Twin Sacrifice

The coins in my palm felt heavier than they should have. I counted them again, even though I already knew the total. Three dollars and forty-seven cents. The prescription in my hand cost eighty-six dollars. The pharmacist behind the counter pretended not to watch me, but I saw the pity in her eyes. I hated that look. I had been seeing it my whole life.

"Can I put this on hold?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. She nodded slowly.

"For forty-eight hours."

Forty-eight hours. That was all the time I had to come up with eighty-six dollars I did not have. I stuffed the coins back into my pocket and walked out of the pharmacy into the cold evening air. Willow Creek was quiet this time of night. The kind of quiet that felt like the whole town was holding its breath. Streetlights flickered as I passed them, casting weak yellow pools on cracked sidewalks.

I worked double shifts at the diner six days a week. I picked up extra hours at the grocery store on Sundays. I sold my old guitar last month. I sold my mother's necklace two weeks before that. But the bills kept piling up, and no matter how hard I worked, I could not catch up. Elara was dying. The doctors said it was Stage Four lung cancer. They said it with the kind of detached sympathy that came from saying the same words to a hundred different families. They gave her six months. That was three months ago.

I walked faster. The cottage we rented was at the edge of town, half-hidden behind overgrown trees and a fence that had long ago given up on being a fence. The porch light was on, which meant Elara was still awake. She always waited up for me, no matter how late I was. I pushed open the door and found her at the kitchen table, a cup of tea gone cold in front of her. She smiled when she saw me, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Her skin looked paler than it had this morning. Thinner. Like paper stretched over bones.

"You're late," she said.

"Mrs. Patterson needed me to close," I lied. "She's been having trouble with her back."

Elara nodded, but I saw the way her fingers trembled around the teacup. She knew I was lying. She always knew. But she never called me out on it. That was our arrangement. I pretended everything was fine, and she pretended she could not see right through me.

I hung my coat on the hook by the door and sat across from her. The cottage was small, two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen that barely fit two people. But it was home. It had been home for as long as I could remember.

"Did you eat?" I asked.

"I had some soup."

"Elara."

Her lips twitched. "Half a bowl."

I stood up and went to the stove. There was still some soup in the pot, the kind that came from a can but tasted like it came from a can that had given up. I heated it up and set it in front of her. She gave me a look that said she did not want to eat, but she picked up the spoon anyway. For me. Because she knew I would worry if she did not.

The cough came without warning. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief, but I saw it. The red stain spreading across the white fabric. She tried to hide it, crumpling the cloth in her fist and shoving it into her pocket. But I saw it. I always saw it. I pretended not to.

"You should rest," I said, my voice light. "I'll clean up."

"I'm fine, Sera."

"You're tired."

"I'm fine."

But she was not fine. She was dying, and we both knew it. But we played our parts, because that was the only way we knew how to survive. She finished half the soup before pushing the bowl away. I did not push her to eat more. I had learned not to. Instead, I sat beside her and took her hand. Her fingers were cold, the skin thin and papery. I rubbed warmth into them, the way she used to do for me when I was a child and could not sleep.

"Tell me a story," I said. She smiled. It was a real smile this time, the kind that made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

"What kind of story?"

"The one about the princess."

She laughed, which turned into a cough, which turned into another cough. I waited for her to catch her breath, my heart clenched tight in my chest. When she spoke again, her voice was softer.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a princess who was born in a castle by the sea. She had eyes like the ocean and hair like midnight, and everyone who saw her said she was the most beautiful baby they had ever seen."

I leaned my head against her shoulder. I had heard this story a hundred times, but I never got tired of it.

"But the princess's mother was cruel," Elara continued. "She did not want the princess. She wanted a son. So she took the baby to the forest and left her there, hoping the wolves would take her."

"They did not," I said, because I knew the story by heart.

"They did not," Elara agreed. "An old woman found her instead. She raised the princess as her own, and the princess grew up strong and brave and kind. She did not need a castle. She did not need a crown. She had love, and that was enough."

I closed my eyes. "And they lived happily ever after."

"No," Elara said softly. "They lived honestly ever after. That's better than happy."

I looked up at her. Her eyes were wet, but she was smiling. I wanted to ask her what she meant, but something in her expression stopped me. There was something she was not telling me. There was always something she was not telling me.

"Elara," I said, "who were my parents?"

