The house stood quiet, everything in its place, from the vase over the mantle, its neglected flowers now withered and dead, to the decorative silver spoons hung in the kitchen. The home was furnished for comfort with a pair of over large downy arm chairs in the living room, rugs and runners covering the dirt floor offering warmth under paw, and down a short hallway two bedrooms were nestled with a deceiving sense of calm, beds well made with heavy quilts.
Despite all of this luxury the home of the twins felt cold and empty with disuse, even weeks after their return.
When Coricopat and Tantomile refused to speak after their rescue the tribe had assumed the worst, though dare not question them. Tantomile had, had nearly every finger broken, her digits twisted and grey. Cuts, bruises, and burns ranged over her entire form with various degrees of severity. Her ribs were cracked and though she refused examination to confirm or tend to the matter she had been sexually abused as well. Coricopat who seemed to have suffered only superficial injuries, a few claw marks to his face, arms and chest was sure to care for and tend to anything his sister might need, quick to putting their friends troubled minds to rest he now kept himself busy tending to his sister's recovery.
Sitting at the table the queen watched her brother in silence, her eyes wide and watery as with a somber hush Coricopat worked. Dusting a bit of flour from his paws and coat before grabbing the thick glass pan off the counter the tom walked it to the stove which stood adjacent to it. Lowering the oven door the his eyes half closed at the rush of hot air the appliance belched out like a dragon. Using a hot pad he shoved the casserole to the center of the rack before swinging shut the door. He stood rigidly for a moment distant and removed, motions made slow by a mind working through the horrors of the past before giving his head a little shake as if to clear it of the darkness and clutter.
Coricopat glanced about the room like a nervous tic, trying to find something, anything with which to occupy his time. Spying the china he took it down one piece at a time, arranging them in orderly fashion, busying himself with their dusting, as he meticulously washed them over with a wet rag. Tension electrified the air between the siblings, the female's hard stare tangible on the male's flesh as he fought the urge to meet her gaze, fearful of what he might find it held. Neither feline spoke.
Cutting through the oppressive atmosphere of the room minutes later the kettle whistled sharply, steam billowing from its spout. Moving away from where he stood Coricopat removed the gleaming pot from the heat source before rifling through the cupboards, producing from one a cup, from another a tea bag, and small pot of honey. Bringing these items to the table he sat them before Tantomile. Dropping the bag into the vessel, he followed it by a spoonful of the thick amber liquid, pouring the hot water in last.
"It's chamomile." he murmured stirring the brew gently, before their eyes met. Chilled Coricopat returned hurriedly to his work, breath catching on his throat.
Tantomile's eyes glittered scornfully as she watched him for several moments over her steaming cup. "I hate you." the queen said, her voice falling, low and grating as her words slipped out between gritted teeth. Coricopat clenched his jaw, continuing his idle work, keeping his mind busy so that it couldn't wander.
The female was trembling now, with violent jerks as she fought hard to control herself to reign in emotions too devastating to face. She couldn't do this any longer, she couldn't lie to herself, to the others, she couldn't pretend that everything was alright anymore. It was sick and wrong and she shouldn't have to protect him anymore, not after what he'd done.
"I hate you." she repeated her voice clear with conviction as she glared with despise at the cat she'd once believed to be her mirror. Now, if he was indeed an extension of herself in any way he had been twisted and ruined, he was corrupted, a cancer that needed to be cut out.
"What would you have had me do Tanto?" Coricopat asked his voice a bare whisper. "He would have killed me."
"I would have died then!" the queen shrieked tears falling from her eyes as she gave voice to the pain that had been welling inside for what seemed like a lifetime.
A bitter laugh crossed the tom's lips, he shook his head before looking across to his sister with an expression of disbelief. "You can't say that," he smiled contradictory. "You don't know, you weren't in my position."
Tantomile felt and sob rip through her, "You raped me!"
Porcelain shattered against the wall, showering the room with thousands of gagged shards. Coricopat now stood empty handed, quaking with rage and self loathing. "He would have killed us both." he rationalized, grimacing at the sound of his own weak excuses, unable to escape what he'd done. Coricopat had tortured and defiled his own sister, his only family out of cowardess, and self preservation.
"I'm sorry." he muttered, shoulders beginning to tremble beneath the crushing wave of his emotions.
Tantomile laughed, a shrill, joyless sound, "You're sorry?" she scoffed, mouth twisting against the bitter taste of the words as she spoke them. A hand quickly raised to her lips as the woman tried to contain a sob. "You really would do anything to please him, wouldn't you?" she whispered behind her fingers, scarcely loud enough to be heard as her gaze faltered, overcome with despair.
Coricopat crossed the room in an instant, a primal, rage filled yowl tearing from somewhere deep within. The impact was sudden leaving the queen little time to react, the contact of her head striking the wall jarring, as her chair clattered noisily to the floor. Fighting back spurred on by instincts Tantomile's initial burst of strength waned at the weight of her brother's body on top of her, hand at her throat. The tom's angry panting breath conjured vivid, and painful memories which surfaced sharply as she shifted beneath him. Bones and flesh well on the mend the wounds to her soul however, were still fresh, raw, and bleeding.
Taking a breath to steel her nerves Tontomile opened her eyes. "I thought I was saving us, all those years ago." she whispered failing at first to meet Coricopat's powerful stare. "But really I was just damning you, wasn't I?"
Coricopat blinked, then, and as if waking from a bad dream looking about himself with a disjointed fear. Releasing his sister the black and white inched back, looking at his hands in confusion. "Tanto, I'm sorry-" he began voice quavering with self-condamnation. "I would never!"
