Blackfeather Woods but now the rains weep o'er her hall

It was rumored that some twins felt what the other did. Their pain, their emotions, their being.

She had felt nothing in Sobek's absence. An emptiness — a coldness perhaps — had been all she could tell of. But that was not his, it was her own. A part of her had broken off and drifted away. Had he taken her vision with him? She could not see him in the woods or the caves. She could not spot his form slinking in places they shouldn't be.

But she could still see — her vision had not been stolen in the absence of a twin. She knew she could as she witnessed the crumpled form of her mother. Then her ghost asked a question that churned some inexplicable guilt within her gut. The thought that she had, in some way or another, possibly played a role in her mother's sadness ebbed and flowed within her mind.

Selfish she was to think of herself as her mother laid weeping.

A selfishness that had bloomed from love.