Daughters,

Indeed, we are the illustrators of our recollections; we are the crafters of our own complacent prisons. It is well we can divide ourselves from truth, for if I could not, my darlings, I might have to face the reality of permanence. You are my only hope, my long-awaited privilege. Oh, how I wish I had seen what I now see; I might not have lost my sight to do so. And I wish I had known what I now know; I might not have lost my mind to do so. But here in the mottled browns of the earth and moss, my bones creep with the pale horned lichen; sister spider weaves her shroud over my remains. The strength I once had has long drained, drawn out by the creatures that night and day consume me.

Still, I tell myself the stories, and I seek solace in the tales, for we will believe what we wish, even when our bodies know otherwise.

~ the woman in the woods

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Minn stood staring in dismay at the scene before her. In every shadowy pocket beneath the budding fruit trees, men and women and adolescents as well were engaged in uncomfortable looking acts of procreation. She couldn't help being reminded of barnyard animals, of sexual activity with only one end in mind, that end certainly not involving mutual pleasure. The moment Minn recalled that she, too, was garbed in a dress like those of the others, her stomach lurched. There was no way—

"Sister," Dorothea began, placing a wrinkled hand on Minn's shoulder, "our tradition calls for this one night of the year, the paarung, before our final celebration of Ostara. It is through this night that our young women hope to plant the seed, so that by next spring, they may be blessed with the life, which they may share with their sisters."

As warm as the night was, Minn couldn't keep from shaking. She wanted nothing to do with any of this, but she was still reeling from the trauma of hours earlier; her head throbbed with its crown of pain; the poison they'd forced into her for days was by no means cleared of her body. Could she fight them all with the one knife?

Dorothea was suddenly in her face, pulling Minn's focus from the copulating forms amongst the trees and the men around them, who themselves were watching the event with a certain glow about their pale young faces. The sudden horrifying thought that Peter might be amongst those in the orchard pushed itself to the front of her mind, but Dorothea was determined not to let her think too long.

"I know, Sister Minnow," the older woman insisted, drawing Minn's attention into her own twinkling brown orbs, "that our customs are strange to you, but we welcome you, sister, the daughter of our lost lambs, the fruit of our prodigal. You will be at home, here, and you are not yet too old to regain the life!"

Something cold seemed to hover over Minn's head, curl its chilling tendrils down her neck and back. She refused to speak to this woman, didn't know what to say even if she'd had the inclination to say it. Her thoughts raced, tried to figure out how best to utilize the one tool at her disposal, but before she could do more than begin to panic, someone took her hand, and she saw it was her brother, who was suddenly next to her, dressed as she and as they all were (save for Dorothea, who wore a plain red frock). In spite of all that had happened, all the confusion and betrayal, Minn couldn't deny that Wolf brought her comfort, even if it was small. She would've rather stood with him than alone, and for as much as he'd misled her, Minn held out hope he could be reasoned with. These people had surely poisoned him as well, she thought, at least his mind if not his body, and if she could get him alone, her brother—her one and only twin brother who'd been there all her life—he would have to help. He'd have to! He loved her!

And yet he looked far too untroubled as he drew her away from an infuriatingly smiling Dorothea. Minn allowed Wolf to lead her somewhere others weren't, a fringe of orchard removed from the center of it all, where there were only trees, no bizarre sex apparati. From where they stood, she could see the center tower peeking over the nearest cottage rooftops, and all her thoughts returned to getting to it, but her brother held her fast when she attempted to slip her hand from his.

"Don't, Wolf," she ordered tersely. "I need to get to that building, to see if Peter is there. I know they've brainwashed you and for some insane reason you like it here, but you know me, and you know I need to help Peter. If you care in any kind of way, you'll help me find him."

"That kid is fine, Minn, all right? Forget about him."

