When one becomes two. When one goes away. When one is scared. When one is angry. The souls can never be at peace. And the world will suffer.

-Prophecy 3411 by Aricese

The repetitive up and down scrubbing necessary to remove the hardened crud from inside the pot tore at the muscles in Cassandra's arms. This morning's breakfast had been overcooked, per usual, and most likely on purpose to make her life even more miserable.

Taking as long of a break from her assigned task as she felt able to without getting noticed and then whipped, Cassandra drew a moth-eaten sleeve across her forehead to remove the sweat hanging there. Piles upon piles of dirty cookware remained to be cleaned, already informing Cassandra in their own silent way that such would consume the next several hours of her life, filling it with the usual day-to-day drudgery.

It had been four years since this daily suffering of hers had begun, six in total since witnessing her parents' murder. She really believed things would have gotten better after the gypsies had taken her and her sister in. And every day since she had come to realize how so very wrong her anticipation had been.

Back to work before anyone noticed she had taken a pause, Cassandra resumed her focus on the particularly stubborn residue from food she'd barely even gotten a taste of. In her mind, the slag seemed determined to make her life a living hell, fighting against her best efforts to remove it.

When a commotion broke out on the other side of the wagon her work station was hidden behind, that was all the excuse Cassandra needed to take another hiatus from her slaving. Poking her nose around the corner, it probably shouldn't have surprised her in the least to see her older sister in the thick of whatever was going on.

"You've got a thief!" a flat-nosed man said, wagging a finger at Sheala to add emphasis to his proclamation.

Her sister was cowering back against Ebeth, the leaders of this troupe of performers who the sisters had been roaming the countryside with. Sheala said nothing as the angry man snatched the purse she was still holding back from her hands.

"This is very serious indeed." Ebeth clamped a hand over Sheala's shoulder, holding her there. A disheveled man, he was dressed in patchwork clothes of every color and pattern imaginable, and even some Cassandra couldn't even fathom existed before seeing them. "I assure you sir, we will handle this."

"You'll handle it?" The man whom Sheala had stolen from was flying high on incredulousness. "Unacceptable! We need to go and get the guards and a magistrate from Beln and have them meet out proper justice."

"Sir," Ebeth said, his voice smooth enough to charm scales from a snake, "the authorities have bigger fish to try. And Beln is a three hours away on horseback." Now he turned his voice upon the crowd fully assembled to see what was going on. "Does this child belong to anyone?" When no one answered, he looked down at Sheala. "An orphan then?"

To which Sheala nodded.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, watching this whole charade play out again. It had become a practiced routine between the two of them whenever her sister bit off more than she could chew and gambled far too much with her targets to the point of getting caught.

"If she is an orphan," Ebeth said, "then we will take her in and teach her the value of hard work. It is the way of our Nomadic people. She will not be treated gently, for thieves are not acceptable in our company."

That lie drew another eye roll from Cassandra. It was also at that moment when she noticed two women back a bit from the main scuffle. The older one, hair graying, was gesticulating wildly, and very adamant that she'd seen this same child, Sheala, be caught previously. And for the same offense.

That wasn't good, but before Cassandra could consider the implications of the exchange, a painful crack across her back flared into sharp resolution. Spinning around, she locked eyes with the overly round, and exceedingly angry, woman blasting her with a stern gaze and crossed arms while holding tight to the switch used to draw her attention back to the fact she'd not been doing what she was supposed to be.

"What do you think you're doing?" The bark behind the woman's voice was literally like that of a dog.

"N... nothing Taskmistress Ingla." Cassandra rubbed her shoulder, feeling the forming welt swelling under her clothes. It probably didn't break the skin, like some of the other reminders she'd been given for past indiscretions. But it still hurt.

"No one gave you permission to take a break. Get back to work, runt. And no lunch for you as punishment for not pulling your own weight. You know the rules. Chores are always done first, before anything else. Especially snooping."

"Yes, Taskmistress."

