Dear readers, I realize that this doesn't seem much like Alex. I too was surprised. Yet it is true that in most fictionalizations of our relationship, it is Alex who first expresses her love for me, usually because it makes more sense. Although I personally did not at the time acknowledge loving her, it would look bad if I was the one to admit love to her because being the older brother, I am in a position of some authority, and it would be an abuse of that authority to try anything. So lest the tale look coercive on my part, most of the works you will find do start with Alex loving me.

I apologize for the aside. But needless to say, I was dumbfounded. I wasn't quite sure what she meant at first, so I said something about that.

"In love?" was what I had said. "As in, not like a brother, but more like a... a boyfriend?"

"Yes. Very good, you grasped the concept, somehow," she said in that dry, familiar tone of hers. She began pacing. "I dunno what to do, I mean, I've felt it for a while but like... I dunno. I shouldn't have told you, should I?" she stopped pacing and looked at me.

"What? No – I mean, I can't say I reciprocate those feelings but well... I ... you're my sister you know that?"

She blushed a deep, uncharacteristic pink. "I know. I know we can't... there's no hope of anything like that but...I dunno, I wanted to get it off my chest. I'm sorry."

"Really, it's quite flattering, even from my sister," I said. Now again dear reader you probably feel that this is an absurd reaction to news that should be shocking, scandalous and rather distasteful. But at the time I hadn't really grasped the full gravity of the situation. It was still surreal, abstract. Plus, she knew, and I knew, that nothing could ever happen. Or so we thought, but I will come to that.

"OK... good. Can we.. try to get along as though this never happened?"

"Yes, that would be the most prudent thing to do, I believe."

I turned to leave, and then was tapped on the shoulder by Alex, so I turned back.

"One more thing actually, before we forget it."

"What's that?" I said.

She kissed me. She wrapped her arms around my neck, tilted her head 23.5 degrees to my right, which I remembered because it is the tilt of the planet on its axis, as though she were moving to align herself with the poles, and put her lips to mine. They were soft and moist, and reflexively I opened my own lips about 2 centimeters in order to achieve maximum surface area contact as well as to allow entry of her tongue, smooth, small and dexterous it darted ever so slightly in my mouth. Kissing her was like eating the forbidden fruit – illuminating and shameful at the same time. The very knowledge of how wrong it was magnified how tremendous it felt – I don't know, it's hard to explain why terrible things feel so good. Perhaps, reader, you cannot know unless you involve yourself in an incestuous relationship of your own to see what it's like. On the other hand you also have to still possess the frame of mind that allows this to not be an entirely vile thing. Perhaps the fact that my sister is very beautiful helped me to somewhat accept it, at least in that moment. Indeed, the actress chosen for the televised chronicles is an excellent choice. I might only say my sister is slightly more beautiful, but I am admittedly biased.

In short, it was amazing. It was the sort of kiss that I didn't believe in – the sort of feeling that I felt like was only in fairy tales, or was an exaggeration. Despite having kissed Miranda many times, I had never felt something extremely magical and special with her. I thought she was a wonderful girl and kissing her was very nice, but for me it was more about the expression of the love, in addition to being kind of fun. It wasn't the heart-pounding, hot, steamy, yet somehow somewhat spiritual experience that I felt now, with my sister.

"OK," she said, after finally letting go. "Now we can forget it."

But I knew then that at least I couldn't.

That night as I laid in bed, I tried to get to sleep, but I couldn't. Normally I think about things like my magical studies, or my next Dungeons and Gargoyles character. But that night, the only thing that was on my mind was Alex. Specifically, that kiss. I replayed it again and again, wondering how it could have happened, wondering how she could have felt that without me knowing. I replayed it again and again, wondering what it meant that I was dwelling on it, and finding it strangely pleasing, and somehow wishing it wouldn't be the last time that happened. That may have been a mistake. At no point, during that night, did I realize how strange it was.

In the morning though, I did. Or at least, I realized it more. My sister was in love with me. My sister of the full blood. This was wrong, and dirty, and terrible. I needed to do something about it, and yet, I didn't know what. She had already agreed to forget about it. I decided that I should do my best not to think about it, and go on with my daily life.

That was difficult – for both of us. I could tell by her constant furtive glances that she was thinking about me as much as I was of her. I was worried she was paying too much attention to me, in fact, and that our parents would be suspicious of something. But who would ever guess something such as that? Incidences of sibling incest are not that common, because they are one of the most consistently taboo things in any culture anywhere, ever. Even in Japan. I cannot stress this enough, really.

I have said that this was a story not only about a relationship, but about a result of that relationship. If psychoses can be developed out of circumstances, then I believe it. Then again, it may not be a psychosis if the danger is real. In any event, this was but the mere beginning of it all...