Of Fate and Freedom

Chapter One

I wake with a jolt to pitch black surroundings, save for the light my alarm clock emits that slowly brings the room into focus as my eyes adjust. 5:17 A.M. glows across the screen as I struggle to slow my heart rate.

Great, I mutter internally, shaking the dream from my mind, yet another inescapably early morning. This dream has haunted my sleep for the past seven months. At this point, I thought I’d be used to it, but it still rocks me to my core. Knowing I won’t be able to fall back asleep, I turn on my small bedside lamp and slip my legs out from under the comforter as I sit up. I make my way to my en suite, my body aching from sleep deprivation. Orrin, my beautiful silver Labrador, stirs ever so slightly as I pad softly past his bed. He’s no more a fan of mornings than I am, but our morning runs are a ritual he nonetheless embraces.

I start the shower without even the slightest glance in the mirror, knowing warm water is all I need to tame the monster that is my current appearance. The bags under my eyes usually relent once I give my face a good scrub and finish out with a blast of ice-cold shower water. As the calming droplets patter across the pebbled floor of a shower the size of a small bedroom, I take in the familiarity of my bathroom. To most, it seems plain and almost lifeless, but the subtlety has always soothed my mind.

My towels are a shade of grey so light, most would assume they’re white. They’re plain, save for a depiction of my family’s seal - one long stemmed rose, crossed over a beautiful scepter - embroidered in a lush, forest green thread above the hem of each towel. The white marble countertops complement the light grey cabinets quite nicely, but they’re a b***h to keep clean. The floors are a neutral wood-look porcelain, mostly grey in color but with just a hint of brown and white to emit a more natural appearance. I keep a few small mint plants on my countertop and windowsill, as well as a few along the frame of my glorious whirlpool corner tub. Their smell, mixed with the lingering scent of my rose infused toiletries, always helps to clear my mind. This is my sanctuary, the one place I know I can always relax.

Soon, the scalding hot downpour fills my bathroom with a thick cloud of steam, and I step into the custom marble shower. Water streams from an array of shower heads and body jets. I stand under my favorite one and let the artificial rainfall cascade over me, closing my eyes and drinking in the temporary warmth as it flows through my thick curls and down my face. After rinsing, I dry the water from my eyes and reach for my favorite shampoo - and that’s when I see it.

Oh, f**k.

I stare at my hand for what seems to be an eternity. Water drips down from my hairline and a few sting as they slip into my eyes, but I don’t notice.

This can’t be right. Surely I have my timeline mixed up... what is today?

Panic overwhelms my initial sense of bewilderment and I jump out of the still running shower, dripping water through my house until I reach the calendar on my office wall. Just as I thought, January 16th. It will be a new moon tonight. I fall back into my desk chair as I try to soak in this realization with as much ease as the chair beneath me soaks in the water from my still-damp body that I neglected to wrap in my robe or even a towel.

I look back at my right hand, hoping what I’d seen had been a dream, but my fears are confirmed as I see... it... is still there.

“No... this can’t be right. I... I don’t understand,” I whisper to myself as I make my way back to my room, careful not to wake my twin sister, Moira, across the hall. I feel like I'm on autopilot as I dry myself and dress for my morning run.

Maybe this will clear my head, I fervently pray as I hook Orrin’s leash to his harness and let him quietly lead me out of the front door.

As we step out onto the porch, the smell of morning dew floods my senses, a welcome distraction to the alarming events of the past 20 minutes. I take off, Orrin trotting nonchalantly at my side, and drift into a trance as I allow the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of my feet and brisk morning air to clear my mind.

* * * * *

I wearily make my way up the front porch stairs and unlock the door, and in the mere seconds it's taken me to reach the knob, Orrin has already stretched out for a nap in the bright rays of the quickly rising sun.

“C’mon, boy," I say, nudging him with my foot, "we both deserve a good breakfast after that run.” He seems to roll his eyes at me - if dogs can even do that - but sleepily saunters through the door behind me. As I pour his food, I glance down at my hand, and what I’ve been avoiding thinking of makes me, yet again, painfully aware of its existence, and I know I have to wake Moira.

She’ll know what to do, I reassure myself, padding out of the kitchen as my sweet, lazy boy devours his breakfast.

Moira and I may be twins, but our similarities start and end at our shared birthday. I’ve always been more athletically inclined, more willing to push my body’s physical boundaries in every way I can imagine. Physical exertion is almost like a high to me, and I chase it hungrily. I fight, train, build, and work myself to exhaustion. There’s always a new skill to learn, a new way to push my limits and build my strength. I’m a hands-on learner, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My sister, on the other hand, is my opposite in almost every way. Books, knowledge and debunking the way the world operates have always been her thing. At the mere age of six, she developed a strong love of history and has yet to show any disinterest in it. She particularly enjoys the accounts of every war and battle that has occurred anywhere on earth, and it’s about the only topic I actually enjoy discussing with her. I never did well in general school, but my grades finally rivaled hers when we were accepted into our specialization university.

After closing the short distance between the kitchen and her room, I reach up to knock on the door but pause as I realize my hand is visibly shaking. The breath that I was unaware of holding in forces its way out through my nose, and I do my best to regain my composure before I rap my knuckles sharply on her door three times. I wait a few seconds to listen for her melodic voice, my shaky breaths the only sound amidst the silence.

No answer.

I slowly crank the handle and crack the door open just wide enough to slip my head in. Her room, normally the definition of cleanliness and organization, looks like a tornado has ripped through it. Her bedsheets are disheveled, as if she had fought her way out of them. Books and papers are strewn across the bed and floor, with only a handful remaining in tact with the bookcase. Emptied boxes and their contents clutter the floor. Meticulously placed trinkets have been severely displaced across the room. My eyes finally find Moira amidst the chaos, perched rigidly on the far side of the bed with her head down and back to me.

“Moira... are you okay?” I whisper, concern and protectiveness instinctively taking over my body. I carefully pad through the mess towards her, and that’s when I see it. She has her right hand grasped in her left, her petite fingers and knuckles white from her too tight grip. She seems to be looking past her hand as I crouch in front of her, and a minute or two pass before she finally acknowledges my presence.

“Saoirse,” she utters, my name barely audible as it leaves her lips, “...wh-what’s happening to me?”

“Us,” I grimace as I place my hand on hers. I stand up and crawl onto the empty space beside her and take her hand in mine.

“I’m not sure,” I continue, “but I think it’s about time we made a call.”