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Within the midst of the deep night, the child-like wizard forfeits sleep. Turmoil had trapped him to the extent sleep had turned into his only source of relief, unfortunately, he would not fight such comfort tonight. And in an attempt to understand why everything feels so eerie, he looks around the room where he is not there. For some reason, despite being aware of his other half’s absence, his two eyes, the exact copy of his dear brother's, scan the room for the trace of his familiar presence. The night envelops the entire atmosphere of the room, an uncanny peaceful silence exerts a loudness reminding him of the lack of something. The lack of White, his dear twin, tied to the soul.
Another wound he happened to open yesterday, yet again. A not so fresh one on top of that. Hundreds of years have flown by since their merciless confrontation, yet the injuries marked on White’s heart seem to show no signs of healing, as the blood of this lesion is still pouring endlessly through his never ending tears.
As a reminder of retribution, guilt intensifies as he reminisces of his copy’s face twisted in sadness. Amidst the hollow obscurity of the night, where nothing can be done other than to wonder, he asks himself in a natural reproach "Why?" Why did I never make the effort to be the bigger person for White?" Suppressing this desire to know of loneliness through travel for knowledge and experience was not an impossible ordeal.
A vivid flashback strikes his psyche, out of love, his dear brother had responded, in a similar way an echo would each time Snow made his request to exist without him. White’s every feelings of jealousy, anger, despair, confusion resonated louder each time. Each time that echo reverberated, Snow would only bear witness the extent of the damage that could arise from their separation.
The feelings intensify, and in such a way, the same internal monologue ressurfaces. A tale of misery as old as time. It is a night that has happened before, and will surely repeat itself again. It is a guilt and a shame that is embedded into the soul, it shows attendance with assiduousness. The voices yell, the thoughts run, the story repeats itself. Even if White's death should have marked an end already, it never ceases, it never will unless one lets go. But a tragedy such as theirs only needs to happen once, and from learning a torturous separation for the first time, they will surely never be apart from each other ever again.
.
.
.
I had let myself be blinded and convinced myself that one day, you will understand. I will come back to you with the tales of many. With a strength even stronger than gravity and the wisdom of all the libraries present in this world. I had believed in the possibility that one day, we could have hugged each other after 100 years of disunion. The sun would shine especially bright on such a merry day. The moment the sight of our faces would enter our field of vision, we would run towards each other, thus celebrating our reunion with smiles, laughter and stories to share.
Yet, it is my duty to admit I had been utterly selfish. I held faith in a utopia in which I deluded myself and believed that you would comprehend such a desire. I believe you would one day, accept, and hold the hope that you would have been able to live on without me. I believe you would have been able to stand against the world with your own two feets. I thought you held such strength in you. I had forgotten that love was a sentiment paired hand in hand with attachment.
How could I dare to blame you? One would always describe us as the two sides of one coin, even as a pair of shoes and of course, each other’s reflection in a mirror. Our names could not be complete without the presence of the other. Only it gained a full meaning if we were together. Our names had gained such an influence that everyone knew of our mightful duo.
I was aware of such a strong link between our identities. I knew dependance lied within our connection. Still, I naively made requests, repeatedly, and provoked chaos in your heart.
“Have you ever thought of living apart of each other”
The question lingered eternally, gluing itself to my psyche. It is only now, that I can recognize the lack of significance such words truly held. After spending years roaming around a world that had felt like the most absurd and incomprehensible environment, as no matter how much I looked for you everywhere, in every corner of it’s vastness, you were not to be found. It was through the nothingness of your state that I had understood the preciousness of your existence in my world. Your absence in this hollow place, gave a scent of absurdism in the cold and merciless air of the Northern country. I should have never attempted to sacrifice the gift of your life for mere curiosity. I cannot even dare to blame this inquisitive mind... That madman possessed the skill of destroying the lives of many with his interrogations that always striked in the most vulnerable part of the heart, it was all a well-known piece of knowledge. All I had to do was to not give any worth to his careless words. Yet, I have shown myself weak to my curiosity, just like him, and now, I search within this dark and empty room for your silhouette.
No, to say that I look for you only in this room, would be fooling myself.
I leave my cold bed sheets and walk slowly towards the long and wide mirror across this shallow room. Before I face myself, I stare down at my feets, only to move my eyes and stare at my silhouette in the reflection.
