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Twins were a blessing, sent from the Gods.
This was what the two had been told their entire lives. The village elders, who said it in reverence. The other children, who said it without understanding. Those children’s parents, who said it with envy.
For years, they felt like blessings. Their father tended to their needs, the village fawned over them, the elders praised them.
As they grew older and began to understand the world around them, however, they realized that the pedestal of divinity was isolating. They realized that their names were not as beautiful as they had always thought, as they had been told.
It happened on the day of the first snowfall of their tenth winter. Oleander and Belladonna had been with the elders, learning of their places in the village. As they were quickly becoming young adults, the elders decided it was time for them to begin learning the roles they would eventually fill in the coming years.
Oleander had been taken to the temple’s craftsmen, where he was allowed to try various tasks and see if any caught his eye. He took a liking to several, and was assured he had many years before he had to decide on his craft.
Belladonna had been taken to the temple’s clerics. They showed her simple rituals and artifacts from the gods. They explained the work of the temple, how she would fit into it. With snow white hair and one of two twins, they were certain she had been sent by the gods to be their mouthpiece. She only needed to learn how to hear and relay the whims of the gods.
The two basked in the new knowledge, eagerly absorbing everything they could. They felt at place, like they were supporting their village and making their father proud. Night fell quickly, and the twins were offered a place to stay at the temple for the night. An errand boy had already been sent to relay the message to their father. They declined, despite the dark, wanting to tell their father of their day.
The clerics of the temple didn’t know what they had come home to, but the two returned shortly after, dazed and red-eyed. In the morning, they asked the temple scholar what their names meant. The scholar’s face dropped.
Oleander and Belladonna didn’t return home after that. They threw themselves into their work at the temple, their childhood dwindling by the day. By the time there was no childhood left for them to enjoy, they had already become experts in their fields.
Their father never once tried to reach out to them. It hurt, at first, but they accepted it soon enough and moved on.
Years later, a plague swept through the village. Dozens succumbed to it, their flesh rotting as they still breathed, death lingering but never fully taking them. Many had to be relieved of the plague through mercy, a task that weighed heavily on those responsible for it. The scholars and clerics worked tirelessly for a cure, hoping to find a way to bring them back from the edge of death.
Belladonna watched countless people who believed in her wholeheartedly die by her side. She wept for them, questioning the gods. Why gift the people with a mouthpiece for the gods if you never speak to her? She tried to push away those blasphemous thoughts and focus on the plague.
She thought the village could overcome this. Despite the death and despair, she believed that they would overcome this tragedy. Then Oleander fell ill. Her brother, the only family she had in this world. The only person she loved and the only person who loved her for what she was, not for her supposed gifts.
When the symptoms first appeared she collapsed, the exhaustion from the past months of fighting this plague all hitting her at once. She went to his side immediately, where he smiled at her as if nothing was wrong. He asked what he had done to get a personal appearance from the high priestess, asked if he was in trouble or something. The playful teasing and banter brought tears to her eyes. Even sick and in pain, she knew all too well the pain of this plague, he still wanted to put her at ease.
When the temple clerics found them in the morning, it was too late for either of them.