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aelwyn doesn’t trance until adaine does, until she can hear the slow, steady breathing of her usually anxious little sister. it seems odd, to regard the great elven oracle (though she insists on being oracle to everyone, the stubborn thing) as anything little, but to aelwyn, she’s just so small. a baby. she remembers when adaine was born. she was only three, but can recall, as clear as day, the moment she stopped being her parents’ perfect only child, and started being their perfect first born instead. it didn’t make much of a difference - she was still the favourite - but something had changed. she now had this... thing. this constantly wailing, sobbing thing that followed her around and demanded attention. a thing that she almost wanted to protect, if only she knew how to protect anything other than her own self interest.
aelwyn did not, in fact, protect adaine. it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t know how to follow the rules. wasn’t her fault that adaine couldn’t seem to see the unspoken orders on their mother’s lips, between their father’s furrowed brows. was it so hard to just be quiet, and listen? to do as she was told? didn’t she know that there is no love without expectation?
apparently not, aelwyn thinks, when she sees adaine with her friends, flourishing in all the ways their parents insisted she couldn’t. aelwyn watches these misfit teenagers - the bad kids (a name which seems both ridiculous and perfectly fitting) - and the way they seem to give love so freely, as if there is no cost attached. it’s almost enviable, she thinks, but not quite. what’s the point in love, in care, without a price? love without expectation should mean nothing, but seeing their smiles and hugs and laughter, she thinks it might mean far more than the sacrificial adoration of her mother and father that had to be earned, not freely received. aelwyn knows how to earn love. from her family, from her peers at hudol, from the faceless boys that found themselves tangled up with her in a drunken, smoky haze. but for as popular as she was - before she disappeared and quite literally lost her mind - she doesn’t think she was ever as well liked as adaine. it is a strange feeling to be jealous of someone you have been taught is lesser than you, but a feeling she experiences nonetheless.
but aelwyn doesn’t resent adaine for being better than her in every way imaginable. she doesn’t think she could ever hate her sister if she tried. and she tried, time and time again because it would be so much easier to watch adaine get hurt if she did. but she didn’t, and she still doesn’t, and she knows she never will. she isn’t a divinatory wizard, but she knows with more certainty than she deserves, that adaine is easy to love, and very difficult to hate. aelwyn herself, on the other hand, finds making enemies as easy as breathing. she knows what everyone thinks of her, no matter what adaine says. they all see her as the girl who helped kalvaxus and the nightmare king, the girl who betrayed her own sister. the villain of whatever sordid tale her life must be, where adaine is the hero, because of course she is. why wouldn’t she be? she’s perfect in all the ways she is not, and it is hard for aelwyn to draw the line between pride and envy. both are sins, so perhaps it doesn’t make much difference. she wasn’t really one for religion either way.
she wonders if adaine is, or ever was, jealous of her. maybe when they were younger, but not anymore. aelwyn recalls adaine saying that their parents hurt them both, albeit in different ways. that is a very hard concept for aelwyn to wrap her head around, because she thought she had it easy. she was pretty and clever and powerful. she was good, because her parents said she was. and yes, they asked a lot of her, and yes, they seemed fine with torturing her for almost a year, and yes, she still has panic attacks about being trapped in that fucking orb- but at least they still loved her, right? at least she was still the better daughter? it turns out that no one else really feels that way - they all think adaine is the golden child, which she is, and that hurts. she is so loved and cherished, and aelwyn is a stranger living in a home that isn’t hers with people who aren’t her family, but are definitely adaine’s, regardless of blood relation.
she spends a lot of time wondering if adaine misses their parents. she’s never asked, but she’s sure the answer would be no. and that would be too hard to hear, because aelwyn misses them. or at least, she misses the way things used to be. life was so much simpler when she had strict instructions to follow every waking moment, like a robot. she isn’t a robot anymore. she feels everything so strongly and irrevocably, and wonders if this is how life is supposed to be experienced, without the vignette of blasé obedience.
adaine was never a robot, couldn’t be if she tried. she’s just always been so much, like there’s so much emotion and power and magic trapped inside her. it’s why their parents were never going to approve of her, no matter how hard she tried to win their praise. now, adaine no longer seeks approval. she doesn’t need it, not like aelwyn does. she has so many friends and an annoyingly cute frog and a guardian who has been more paternal than their father ever was. aelwyn doesn’t know how to feel about jawbone. he makes adaine happy, which should be a good thing, but she feels a strange resentment towards him. how dare he try and take her place looking after adaine, even if she’s only ever done a terrible job of it? logically, she knows that’s ridiculous. jawbone is perhaps the nicest person she’s met. he’s kind and patient even with her, always there to listen even when the words won’t come. he makes her tea when she ends up in the kitchen before dawn, hugging her knees on the counter. he helps her get her high school diploma in case she wants to keep studying (but that’s a can of worms she’s not ready to opens even in the deep recesses of her own private brooding). he gets her in touch with a therapist, who aelwyn refuses to even meet, because good daughters don’t need therapists. good daughters don’t struggle. good daughters are quiet and good and numb.
but aelwyn is no longer numb. the band aid of snark and mockery has been ripped off, and she feels so raw, in a way she can’t understand but hates anyway. everything was so much easier when she was numb, because now she can’t trance until her sister does, because she cares about her so much and if anything were to happen to her-
well. she doesn’t want to think about that. so instead, she thinks about all the ways her sister flourishes and all the ways she does not, as she waits for adaine to drift off. it always takes a while, and sometimes, aelwyn almost thinks that adaine is waiting for her to trance too, to make sure she’s safe. but that thought makes her heart hurt much too much, so aelwyn simply closes her eyes and breathes, falling in time to her little sister like they are one heart, one body, existing together.