Wolf's grip tightened around her wrist, but Minn was too angry to quite notice. "Forget about him? How could you even—"

"Listen to me, Minn. Just listen! All right?" The man looked like an unrefined Jesus in his long robes, absolutely ridiculous, and it was difficult for Minn to take him seriously. She told him as much, but Wolf was annoyed by the snark. "I'm sorry it's had to be this way," he said firmly, hardening his face, his tone, gripping her other wrist so he held both.

"Let me go!" she cried, lacking the energy to fight him much. "If you want to go do their freakish sex rituals with underage girls, fine, but not me! I'm getting the hell out of here."

"Stop!" Wolf pulled her hands down, rough, and the violence of his action shocked Minn into silence. "We're staying. Both of us."

The woman stared at her brother, blankly, and for a moment, she was unsure she'd even heard him properly. "Do you see what they've done to me?" she pleaded, her words bordering on tears as she tried to point to her new accessory. "They've hurt me, Wolf—they've tortured me!"

"You never listened to me about growing your hair out . . . this, it's your fault! You don't see it, but they've honored you, Minn! You're the symbol of it all! Ostara!"

"Oh . . . let go of me! I don't want to leave you, but I will if I have to."

Rather than argue or scold, Wolf did something wholly unexpected. He let go of her and quickly slipped one arm around her back, pulled her close, while with the other he reached into the folds of her dress,between her legs, his fingers scrambling in the fabric, seeking she-didn't-know-what until suddenly, she understood.

"What are you doing?" she cried in horror. "Get away from me—! I—you're my twin!"

"Fuck's sake, Minn!" Wolf briefly paused his groping, drew back enough to reveal his fluster. "I'm not your twin; I'm two years older than you! I'm not even your brother! I've told you this . . . you know it!"

"What are you talking about?" With a monumental effort, Minn shoved out of the man's grasp and stumbled backward, tripping over her dress and falling onto the thick foliage. Her head hurt so bad that for a moment there were only bright lights, but then her vision cleared, and she saw Wolf standing over her, hardly more than a dark silhouette against the lanterns at his back.

"You've always lived in your own world, Minn, always," Wolf was saying, his words heavy. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground, put a gentle hand against Minn's cold face. "We had so much fun as kids, playing like brother and sister, the only ones there. Of course we believed it, but even then I knew; they told me, the grownups. And when I found some of them, after, when we got older, I learned they were defectors, all of them. They left this place cause they were unhappy here, but this is our heritage! And we were someone's kids, just not the same someone's. I don't know who your parents were, but they weren't the same as mine, that's for sure. I told you, back in college—I did DNA testing . . . we're not even related! And you know it. You always did, but you never . . . you never accepted it. Fuck if I know why." He stroked her cheek tenderly, sighed with all the sincerity of a man telling the truth. "None of it really mattered. I didn't care if you wanted to go on believing whatever you wanted, but with Peter—it's changed, Minn. You can't keep believing in what makes you happy. You can't do it. You have to see things for what they are!"

The man's words fed the chaos beginning to churn in Minn's skull. She didn't want to hear him . . . she couldn't listen! Whatever he was saying, she couldn't just sit there and take it, however soothing his voice was. She began to inch away from him, backward. "I h-have to get to the tower. I need to get to Pe-Peter."

The mention of the boy's name transformed Wolf again. He took hold of her ankles, preventing her from scooting any farther. "You know where Peter is! You know!"

Minn grimaced at the white of the man's teeth, the severity of his brow. Why was he looking at her like that? As if she were the one causing him to suffer? How could she ask him for help, when he was like this? But she had to try once more, for her son. In a small, quaking voice, she begged, "If you know where they're hiding him, tell me. If you love me at all, please tell me where my son is!"

Weary with an invisible weight, Wolf sat back on his heels. He shook his head at her and groaned with such sorrow she could hardly bear it. "Oh God, Minn. You make me—you're killing me. You're breaking my heart, you understand? You know where Peter is. He's gone, Minn. He's—he's dead, all right? You know it. Please . . ."

