The girls were very fond of each other, as most sisters were. They painted each other’s

nails, did each other’s hair, and wore fancy dresses. At five the girls learned that they were two

souls of the same body. Ruthie had more brains and Lucy had less. Ruthie was taller and Lucy

stood on stepstools. To brush their teeth—their hair—the twins never bickered. They were never

alone because they had each other. Ruthie and Lucy were the children of the Mr. and Mrs. of

their household, where they held quiet tea parties when the Mr. and Mrs. were not home.

One evening, the twins had heard their parents arguing. They crept to the staircase closest

to their room and watched the commotion. Mrs. had pressed her hands against Mr.’s chest and

cried—

“You have two daughters!” she whaled.

“They aren’t what I expected, they hardly even speak,” the girls stared at each other with

“What of me? What am I supposed to do here? Take me with you!” their mother

screamed. “They don’t love me either.”

“You? Take you with me?” he scoffed. “I wouldn’t take you anywhere. These children

are your fault.”

“But please,” she begged him and thrust herself into his arms. He caught her and shoved

her away. A loud thump emerged from a corner the girls couldn’t see. Glasses erupted and

something heavy was being dragged across the floor.

The girls cried to themselves for weeks in their room. Not wanting to know what

happened they kept to themselves. They kept quiet and had each other. They became like mute

figurines and when their father couldn’t get a response from them he retired. Mr. had one day

gone away on a business trip which lasted for five years. He sent a letter home saying that he

would be away for an additional two years. It was a lie and he was never to be seen again. And

so the Mrs. stayed home and knitted by the fireplace and when the twins turned twelve she began

to leave them alone.

The twins had no friends; they were each other’s friends equally. They were fifteen. On a

lazy afternoon in the desert heat of August, the twins sat in their playroom. Ruthie sat on the

window seat with her nose in a book and Lucy quietly braided strands of her own brunette hair

repeatedly. There was a knock at the playroom door. The girls looked up from what they were

doing for a moment and returned to their personal activities. Yet again, there was a single loud

knock on the door. Lucy unknotted her hair and slanted her eyes at Ruthie from across the room.

Someone murmured beyond the door that they would like to come in. And Ruthie threw her

book gently aside and walked to open the door. Outside stood Mrs. and a young lady dressed in a

floral tea gown.

The girl had small golden locks, hazel eyes, and smelled of lavender and roses. She stood

quietly with her head bowed at the open door. Mrs. introduced Ruthie to the girl and walked

away on her own accord. They called her Jezebel. Jezebel was her father’s bastard child from his

third marriage. Mr. had sent a letter to Mrs. and requested to leave Jezebel with them for a short

time. He explained in his letter that his latest wife was ill and it was a necessity that he leave

home for a business trip.

The girls joined each other for afternoon tea and quietly chatted amongst each other. The

girls talked about the summer and asked Jezebel what it was like actually having their father

around. Jezebel scrunched her nose and told them about how affectionate he was towards her. To

the twins disdain, they had felt a prick of pain in their sides. They were baffled. Could their

father love another child but not his very first? Jezebel went on and on about the gifts he had

given her. She was naïve. And they looked at her.

“He has left for a business trip?” Ruthie asked her.

“He said he was coming home with medicine for my mother.” Jezebel grinned devilishly

at them.

“He isn’t coming back, you know that right?” Lucy looked at her sympathetically.

“Don’t say that about my father!” Jezebel reamed.

The twins stared at her for a long time and began to ignore her. They talked about other

things, flowers and teas and parties. With every interjection that Jezebel made, they looked at her

and returned to their personal conversations. She did not exist and nothing she could do would

tear the blood sisters apart.

Soon before long, Jezebel grew angry with the loud chatter from the girls as she sprung

from her seat.

“He left you both because you are despicable little demons!” she screamed.

The girls ignored her still.

“He said it himself!” she cried.

And they continued to talk to each other, excluding Jezebel indefinitely.

“Listen to me!”

Jumping upon the table she leapt forward and firmly gripped her hands around Lucy’s

little neck. Each finger neatly glued to her bear skin. With each violent thrust of Jezebel’s arms

Lucy let out a squeal for air:

“Hhhuhh.”

“Huuusss.”

“Hhhhhh.”

Lucy’s eyes grew red and her skin grew lighter the harder she was squeezed. Ruthie sat in

her chair paralyzed from the chest down. Unable to move, she watched as her sister was

effortlessly drained of life. After a few moments, Jezebel released poor Lucy from her grip and

returned to her chair. She silently took a sip from her tea cup, pleated her dress, and left the

room. Lucy sat slouched in her chair, her left arm dangling down by her ankle. Snot, saliva, and

tears combined at her chin.

The twins turned eighteen today and the Mrs. no longer visited them. Having now

outgrown her dresses, Ruthie sat in gowns she had fashioned on her own. Next to her sister who

reeked of decay, she sat having tea. Like a normal day, the sun shined in effortlessly.