I now know what is different in us now. Aside from our hairstyle, the constant reminder of your death is your floating body and semi-transparent legs. I cannot help but wonder, just like you always do. Are you truly back from the slumber of death? Or are you an illusion I crafted from despair? The weight of this question is heavy on my shoulders, it is polluting my mind with atrocious guilt, my hands seem to still have the blood of your corpse that I feel like I had killed just yesterday. No matter how silk-white my palms appear to be for a gullible stranger's eyes, the red has never ceased to tint them with a vivid reminder of that day's bloody chaos.
I attempt to adjust my hairstyle, for it to look exactly just like yours. I feel the urge to leave my room, get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness.
But how could I dare to ask for forgiveness, to the one and only precious brother I attempted to abandon, then murdered?
I wonder how long you wish to avoid me today. I look at the clock, we are close to the sunrise.
"Are you asleep?"
I fall even deeper in turmoil and confusion. I attempt to focus and feel within my chest if there is a sentiment aside from my own muddy and knotted emotions. Our souls are linked, and sometimes, I catch a subtle foreign emotion belonging to yours within my own chest. Perhaps, this is what sufficiently serves as the proof of your existence.
I stay unmoving, facing my small body reflecting in the mirror for a short fraction of time that feels like an eternity.
Until I hear a knock on the door, paired with familiar magic energy.
?
The door opens slowly, and I see your half translucent body enter the room. Your eyes meet mine as I notice a subtle trace of concern marked in your pupils.
Silence remains, as we stare at each other with no words being spoken.
In fact, no words needed to be spoken. We both knew of each other's respective truths.
I felt comfort in seeing you, right here, despite the mark of my crime showing through your limpid legs. It is a much more comforting sight compared to my own reflection in the mirror, that attempts to mimic a caricature of who you are.
As if the room had been filled with meaning through your attendance, the weight on my shoulders becomes lighter.
Progressively, a pure golden ray of light radiates from the sun, and blesses this lonesome place.
Outside the window is a subtle mix of warm colors, melting in a natural gradient with the gentle blue of the morning sky. The pure ray of light invites itself through the window and collides on all the gold and glassed items of the room.
In a natural reverence to you, the sun brings the attention to your face as the light further highlights your entrance.
Your eyes face me with directness, you show me a smile. Your mouth slowly opens, and the sound of your familiar voice saves me from the silence that had tortured me for so long.
White: My dear brother, the night has now gifted us with a farewell.
Snow: …
White: To celebrate this bright new day, would you like to have a breakfast made with care by our gentle child from the east? You see, Nero told me yesterday he wished to challenge himself in the kitchen.
From these warm words of reconciliation, joy fills my heart with bliss, as the sun shines with glory and drowns our room with light and forgiveness. My face cannot hide the relief I feel.
I run towards you, take your hand and hold it tightly as a symbolic gesture.
Snow: How wonderful this sounds… Let us go and not waste any further minutes of this blessed morning!
I guide you towards the exit of the room. I notice you look back, as if you wished to check the state of the lonesome place I remained still in.
I can feel you hold my hand, ever so tightly as you follow me. Together, we run in the corridor of the manor and laugh together.
Our two little disciples, Figaro and Oz, leave through the door of Oz's room. I can see their faces filled with curiosity.
Figaro: Seems like they made up.
Figaro, shows a tender smile of relief. This dear child may be as cold as ice, but he’s not unable to show us a warm side.
Oz, is as always staring at us with unfazed crimson eyes, yet I can discern slight interest along with a hint of ease in his face.
I yell at the two childs.
Snow: Come on, both of you! I heard Nero has prepared a wonderful breakfast for us this morning.”
Figaro’s smile gets wider, as he invites Oz with eye contact. He seems to be saying “Come on, come with us.”.
With no sign of hesitancy, Figaro walks behind us, as Oz follows his tracks.
The view from Figaro’s eyes, is of two childs jumping and running with excitement, their hands glued to each other’s. Through their joyous and merry demeanor they show a painting of warmth that prevails despite the centuries, bloodshed and chaos. A comforting sight that Figaro had never ceased to be fond of no matter what. He follows the tracks of such a tenacious love with diligence, and let the merriness of the twins guide him through this bright new day. He looks behind his back to check if Oz is catching up as well. Oz pauses in his tracks.
Oz: I will call Arthur.
Figaro chuckles, right he should do so.
Figaro: Then… I’ll call Mitile and Rutile as well.
The twins, do not wait for their two disciples. Without seeing anyone in the world but them, they head out on their own at a pace even faster than the wind, away from everyone, into the distance.