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681 Words
"Why did the stitching on yesterday's sketch feel more real than all of your stories today, Aileen?"
Asher’s question was cold and piercing, making Aileen’s heart skip a beat. She stared at the young man in front of her, who was leaning against the gazebo pillar, drilling her with his sharp, probing eagle eyes.
Aileen let out a soft laugh, even though her palms were beginning to break into a cold sweat. "Asher, what are you talking about? That filthy sketch of Aria's? It’s just a piece of trash. Are you seriously doubting me over a crumpled sheet of paper?"
"It’s not doubt," Asher said, taking a step closer, his shadow completely engulfing Aileen's figure. "It’s just... it feels like something is missing. My memory of little 'Ai' wasn't this luxurious."
Aileen swallowed hard. She knew this was the moment. If she didn't act now, her entire position would be compromised.
*
A few hours earlier, in the darkness of a bedroom that resembled a dusty back cottage more than a bedroom.
"Where did you hide it, you stupid Aria..." Aileen hissed as she rummaged through her twin's dull, worn-out nightstand.
Her hand brushed against something hard beneath a pile of fabric scraps. An old tin box. With a sharp tug, Aileen forced it open. Her eyes gleamed with malice as she saw a piece of white cotton fabric, yellowed with age, but featuring a gold rose embroidery with the initials "A & V" stitched perfectly in the corner.
"Found it," Aileen smirked. "The weapon of mass destruction for Asher’s doubts."
*
Back in the gazebo, Aileen took a deep breath and put on her most fragile, vulnerable expression.
"Do you want proof, Asher?" Aileen’s voice trembled, her eyes instantly welling up with flawless theatrical tears.
Asher remained silent, waiting.
Aileen reached into the pocket of her silk dress, then slowly opened her palm. There, lying flat, was the faded, old handkerchief.
"This is..." Asher choked up. He snatched the fabric as if it were the most sacred relic in the world. His trembling fingers brushed over the "A & V" initials. "This handkerchief... the one you used to bandage my knee when I fell from the mango tree?"
"I kept it for ten years, Asher," Aileen sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "Every single night I held it, praying for your return. I was terrified you would forget me, terrified you would look for someone else. But now, you're actually doubting me because of the trashy sketch of this house's maid?"
"Ai... I'm so sorry," Asher’s voice suddenly turned hoarse with profound, raw regret. He pulled Aileen into his embrace, holding her so tightly that the overpowering scent of her rose perfume choked his senses. "I was a fool. I am so truly sorry. I should have never doubted you."
"Promise me you'll never bring up that sketch again?" Aileen whispered against Asher’s chest.
"I promise. Starting today, whatever you want in this world, I will give it to you. Anyone who dares to hurt you, I will utterly destroy. You are the only 'Ai' for me."
Behind the closed glass doors covered by thin drapes, Aria stood frozen. The bottle of antiseptic she had brought to treat her finger—which had been pricked by a needle earlier that afternoon—slipped from her grasp.
Thud. The red liquid spilled across the floor, but Aria didn't care. Her eyes were completely locked onto the handkerchief that Asher was now clutching so tightly—the very handkerchief she had used as her literal breath to survive for ten long years.
"That's mine, Asher..." Aria whispered, her voice completely swallowed by her muffled sobs. "Those are my stitches... that was my love..."
She watched as Asher kissed Aileen's forehead with pure, unadulterated devotion. An affection born from the threads Aria had sewn with her own tears, now brutally stolen right in front of her eyes.
"You love the wrong person, Asher," Aria wept in the darkness. "And I... I have just been robbed to death by my own twin sister."
- Writer
