When she came into the world, it was with agony, with screams and blood, ripping violence and cries. He followed shortly after, bringing merciful oblivion. The midwife who brought them would have nothing do do with the pair when she saw their eyes: one bright blue, the other clear green, rare enough in one child, almost unheard of in two. 'Witch', she had muttered, horrified. 'Witch twins. You ought must drown them. Your'un young, you can have more. These are cursed! Ma'am', but the woman was in peaceful unconciousness.

It was she that brought her back. The infant girl's piercing wail was unearthly, haunting and shrill. The new mother's eyes opened in alarm as the child was handed over to the wetnurse, but the baby could not be calmed. With minisule nails, she clawed at the woman's breast, clamping toothless gums painfully. The nurse cried out and thrust the girl away, and hesitantly took the boy instead. The moment he took hold, she settled into a chair, eyes heavy, yawning. In moments, she was asleep, and the boy slid from her arms. He hit the floor but did not cry; the midwife muttered 'witch' as she lifted him and handed him and his sister to their mother.

"They are my noble husband's, as they are mine. I shall tend to them if thee hasn't the heart- go now, tell my lord he has a son and daughter both. My dears," she crooned to her children, "all will be well. Fear not, loves. All will be well."

All the physicians in Christendom could not discover what was wrong with the little girl, just scarcely past her first birthday. When she was touched she writhed as though in agony, lashing out, snapping with tiny milk teeth. Only her twin could sooth her, placed beside her in the cradle to calm her with a tiny hand on her little cheek. Unpleasant things happened around the girl; lit candles would fall over seemingly on their own accord, livestock would sicken, milk would sour. But if the little boy was nearby, the candles would snuff before igniting the room, the livestock would find peaceful rest, and suddenly, the milk would be sweet again.

The girl loved her sire, although he was frankly a bit frightened of the her. He did not like to hold her, but one evening, he argued with his wife while the twins slept in the next room.

"You hear what they all stay- you cannot feign ignorance! Witches, they call them in the villiage. Little monsters, especially the sister! You remember what the midwife said at their birth- they should be drowned. It is not too late... We could even keep the boy- he would not look so suspicious if not held up beside his sister."

Their mother refused, and her husband stormed from the house in a fit of rage, calling for his favorite horse to be brought out from the stable.

Then, something quite strange happened.

As the great lord of the manor galloped away down the road, the fine mare reared quite suddenly, throwing him to the ground. And then, it was as though a great exhaustion washed over the beast. It swayed unsteadily before collapsing limply upon its master, crushing him. As soon as his struggles ceased, the creature lifted nimbly to its feet and trotted off.

When they were two years old and quite steady on their feet, the twins liked to walk around the fields, hand in hand, over knolls and through grasses nearly reaching their heads. Hand in hand, they always went, beautiful and wide eyed. Sometimes, they walked down to the village.

At first, they were scorned, but the townspeople quickly learned that if they turned away in disgust from the pair, something dreadful was sure to happen: dinner would be burnt beyond edibility and the family would go hungry for the night, a child would fall and scrape their knees, milk would curdle or the eldery would fall ill. Or perhaps a great lethargy would fall over the village, making it quite impossible to accomplish any of the tasks necessary for the day. And so the beautiful little children were greeted and acknowledged warily; the occasional treat was offered by the baker, perhaps a small toy by the whittler. But when they were gone, all the parents reminded their children once more never to play with them, to keep thier eyes lowered when the pair walked by, but never to run away.

On their third birthday, the children had a visitor- and odd, ancient man with blood red eyes and long black hair. Their mother worried over his presence, but the man was kind, assuring her in a soft voice that he meant her little ones no harm.

He was the first person to ever promise that he wished her twins no ill will. He introduced himself as simply Aro, and told her that he had heard of two gifted children living in this area from as far away as Volterra.

"I know not where that might be, but it most certainly not my babies of which you were told," she said to the stranger.

"I see," he replied amusedly in a reedy voice, taking her hand in a reassuring manner. She stiffened at the informality and icy feel of his skin, but he released her after a moment. "If they are entirely normal, you will not object if I observe them for a brief period?"

She wished to object, but could not justify the complaint without revealing too much. "Well, I suppose briefly. They are in there playing." She gestured to the next room, and watched him enter with trepidation.

Aro glided easily over to a wooden stool, settling himself before the startled toddlers. "My sweet little girl," he crooned, holding his hand out to the sister. She took it cautiously, seemingly unperturbed by his cold, hard flesh. With a smile, Aro tugged her forward, then swiftly pinched her cheek.

The girl gave a small cry of outrage at the sharp, sudden pain and sprang back, glaring at Aro. Suddenly, the sturdy legs of the chair splintered beneath his weight, and he rose before he hit the floor, laughing brightly.

"Wonderful girl," he sang, lifting her tenderly. "Twas necessary, my sweetling, and I'll not again. What is it your brother will do?" Before the question was fully out, he felt a most curious sensation- although Aro had not needded to sleep for centuries, it was as though someone whispered for him to do so, trying to exaust him with silent, creeping tedrils. "Dear little boy!" he cried, touching the brother's hair affectionately. "I will be back for you both, I promise!" He pressed stony lips to the forehead of the girl he cradled so tenderly, and then set her on the ground once more, before vanishing from the room.

When the twins were four, they were almost killed. They had been walking through the village, hand in hand, when a boy no more than twelve had thrown a rock.

"Witches!" he cried, drawing the attention of those around the square. "Witches!" He hurled another stone, and the other boys of the town began to join the sport as well. The adults turned away, smiling secretly to themselves, pretending not to see. The first boy drew his arm back a third time, and yelled in sudden pain as the movement cause the muscle to wrench. He fell to his knees, abruptly lost in unconcious in slumber. Frightened, the other miscreants dropped their pebbles and scampered away, seeing first hand that their parents whispered horror stories were true.

The boy took his sister's hand once more, wiping the blood tenderly from her cheek, and they walked back to their home upon the hill.

"My children, my only children, children of my deceased, beloved husband- why? Can you not control it? I know you must! You are not wicked children, you are not cursed. But this is the fourth tutor you have scared away- the fourth that has died shortly after leaving!" The woman stared at her five year olds, seated primly before her. "It hurts me that you two suffer like you do, that people don't see what remarkable, wonderful dears you are, that all they see is your... differences."

"Mummy, we'll be good."

"Very good."

"We don't want you hurt," she whispered, staring up at her mother with large eyes.

"Good. Now go to sleep, my little ones." The twins nodded in unison, kissed her cheek one at a time, and skipped off to bed.

Slowly, their mother rose, and trudged off to her own chamber, tears streaming down her face. She glided past the door, however, and climbed higher. Up, up until she stood in the turret, staring down over the countryside. Carefully, she pulled herself up onto the ledge. She closed her eyes, savoring the cool night air on her face. Splaying her arms wide, she smiled for the first time in years and, breathing deeply, she leapt.

"They're coming for us."

"Mother will send them away."

"Mother isn't coming back, brother. We're lucky they haven't come sooner. Lucky there was so much food stored up. Mother has been gone almost seven months. She missed our sixth birthday. She's not coming home."

"I miss her."

"I know."

They watched silently from the windows as the villagers pressed forward from the town, torches in hand.

"Will they hurt us, sister?"

She looked straight ahead, and took his hand. "Yes. But we'll make them regret it."

They listened intently to the cries of 'Burn them! Burn the witches!' as the mob drew up to the manor, when suddenly, two hands fell upon their shoulders.

"Time to go, my little ones. My dear Jane, my dear Alec."

Then, they were flying.