"They've killed him?" she gasped. "Are you—but you told me he was—"

"That boy is not our Peter," Wolf seethed through a quickly angering mouth. "And this lie stops now, tonight, you understand me? What you've done . . ." He began toward her, climbing over her so that Minn had nowhere to go but back onto the grass, pressed into the earth. "I can't let it go, anymore, you hear me? I won't." His face right over hers, Wolf's breath suddenly caught. His features twisted into an ugly mask of grief. "I lost my son too, that night! You weren't the only one."

The woman's chest rose and fell erratically; she caught her false hair on something as she moved and shrieked in pain. Everything began to spin, to press upon her. The nausea, the dizziness, the weight on her chest—it'd always been Wolf, hadn't it? That night, so many years ago . . . she'd known. He was right—she'd always known. In the dark of some stranger's room, in a bed twisted with unwashed sheets, through a cloud of intoxication and confusion and noise and the cubism of light and shadow, she'd known his weight on her, felt him move up inside of her. Just let me fuck you, he'd said, the only thing he'd said during all of it, and that word, oh, she'd ever since hated it . . . But she'd always known it was him, hadn't she? And yet she'd never . . . she couldn't ever . . . no. Peter was hers and hers alone. No brother would ever treat her in that way! Oh, damn Wolf for always loving Peter as his own!

"Get off of me!" she shrieked, pulling herself from her stupor, startling him. She rolled over onto her stomach, tried to get onto her knees, to crawl away, but he was too fast.

Wolf's arms were around her waist. He bent over her from behind, and though she shouted at him, begged him to leave her alone, he wouldn't let go for anything. "We still have time, Minn. We can try again."

"No! You're insane! Let me go!"

He pinned her arms against her sides. "We've always been each other's, Minn, you know it! God damnit—stop fighting me! Stop!"

"I don't want you!"

"You're a queen here, Minn, a fucking queen! You can have another, all right? We can, you'll see! These are our people, Minn, and they'll treat you—"

"You're psychotic! Get off of me!"

But he was too strong, and her body didn't have the stamina, not after days of weakness, no food, hardly any water. She couldn't fight him any longer and was entirely at his mercy as he flipped her onto her back. The ring of stitches around the back of her head stung terribly, pulsed with pain; she saw stars again. And yet . . . if she could only access her wrist—

"You'll be a goddess here, Minn," Wolf panted over her, pressing her to the ground at her shoulders. "Out there, we couldn't be like this; it would've looked—"

"They hate men, here, Wolf," she said, more to detract from what she was trying to do, to keep her wits about her.

"I told you, they don't."

"These women just do things with each other!"

Wolf leaned down and put his hot mouth on her neck. "They do what they want, with whoever they want; they just know how to get rid of the evidence."

Minn was near screaming with frustration. She poured all her energy into her singular goal. The tie at her right wrist was almost free—if only he'd move away a little, put some space between them . . .

As if he'd heard her thoughts, Wolf drew back, abruptly. "Fuck these clothes," he grumbled, reaching down Minn's thigh and pulling up her dress. "They won't care; it's our first time, doing this."

But the moment he began to lower himself back onto her, Minn punched her freed knife upward, into the softness of his lower belly. He'd had no fear, no sense whatsoever that any such thing could happen, and so his body pressed upon the spike until it met her fingers at its handle. Wolf's delayed reaction was more terrible than any cry or fight would've been. The way he tensed, the fading shine in his eyes, the subtle quivering of his lower lip, all as if he were struggling to process what was happening, and beneath him, Minn's lungs were fit to burst with the breath she held, the understanding of what she'd done.

But she couldn't stop, not now. She had to get away, and so she put both hands around the slippery tool and forced it in deeper, tried to move it up toward her, to cut wider into his gut, but by that point, the severity of what she'd done had sunk into Wolf, and he growled some horrible mixture of words Minn couldn't make out before pulling away, rolling to the side and off the blade.

The second she was free, Minn took her only weapon, somehow managed to get to her feet, and hurried desperately toward the tower.