Prologue

Once upon a time there was a family who lived in a little town called Tulsa, Oklahoma. The family were renowned for many things, not least of which was the increasing beauty, talent and intelligence of each successive generation. When we last left them, our friends Tweedle-Tay and Michaela Manson had realised that sometimes love was the most important thing to them, more important than, as Michaela put it, "some lame attempt to be normal".
They returned to that creepy house at Stoneybrook Crescent, where they cared for their brothers and sisters and pretended they were not related. They went off to college, Tweedle-Tay attending the Oral Roberts University and Michaela doing a correspondance law degree through Harvard. Things were hard, even with their extensive fortunes, as it's difficult to cage a cosmopolitan girl in a small town.
But Tweedle-Tay and Michaela somehow managed to live happily, Tweedle- Tay as an architect and Michaela as a lawyer... although it was hard for their careers to progress within the confines of Tulsa.
Grubbery, not tied down with having to look after all those younger siblings, had greater success. He actually got to *attend* university, Yale in fact, achieving phD's in Mathematics, English Literature, and Sociology. He had written several novels and had regular columns in the New York Times and the Washington Post. Although he was not yet thirty- five, Grubbery was considered one of the greatest American thinkers of the early 21st Century.
Meanwhile, Tweedle-Tay and Michaela were considered the picture of marital bliss. After all, no one knew they were twins, not even their twenty-two year old sister Mozzie. They lived in a nice enough (if cursed) house and had fabulously pretty eleven year old twins, Taylor and Michelle. As said before, Taylor and Michelle were even more gorgeous than their parents, and we mustn't forget that Michaela was "the prettiest girl in the eleventh grade" and Tweedle-Tay was... well, he was Tweedle-Tay. Need we say more?
Yes, everything was going well for our Manson friends. They'd put the memories of their parents, comas, time in the attic... behind them (almost) and they'd gotten on with their lives. Sound familiar? It should. As it's familiar, I guess it's a little predictable that they wouldn't be happy forever.