EVIE
like love is a bad word
Evie is shamefully unaware of her sister's preoccupation, too embroiled in her own grief to recognize that the woman beside her is radiating anxiety that would normally send up red flags. Instead she clings to Amalia's melodious tone, the familiar resonance that has filled all her days since the younger woman was born. No matter how they have grown, twisted, changed - wrought by their own experiences and those this cruel world has thrown them into - Amalia's voice is as familiar to Evie as her own. A created harmony that leaves her feeling empty and tonedeaf when Amalia is not there at her side. A family dinner. She can see it too, as the visions she'd been shown fade away like the blackened remnants of sunlight blinked away from her eyes. It has taken a long time to get to where she is with Sam, but the idea of sitting down beside him at a table peacefully is no longer a laughable dream. It is something real, attainable. And why would Amalia not be there? She is just as much family as her twin is to Evie.
And then, as if the thought has provoked the truth into being, the words are spoken. Simply, though clearly not without hesitance and anxiety on Amalia's part.
Sisters. Blood sisters.
For a moment the woman is so stunned that she considers whether this is all some elaborate joke. Except she knows Amalia like she knows no other, and the Shield would not lie about this. Never. So once the surprise is gone, there is only a bright and blooming joy that unfurls in slow-motion on her face, guileless and bare. "Sisters?" It is breathed gently, as if saying it any louder will shatter this fragile gift. Then she bursts into a whirlwind of motion, shrieking in joy in a way she hasn't since she was a young girl, and sweeps Amalia into her arms in the tightest hug her arms can manage. Bouncing the pair of them around, dancing beneath the autumn boughs as she celebrates loudly, laughter pealing in effervescent waves off her tongue. "My sister! Amalia, by the Gods!" Evie is at a complete loss for words, for any other reaction than euphoria. Reluctantly parting, she cradles Amalia's face in her weathered palms, and beams down at her baby sister. "Welcome home," she says helplessly, knowing it's a silly thing to say when Amalia has had a home in Evie's arms and in her heart since she was brought into this world. But now they know. Now it is written in blood, in genes, in things nobody can ever deny now.