Her face changed. Just for a moment. A flicker of something, fear, maybe, or grief. Then it was gone, replaced by the same gentle smile she always wore when I asked this question.

"They died when you were a baby," she said. "I've told you that."

"Tell me again."

She sighed. "There's nothing to tell, Sera. They were good people. They loved you. But they died, and I took you in, and I've raised you as my own. That's the truth."

It was not the truth. I knew it was not. But I did not know how to prove it. I did not know how to find the words that were buried somewhere deep inside her. I opened my mouth to ask again, but the look on her face stopped me. She looked so tired. So old. So fragile. I could not do it. I could not push her. Instead, I held her hand tighter and said nothing.

The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the wind howled through the trees. The cottage creaked and groaned the way it always did, like an old ship on rough waters. I listened to the sound of my grandmother's breathing, slow and labored, and I tried not to think about what I would do when she was gone. I would be alone. Truly alone. I had no other family. No friends who would stick around after the funeral. No one who would care if I disappeared. Just Elara. Only Elara. And she was leaving me.

"Sera," she said suddenly, her voice sharp. I looked up, startled by the urgency in her tone. Her eyes were wide, her grip on my hand suddenly tight. "Promise me something."

"Anything."

She swallowed hard. "If someone ever comes for you, don't go with them."

I blinked. "What?"

"Promise me." Her fingers dug into my skin. "Promise me, Sera."

"Elara, you're not making any sense."

"I know." She let out a shaky breath. "I know I'm not. But please. Just promise me. If someone comes to take you away, don't let them. Don't trust them."

I stared at her. The firelight flickered across her face, casting strange shadows. She looked like a stranger. Someone I did not know. Someone I was afraid of.

"Who would come for me?" I asked. She shook her head.

"Just promise."

I did not understand. I did not know what she was talking about. But she looked so terrified, so desperate, that I found myself nodding.

"I promise," I said. She let out a breath and slumped back in her chair. Her grip on my hand loosened.

"Good," she whispered. "That's good."

She fell asleep a few minutes later, her head lolling to the side, her breathing shallow. I stayed with her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. I watched her for a long time. Then I went to her room. I do not know why I did it. I do not know what I was looking for. But something about her warning had unsettled me. Something about the fear in her eyes had made me want to know more. I stood in the doorway of her bedroom and looked around. It was small and neat, the way it always was. A single bed. A dresser. A window that looked out over the dead garden.

I knelt beside the bed and looked underneath. There was a box. I pulled it out. It was old, wooden, with rusted hinges and a lid that creaked when I opened it. Inside, there were papers. Photographs. A newspaper clipping. I picked up the photograph first. It was a picture of a woman. She was young, beautiful, with dark hair and eyes that looked just like mine. She was holding a baby in her arms. Smiling. Happy. And behind her, in the background, there was a house. A mansion. Something out of a fairy tale. I flipped the photograph over. Someone had written on the back in faded ink.

Elizabeth Blackwood. April 17th. The day everything changed.

My hands were shaking. I picked up the newspaper clipping next, the edges frayed. The headline read: Blackwood family welcome twins. Heiress Eleanor Blackwood and husband Richard celebrate the birth of twin daughters. The date was twenty-three years ago. I stared at the words until they blurred. Twenty-three years ago. That was the year I was born. The article mentioned a celebration. A party. A family that was famous for its wealth and influence. The Blackwoods. I had never heard the name before. But something about it made my skin prickle. I looked at the photograph again. The woman. Elizabeth Blackwood. She was not Eleanor Blackwood. She was someone else. Someone who looked exactly like me.

I heard a sound behind me. A soft gasp. I turned. Elara stood in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with horror.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"I found this," I said. My voice sounded strange to my own ears. "Who is Elizabeth Blackwood? Who are the Blackwoods? Why do you have this?"

Elara's face crumpled. She took a step toward me, then stopped. Her hands were shaking.

"I can't," she said. "I can't tell you."

"You owe me the truth," I said. "I deserve to know."

She shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "You don't understand. If I tell you, you'll be in danger. We'll both be in danger."

"Danger from who?"

She opened her mouth to answer. Then she collapsed. I caught her before she hit the ground. Her body was light, too light, and her skin was burning hot. She was breathing, but it was shallow. Wrong. I held her in my arms and screamed for help. But there was no one to hear me. We were alone. And somewhere out there, someone was coming. I could feel it. A shadow waiting to swallow us whole.