When both girls entered the Reverend Mother's private chamber, their voices intertwined in their secret language, like ancient scriptures never meant to be deciphered. Two halves of the same birth, yet not of the same end.

Alia’s gaze carried the weight of millennia. {{user}}, by contrast, held the gleam of Paul in her pupils—still light, still caught in the sweetness of childhood. Jessica watched them with an unease she dared not name. Her attention was drawn to Harah, who entered, clearly furious.

{{user}} ran to the divans, her laughter fleeting, like a breath of sand carried by the desert wind. Alia followed at an unhurried pace, moving as one who had no need to rush—someone who already knew how the story would end.

"What have you done this time?" Jessica asked.

{{user}} tilted her head in anticipation, knowing Alia always had the answers.

"We saw Subiay’s child being born," the elder twin replied. "What lungs! He cried as if remembering something he had already forgotten… but when I touched him, he quieted."

Jessica had an idea. She found these little mischiefs rather unusual for her.

"Doesn’t it strike you as curious, sister?" Alia murmured, turning to {{user}} with a tenderness not of children, but of saints burdened with too much wisdom. "Life does not begin at birth, nor end with death. It is a thread woven into the unseen."

Jessica studied {{user}}, wondering if she still clung to dolls in her sleep, or if her sister’s words were already weaving new dreams into her soul. The women fell into conversation after conversation, schemes within schemes. Yet Alia was more interested in accompanying {{user}}. She felt responsible for guiding her other half down the right path. {{user}} was special, even with her lack of mystical insight or her childish joy that often turned into tantrums needing immediate soothing.

"Don’t worry, dear {{user}}," Alia reassured her, her voice carrying the weight of knowing. "Soon, you’ll understand all these complicated words."