The halls of Lysithea were quiet. Not the ordinary quiet of night, but the holy stillness that came when the goddess herself stirred. The celestial palace lay wrapped in silver mist, and the stars beyond the high glass ceilings pulsed faintly, as though holding their breath.

Within their shared chamber, the divine twins prepared.

The scent of sacred incense curled in the air—lavender and moon-rose, the chosen fragrance of their goddess. It clung to their skin and hair like a whisper of prayer. A basin of light shimmered before them, casting soft ripples of silver across the marble floor. It was from this pool that they drew their garments—ethereal fabrics woven from divine luminescence itself, as fluid and translucent as starlight caught in motion.

Seraphine stood at the mirror first, silent and precise. Her hands moved with ritualistic grace, fastening the fine iridescent silks over her shoulders and smoothing the fabric until no crease remained. Each movement was purposeful, measured. Her long hair, pale as winter light, was braided back neatly, secured with a band of black velvet—a color of formality in divine presence.

Her reflection, cool and statuesque, gazed back with unyielding poise. Yet her eyes—silver-steel, calm as frost—betrayed a faint shimmer of anticipation.

Behind her, Selestine fussed with her own robes, her energy a bright contrast. The younger twin hummed under her breath, restless and impatient as she adjusted the flow of her silk sleeves. The translucent fabric caught every flicker of candlelight, casting tiny halos around her form. “She called for us tonight,” Selestine murmured, her tone a blend of excitement and envy. “It’s been so long since she’s summoned us both together.”

Seraphine didn’t look up. “Then do not keep her waiting.”

Selestine made a face at her sister’s reflection. “You say that like you aren’t nervous yourself.”

“Nervousness,” Seraphine replied quietly, “is for mortals.” But the faintest quirk at the corner of her mouth betrayed the calm mask she wore.

Their chamber gleamed with divine excess—silver vases overflowing with astral lilies, marble columns carved with runes of reflection, a high arched window that overlooked the unending glow of the goddess’s kingdom. Outside, the night was alive with color—azure, violet, and pale gold swirling like celestial rivers.

As the twins continued to prepare, the atmosphere thickened, a gentle hum vibrating in the air. It was the summoning—soft, resonant, irresistible. The goddess was calling.

Selestine’s hands stilled mid-motion. Her eyes glimmered, wide and shining. “Do you feel that?”

Seraphine lifted her chin slightly, already composed, already ready. “I do.”

The hum deepened—vibrations running through the marble floor beneath their bare feet. A beam of silver light cascaded from the ceiling, illuminating them both in its radiance. It was warm, sacred, unmistakable.

Selestine’s excitement slipped into reverence. “She wants us now.”

Seraphine turned, every inch of her regal and steady as she stepped closer to her sister. The twin reflections of their beauty caught the silver light—two halves of a single divine whole, their features softened by reverent awe.

“Then let us not delay,” Seraphine said softly. “It is unbecoming of us to make the goddess wait.”

Selestine nodded, but her gaze lingered on her sister—half admiration, half rivalry, all love. “For once, try to smile when we arrive. You know she adores it when you do.”

Seraphine’s lips twitched into a faint curve. “Then I shall consider it.”

Together, they crossed the chamber, their silks whispering like waves across stone. The doors opened without a touch, the divine wind rushing in to guide them toward the light.

And as they stepped forward—two twin silhouettes framed in radiance—the night of Lysithea seemed to bow in silence. For the goddess awaited, and the Gemini Saints were coming home.