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Addie's mother taught her nursery rhymes. "The Itsy Bitsy Spider." "Mary Mary Quite Contrary." "This Little Piggy."
"And this little piggy cried 'wee wee wee' all the way home," said her mother, tickling Addie's foot. Addie giggled.
Red's mother made sounds for her, growls and grunts. She tickled Red's foot. Red's foot jerked, as much because Addie's had as because of what she felt herself. Red made a huffing sound as Addie's chest moved.
Addie who had been Red taught Zora and Jason the same rhymes. They laughed.
Red who had been Addie didn't teach Umbrae and Pluto the rhymes, but she spoke them all the same. To Pluto, she said, "This little piggy set a fire. This little piggy saw sparks. This little piggy struck a match. This little piggy got burned. This little piggy saw flames, flames, flames all the way home." Pluto was silent, rapt, his eyes lit from within.
It didn't matter what words she said to Umbrae. Her daughter always laughed.
In the tunnels, they called out to each other, loud or soft, sing-song or sly.
"The itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the garden spout," crooned Red in her broken voice. "I climbed up for you!"
"Three blind mice," called Addie. "See how she runs." Her voice was broken too. Red had done that to her, caught her by the throat and choked her, broken her voice box.
Red had done that, in the hall of mirrors. That was how she'd become Addie.
Red had done that, in the tunnels. That was how she'd kept Addie with her. No going back to your aboveground family when you sounded just like the underground other you. How could they know which one she really was? They couldn't.
They couldn't either. Red who had become Addie, Addie who had become Red, two dancing girls, two bereft mothers, two wives, two hoarse-voiced women chasing each other through the tunnels, living on rabbit, sleeping with scissors in case their barefoot other self stepped softly up to them while they lay dreaming of lost children and sunlight.
Sometimes the scissors were forgotten. Sometimes, in the dark, they stole pleasure from each other as they'd stolen each other's lives. Here in the tunnels, there was blame but no shame.
"All the king's horses and all the king's men," someone whispered, Addie or Red, and Addie or Red whispered back, "Couldn't pull them apart ever again."