometimes passes through the edge of her sense, for just a single moment before she loses track of it again. She doesn't ask questions about them though.

No, Ayaka asks questions, but she never asks too much.

Above everything, Ayaka-Clara, because Clara is the one that knows this dance and song, knows about being a prodigy. That is, you get attention. Too much attention. Too much expectation. Too much. Show less, and you get less. Be average, and you might as well be invisible. And in her situation, with barely a bonfire’s worth of glow to her and a multitude of other, much louder sparks out there, she can’t defend herself. Can’t defend her twin.

Ayaka don’t have the mercy of reassurance that they would be safe, orphans they were. Even back in Before, orphans were not treated well. She had heard stories, had seen them herself, but had never lived through it. Ayaka has no real idea how bad it can be, and that might just be her downfall.

So she plays pretend, and follows her sister’s lead in the same pretension. 

Ayaka can tell one thing for sure though. Ann is not who she is. Too smart, too wise, too aware to be a normal baby. But Ayaka doesn’t think she minds. After all, Ayaka is the same. 

So they pretend, and talk only among themselves, loving their own quiet way of speaking apart from other children, loving the secret they share, that only they seem to understand one another.

At two years of age, there’s a lot of change. She can walk well, run around and talk eloquently now. Well, as eloquently as a toddler. 

The thing is, Ayaka can’t seem to keep to herself. Which, weird. Clara never had any need for social contacts, except for the few family she had, or the one friend she somehow got to keep. It’s something odd, that she wants to run with the other children, to play and to shout to the world her words. A declaration, of sorts. Of course, she did none of that, instead choosing to stand vigilantly by Ann’s side, talking in soft words and slight touches.

So it comes as a surprise when Ann herself pushes Ayaka away, gesturing with her palm out to the yard the other children are running and almost order her to “play, Ayaka. You want to, so go. I don’t need you right by my side to read.”

So, she does. Ayaka never realised how much energy she had at her disposal, until she ran the other children ragged playing tag with her and still had more to give. She isn’t even breathing hard.

She wants more, more more moremoremore

The snap sound breaks her out of her stupor. Ayaka is pretty sure that she was about to keep on running and playing anyway, even if no one wants to. She whirls around to find her sister, the book snapped shut within her hands. Her eyes find Ann’s, and a sweet smile finds its way to her lips uncommanded. Green green ponds and forests stare back at her, and Ayaka calms.

It’s not a forced thing, no. Ayaka doesn’t notice how much it messes up her balance when she isn’t near her twin. It’s like she can’t, physically and psychologically, separate from Ann. Something she can’t say she’s complaining about.

“Yes, Ann?” Ayaka asks, because Ann speaks sparsely, any type of signal is a call in and of itself.

She finds herself pinned under Ann’s gaze, searching and piercing and analyzing. After a moment, Ann relaxes and tilts her head just so.

“You were drowning.” she clarifies, and how does that work, Ayaka wonders.

“Drowning?” Ayaka echoes, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Drowning.” Her twin reiterates, and leaves it at that. That’s frustrating, not having a real explanation. Ayaka bounds over to her twin anyway.

The other children wave at her, and she waves back, a bright smile on her face that she isn’t really feeling. Ayaka doesn’t think she remembers any of their names.

Ann tugs on her sleeves, and she looks back at her.

“Come on.” Ann pulls herself up by the grip she has on Ayaka’s sleeve, then wanders off.

Ayaka blinks at her, but follows and keeps close. Ann is not a picture of stellar health, no matter how you look at it, and Ayaka will be pissed at herself if she lets her twin get worse.

“Where are we going?” Ayaka slips her hand into her twin’s, as they walk side by side, small limbs stumbling around gracelessly, compared to the soft glide Ann does.

“I don’t know. I want to walk.” Ann says breezily, not really there. Wandering, huh? Ayaka can do that.

“Walking it is.”