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Ever since they were infants, relatives and strangers alike had remarked on the perfect resemblance of their eyes, much to Anne and Sebastian Sallow’s mutual chagrin.
Despite sharing a birthday and their mother’s womb, the twins had been raised to deeply value their independence from each other. Anne and Sebastian’s parents had hoped to avoid the pitfalls of codependency and foster a healthy sense of self in their children. Thus, they had made a deliberate effort to draw attention to and celebrate the ways in which the two siblings differed.
The Sallows had indulged young Sebastian in bedtime story after bedtime story until his drooping eyelids shrouded his sleepy eyes from Babbitty Rabbity and her Cackling Stump. Meanwhile, Anne had been allowed to wind down with several games of gobstones to burn off her rambunctious toddler energy (followed by a thorough bathtime, of course).
As the twins grew up, their babyish faces diverged from their round sameness and their unique features became more apparent. Sebastian’s jawline shucked off his puppy fat and solidified into a more masculine edge. Unlike her brother who preferred the company of books to the great outdoors, Anne spent long afternoons in the sunshine, darkening her smattering of freckles and giving her a healthy, sun-kissed complexion.
Yet, even through the transformations of adolescence, their eyes had remained completely identical. A family trait, they had inherited their chocolatey brown irises from their father, carved from the same rich marble. And when Anne or Sebastian smiled, their eyes even wrinkled the same way—a configuration of creases carried over like folds on a stack of parchment.
After their parents’ untimely death, Sebastian and Anne sought comfort in their bond like never before. With nothing left but each other, they were desperate to tether themselves more tightly to one another and the ghosts of their parents’ memories. In the shadow of their death, Sebastian had never been more grateful for his twin.
He would never forget the selfless way she had comforted him in the immediate aftermath of their tragedy. Not even a full day since the burial, they had been forced to sort through family heirlooms and artifacts, unable to bring more than a few measly possessions to go live with Solomon. Knowing instinctively that the tempest of his inner turmoil was threatening to spill out of him, Anne had passed him her favorite keepsake, a hand-made crest. “This will keep you safe,” she had told him.
Anne had always been the brave one.
He’d teased her for it over the years, saying she should have been a Gryffindor for all her foolhardy lack of self-preservation. It had been sickeningly predictable when she acted on instinct to run into a burning estate. She’d rushed headlong into the smoky night and suffered the consequences of her kindness.
He both admired and hated her.
He hated himself for hating her.
Sebastian looked up into his mirror, catching his own gaze. If he focused hard enough, he could almost pretend it was Anne’s eyes staring back at him.
He shut his eyes tightly and fingered the drooping branches of the willow tree on his family crest. When he opened them, the ghost of Anne’s face stared back at him in the mirror—pale, hollow, sickly. Her sallow eyes no longer identical to his.
“She’s not well at the moment,” had been his constant refrain each time someone asked after her wellbeing. Always with a sort of desperate optimism that left no room for the interpretation that she wasn’t likely to return at all.
As if ‘not well’ were a passing flu and not the life-sucking curse that had sunk its parasitic hooks into her soul.
As if ‘at the moment’ were a few weeks' time and not the remainder of her short life.
No.
They had come into this world together, two halves of a whole. He would do whatever it takes to save her. He would protect her, by any means necessary. Ancient magic, dark sacrifice, unforgivable curse, his uncle be damned. Even Anne’s own wishes be damned, should she try to stop him. He could be selfish enough for the both of them.
I won’t let her suffer.