The bloated woman whirled and trundled off, leaving Cassandra to ponder the hunger growing in her stomach. The younger of the twins resolved to get those dishes done, or her next punishment would be no dinner. Risking one final look back, Cassandra noticed the crowd was dispersing. Apparently the act between her sister and Ebeth had been successful. But one thing was for certain. It seemed to be wearing thin.

"Sheala."

The hushed call of her name startled the older of the twins, but not enough to rouse her fully.

"Sheala."

There it was again, annoying her, preventing her from sleeping. Dazed, the elder daughter of Stormband turned over as the straw of her mat cut into her sides. She blinked and stared as Cassandra stood over her.

"Aw, Cass," Sheala moaned. "What is it? Go back to sleep."

Sheala rolled over and pulled her tattered blanket over her shoulders and half her face. As winter loomed, the nighttime air was crisp with the pounding rain outside, pounding a chill into her like a sledgehammer-driven spike. The lumber comprising the walls and floor of the broken down, old supply wagon that passed as their home these days desperately need repair. Many of the boards were so warped that the gaps between them provided little protection from the elements.

Other than the areas where the girls slept, the entire space was tightly packed with crates of various sizes and contents, forcing the cots the girls had been relegated to sleeping on to be shoehorned tightly into one corner.

Cassandra shook her sister. "Come on sis, we're getting out of here."

Sheala pulled away from her intruding hand. "What are you talking about?" She rubbed her eyes with the desire to return to her sleep while the soothing warmth of the medallion about her neck calmed her agitation at being awoken. "We don't have anywhere to go. Besides," she said with a wide yawn, "it's not so bad."

"Not so bad!" Cassandra quickly lowered her voice. "Sheala, you've been caught three times in as many days. How much longer do you think Ebeth will be able to keep you from real trouble? Sooner or later, someone's not going to give in to him. What happens then? This little scam you two have going? The one where you pick pockets while his performers and freaks distract the audience? It's going to get you in real trouble."

"Cass, I'm just having an off week is all. I've been doing this for what? Four years?" Yawning again, Sheala pleaded, "Now let me sleep. I won't be able to work tomorrow if I'm tired."

"What happens if one of the town guards catches you?" Her younger sister warned. "I heard someone today say they recognized you as the same girl that got caught two days ago. He can't protect you forever."

"You're just upset," Sheala said, snapping back at her. "Because the only thing you're good at is scrubbing the pots."

Cassandra planted an angry foot on the loose boards of the old wooden floor. She moved aside the tangle of long red hair that fell into her eye. "Fine! If all you want to do with your life is to scrape and steal with Ebeth and his gypsy freaks, that's your call." Turning, Cassandra felt for the knob of the rickety wagon door. "I'm through being their little slave."

As the door opened in her hand, the wind howled inside and rain spat at her face. Wiping it from her eyes, Cassandra pulled her raveled coat over her shoulders and leaped to the ground with a muddied splash. Transfixed on the door, she watched as it creaked closed in the darkness, as though it were a story in the book of her life ending. Something inside her desperately wanted to reopen it and read that story again, and she almost turned around.

Almost.

Sheala listened to the door as it pulled shut, first with a strained creak of the spring and then a tooth rattling double bang as it bounced against its frame. She lay there for a while, expecting her twin to return. Just like so many times previously.

Sometimes Cassandra lingered longer than others on the other side of the wagon's door. But she'd always come back.

Sheala imagined her twin, standing there, pondering what life would be like if she didn't; what her world would become if she chose to leave behind the only family she had left.

But the time continued to pass. The door never did reopen. Not this time.

Sheala laid there for long hours. In hopeful silence, she continued her wait while the rains subsided and the morning sun began to break through gaps between the boards of the supply wagon's sides. She clutched at the medallion she wore, the one her father had given to her six years ago. Its warmth was now faded, making it feel like a worthless trinket and not something special. The distance between the two daughters of Stormband had grown too far apart, and it had never before been this lifeless.

For the first time, Sheala considered herself alone; truly alone. And it scared her.

She closed her eyes tightly and whispered, not knowing what else to do. "She's gone, Father. Cass is gone ... Please don't leave me alone too, Father."