The Gilbert nursery was quiet in the late afternoon, wrapped in warm light and the faint scent of lavender. Rose lay on her back in the crib, small fingers curling and uncurling as she watched the room with keen attention. The soft rise and fall of another tiny chest across from her anchored her focus.
Elena.
Her sister slept fitfully, one small hand twitching as if reaching for something just out of reach.
Rose turned her head slowly, hazel eyes fixing on Elena's face. Even now, even this young, she could feel it—the faint pressure woven into Elena's existence. A pull. A path laid long before either of them had taken their first breath.
A curse.
Not one Elena would ever fully understood. Not one anyone here could name yet. But Rose knew it instinctively, like a wrong note in a song meant to repeat endlessly. The traveler bloodline. The doppelgänger cycle. A life shaped by forces that consumed girls like her sister and discarded them once they'd served their purpose.
Rose's tiny fingers tightened against the blanket.
'No.'
She shifted slightly, pressing closer to the side of the crib, letting her small presence brush against Elena's awareness. A promise formed in silence.
'You will not be used.
You will not be broken.
You will grow beyond this.'
Elena stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
Dark, curious, unfocused—but they fixed on Rose all the same. A soft sound escaped her lips, half babble, half breath.
Rose cooed back, deliberately gentle. She mirrored Elena's expression, her movements slow and calming. The bond between them hummed faintly, not loud enough to be noticed by anyone else, but steady all the same.
[System Advisory:
Twin emotional synchronization detected. Protective intent acknowledged.]
Good.
---
Miranda's footsteps approached, soft and familiar. Rose felt her presence before she saw her—the warmth, the steady calm, the unwavering affection that wrapped around both twins like a shield.
Miranda leaned over Rose's crib before glancing over at Elena's, smiling tiredly but warmly. "There you are, my girls," she murmured.
Grayson followed close behind, his expression softening the moment he saw them awake. "They were quiet," he said. "Too quiet."
Elena's eyes locked onto him instantly. Her lips parted, working around a sound that had been hovering on the edge of language for days.
"Da."
The word came out small and imperfect, but unmistakable.
Grayson froze.
Miranda gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. "Did you—did you hear that?"
Grayson's eyes filled with tears as he laughed, breathless. "She said—Miranda, she said—"
"Da," Elena repeated, louder this time, arms wiggling up toward her father with excitement.
Grayson reached forward, overwhelmed, brushing his finger against Elena's tiny hand. "That's right," he whispered. "I'm right here."
Rose watched it all, absorbing the moment with quiet clarity.
Elena's joy surged, warm and bright, and Rose let herself bask in it for a heartbeat.
This was what she wanted for her sister. Love freely given. Not destiny. Not sacrifice.
Miranda turned then, her gaze falling on Rose. "And you," she said softly, lifting her gently from the crib. "You're watching everything like always."
Rose settled into her arms easily, listening to Miranda's heartbeat, feeling the steady reassurance of her presence. She focused, carefully, shaping her intent.
"Mama."
The word was clear.
Miranda froze as completely as Grayson had.
Her breath caught, eyes shining as she looked down at Rose. "Oh," she whispered, voice breaking. "Oh, sweetheart…"
She hugged Rose closer, tears slipping freely now. "Yes I'm your Mama," she repeated softly, like it was something sacred.
Rose relaxed against her, satisfied.
[System Advisory:
Emotional anchor strengthened.
Parental bond reinforced.]
Elena babbled again from the crib, delighted by the sudden attention. Rose turned her head, meeting her sister's eyes over Miranda's shoulder. Their gazes locked, something unspoken passing between them.
This life would be different.
Rose didn't know yet how she would break the curse woven into Elena's blood. She didn't have the tools, the knowledge, or the power—yet. But she had time. She had intent. And she had love anchoring them both.
And that, she knew with quiet certainty, would be enough to begin.