“Hold that thought. It may interest you to know this conversation is no longer private,” Angelique said as she gestured a finger at the door. 

It craned open fully as Schala and Remilia righted themselves and stood, their cover blown. 

Mathilde put on a smile while Yusuf turned away from the door. “Girls! What are you doing out of your rooms?” 

“Don’t even try, mom,” Remilia said first. “We heard enough.” 

Angelique sighed and moved to depart. As she neared the girls, she leaned closer and said, “I will catch up with you two later. Choose your words carefully; I laid the groundwork for you.” 

Angelique disappeared down the stairs while Yusuf turned to his daughters. 

“So, you don’t believe in us?” Schala began bluntly. 

“How long have you two been listening?” Yusuf asked, his voice low and stern. 

“Long enough to know that what we want doesn’t matter at all to you,” Schala retorted, stepping forward to lock eyes with her father. 

The parents were caught off-guard. Schala was normally quiet, speaking when she needed to, unless it was passion-filled. This issue filled her with the right amount of passion, and her words wouldn’t go unspoken, even if they may fall on deaf ears. 

The twins watched as their mother approached and put a hand on their cheek. 

“You both matter so much to us. It’s just, we know what’s best for you. We’re your parents.” Mathilde’s smile quivered as if she tried to hide her disappointment. 

Schala snatched away. Remilia repeated the action. 

“And we’re your children, but we’ll be adults tomorrow. You’ve taught us what we know, but we need to choose our paths,” Schala 

“Yeah, we’re not babies anymore,” Remilia began. “We should be allowed to make our own decisions.” 

“And you can,” Yusuf answered. “Just not this one.” 

Remilia stepped closer. “Papa, please reconsider—" 

Like a bear, he reared over his daughters and put on a stern face they couldn’t ignore. “That’s enough! It is final!” His voice resounded through the house like a bullhorn. 

“So what we want be damned, right? This is a load of bullshit!” Schala slapped her hand against her thigh and the paper from Yusuf’s desk exploded into their air like an angry storm.  

Angelique stepped from behind and snapped her fingers; the sheets flatten and fall, landing in a neat stack on the floor. 

Remilia stamped out of the room. Schala remained, glaring at her parents. She clenched her fists tightly, and her black-painted nails dug deep into her skin through her gloves until drops of ruby prickled the carpet. 

“You know damn well I’m right—” 

“Watch your mouth,” Mathilde ordered. 

“You know damn well I’m right!” Schala repeated. “It’s not fair at all.” 

Schala departed, following Remilia. They heard Angelique’s voice one last time: 

“Please. Reconsider.” 

There was a silence, then the door to the study closed, the lock latching right afterward. Remilia burst back into their room and flopped face down on her bed. Schala sat on the edge of Remilia’s bed and gestured, the door closing and locking. 

With a powerful, shrill scream, Remilia muffled a cry with her pillow. 

“I hate that they always pull the parent card! Lording our future over us!” 

Schala snapped her fingers and her grimoire appeared. She flipped it open to a page filled with arcane symbols from top to bottom. 

“You want to change that?” Schala said with resignation in her voice. 

Remilia unburied her face from her pillow, her smeared make-up getting a chuckle from Schala. “What? You want to kill them?” 

Schala’s face scrunched up in confusion and shock. “What? No! Oh my god! Why are you so dark?!” 

“I come from darkness! It runs with the territory! Didn’t you hear?” Remilia announced sarcastically. She waved her hands around and punched the air. 

“I was—No, goodness! I was going to use a little bit of magic I pulled from one of dad’s old books. It took me months to figure it out.” 

“And what’s dad’s old books gonna do to help us?” 

“It helped me fix my hands,” Schala announced. 

Her eyes dancing over the symbols and written words marred by time, oxygen, and faded ink, Schala couldn’t help but remember years prior, the one time she was "consulted” about her condition. 

She always thought her condition was the phantom sensation she felt in her hands, the need to rub and soothe them for a nonexistent pain. The Reader – the Sorcery Society had no other name for the woman who played the role of a therapist – revealed that her condition found its origin in something…ancient. 

The session always wafted back to Schala’s mind. She was sworn to secrecy, to tell Remilia at the crossroads of their life. 

Was this it? The crossroads? 

Remilia turned fully to her twin; her attention was seized. She remembered the day Schala cast the spell to correct her deformed hands, and the months it took her to learn how to use them. If an ancient spell could fix Schala’s hands, then what could that book have in store? 

With that thought swirling in her mind, Remilia scooted closer to Schala, who calmly recited words in Spelltongue, the magic language, which sounded like harsh Sanskrit married to Latin. 

“We learned this language long ago!” Remilia said in a hushed voice. “Tauntine taught us—” 

“—When we were five. She was preparing us for this way back then,” Schala confirmed. 

Remilia helped Schala hold the grimoire. As soon as her hand touched the worn leather, the aged pages began to glow. They shared a glance. 

Together, they read the spell aloud.