Snowflakes danced outside the frosted glass, each one a silent echo of the past.
The winter sky was pale and heavy, like a canvas soaked in memories, deep memories. Megan stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself and her long auburn hair spilling over her shoulders. Beside her, Morgan mirrored the stance, the only difference being the cascade of dark curls that framed a solemn face.
They leaned against the silvery window ledge, their breath fogging the glass.
Outside, the world was quiet. The Adams estate stood tall and proud amidst acres of white, the tall iron gates barely visible beneath the snowfall.
" It was this time of the year....." Megan whispered, her voice almost lost in the hush.
" When they died."
Morgan nodded slowly. " I remember the firewood scent in the hall, the way Dad's cologne mixed with it. " She had paused, as if her own swallowing choked her. " And Mom's red coat, the last time she wore it."
There was Silence.
The air between them was cold, not from the chill of winter, but from the hole grief had carved into their hearts. It had been three years since the assassination. Three long brutal years. And every snowfall brought it back.
Megan's fingers traced a line through the misted glass. " Do you think they knew?"
" Knew what?"
"That someone was coming for them."
Morgan's throat tightened. " Dad wasn't the type to be caught off guard. But maybe..... maybe he trusted too easily."
The door creaked open. It was Nanny Fiona, holding a tray of hot cocoa, her eyes kind but weary.
"Girls, " she said gently, " you'll catch your death by that window. Come sit by the fire."
Morgan gave a nod, but Megan didn't move. She glanced outside still, steadily. Nanny Fiona muttered words as she left quickly, like she left something cooking.
"They never caught who did it Mo," Megan continued. " And it breaks me."
" It breaks us, Meg." Mo said quietly, as she rubbed her shoulders. " But we'll find out, we will one day, I know."
The snow was still descending, meekly now, but in her heart, in Megan's heart, a fire had been stirred, not of warmth, but of vengeance.
Because love had been stolen from them. And someone would pay.
Megan had vowed already. She had told Mo, she would make them feel it. The pain her parents felt on the night they were shot, that feeling. Every bit of it, not just pain. Regret. Terror. Emptiness. Every ounce of what they gave them, she had vowed to give back..... slowly.
They were mirrors, yet not the same. Megan and Morgan Adams, twins of legend. Their striking resemblance could fool even the most watchful eye, and their Nanny Fiona could attest firmly. Countless times when they were babies and even growing, she had been mistaking the both girls. Mrs. Adams, had joked with her when she newly became the twins' Nanny that it wouldn't be an easy one for her, but she had firmly argued against that. The girls pranking her then was very easy, all they had to do was dye their hair the same colour, and Nanny would be so confused. It made them laugh so much at her, but over the time, it became futile since she already mastered telling them apart. Now she knew them more than anybody else, maybe more than their late parents. They had been assassinated while the twins were twelve, and she had been their only parent since then.
The twins' childhood was a lovely when they had their parents. They had all the care, all the love. At school, people admired them greatly, their perfect resemblance. They had the skin, like flawless ivory which seemed to absorb every light, and bore the rare silvery hue of their mother's eyes -a cool haunting grey that shimmered like the moon's reflection on glass.
They never lacked. Mr and Mrs Adams, the most wonderful couples ever known. Mr. Edward Adams owned the famous Adams And Heavens company, and Mrs Elizabeth Adams had her large fashion company spinning. She had always been a model, loved fashion, and Nanny wasn't surprised that Mo took after her in that aspect. Megan had always thought if their childhood would have remained lovely if their beloved parents hadn't been murdered. She would have loved to see them grow older. She would have still disturbed her mother for a brother. Would have still argued with her dad like she loved doing. She would have still loved to...
Nanny came in again, interrupting her wistful thoughts. Her face was looking questioning.
" Mo? Someone finds you. Not Rose, not any girl."
And both girls turned in wonder. This was unusual.