Tantomile laughed just as humorlessly at this as she had before. "You would and you will." she murmured. "You need to leave." she said with a firm bluntness that cut through him. Pained the tom stared at her incredulously, before offering a weak half smile.
"Tanto," he began edging closer, arms open for an embrace, misty eyed.
"Now!" the queen wailed, curling defensively in on herself at the threat of his touch.
There was a harsh, sobering moment of silence before on numb legs Coricopat picked himself up off the floor. Struggling against tears he shuffled aimlessly through the shell of a building that had once been his home, encumbered by a wrenching shame he took no worldly belongings with him.
The hollow ache in Tantomile's heart was deep, but so too was the bitter relief at her brother's departure. Sitting on the floor where she had been left the queen took some time to breathe her first burdenless and unguarded breaths since returning to the Yard. The air wasn't exactly sweet without Coricopat there, but it was definitely easier to take in.
Rising gingerly after several moments Tantomile looked with burning sense of guilt at her barren home. Finding her body moving on marionette strings the female stood staring over the shattered plate for a long time before stooping down and gathering the remains. Choking back tears the queen slid them around on the table, rearranging them, trying in vain to fix what was broken beyond repair.
She'd lost him, Tantomile had lost her brother and it was all because of her. She crumbled, fresh tears doing nothing to soothe or wash away her pains.
They had been different, always, set apart from others in the ways they spoke, the ways they acted, even in the ways they dreamed. Gifted with the sight the twins had been inseperable as kits, an endearing trait their mother relished with pleasure. Tantomile could recall sunny afternoons in their alley scarcely needing a word to convey meaning to her brother as they made a boisterous merriment all their own. They knew things innately, nothing was ever lost in their home where one or the other of the pair could not find it. Their secret jokes and riddles taking on meaning to the adults around them as many proved true, predictions and premonitions made by the black and whites who could hardly be told one from the other.
It was mid October when the kittens had woken violently from sleep, cries of terror piecing the night sky as their parents rushed in. They couldn't form the words not right away, not in the right order, but when at last their tear stained voices managed to relay what haunted them it was quickly and quietly dismissed as a bad dream. Besides, that alley had been chosen by many a clan-less feline families for the regular absence of dogs, their parents assured that there was nothing to be worried about and eased their kits back to bed. The two were withdrawan from the world after that, speaking only to themselves in hushed urgent conversation as they tried to discover a way to cheat not only fate but death as well.
When the day arrived the twins did all they could think of to keep their mother inside, all they had needed was an hour and the hounds would have moved on, but like a beam of light travelling from one point to another, this too was an inevitable reality. Their father looked at them was a fearful hate when he came upon the scene, neither child was crying, rather they sat calmly beside the mutilated corpse of the queen who had given them life their eyes impossibly wide, blood staining their fur. When neighbors conveyed what had happened right down to the time of the attack with startling accuracy to his children's nightmare not one month prior he turned them out savagely. Fear and loss fueled his anger and rage until battered and alone the kittens fled for their own safety.
The winter snows found them long before mercy ever would. Cold, starving, and alone it was Tantomile who proved to be the more resilient of the two. She cared for Coricopat, warmed him, protected him, and fed his spirit with words of hope and encouragement when she was unable to feed his body. Slowly though they were dying. It was when the young tom had fallen into a seemingly wakeless slumber that he appeared. He called himself Old Hob, he wore a patch on one eye, and a cloak about his shoulders. He claimed to have been guided to the kittens and offered them food and a place out of the biting wind. With little other recourse Tantomile had agreed, sealing a fate that for the time being was beyond even her sight.
The frail looking tom had carried Coricopat while his sister followed, leading the way to the place he called home, harboring them through the worst of what the snows had to offer. By the time the earth began to warm however neither felt inclined to leave. So young and lost they were desperate for somewhere where they could belong. Hob was more than willing to provide such a place. Overtime he helped them to understand their gifts, displaying many of his own in the process and helped to ease the hate and anxiety they held for themselves and the guilt that came with being unable to prevent their mother's death.
He called them his disciples, something which filled Coricopat with purpose and a sense of belonging, while in the same instance flooding Tantomile with unease and an overwhelming sense of dread that could not be explained. Despite this reluctance both worked hard to please the father that Old Hob had become to them. They were happy, for years they were happy. Then one night their guardian asked something of them that was unforgivable. He had dreamed, claimed that there was a cat that would soon end his life, and begged the felines who were now toeing the line between kittenhood, and adulthood to kill the stranger.
Tantomile who could not reconcile her past, and her mother's death with what Old Hob had beseeched her to do refused. She had come to an understanding about her powers, that the future was coming and what they witnessed in their visions were inevitable truths that could not be altered. The young queen was merely grateful for the foresight and ability to appreciate the journey on her way to meet whatever it was she saw, mindful not to squander the time inbetween. Her brother felt differently, he believed that they were meant to change the outcome, that they were the master's of their own fate, manipulators of destiny. He was willing to do the job.
It took tears, blood, and several days leading up to the would be assassination to convince Coricopat not to go through with it, to leave and go with her, everywhere, anywhere but stay there with the mad man who would turn them into murderers if given the chance. In the end it was the threat of leaving on her own that had won him over. They travelled aimlessly, fearful of being followed and found out, mounting tension rising as the further they got from where they had lived with Old Hob the more isolated and controlled they realized they had been. They found themselves refugees, unwanted and unwelcome until one night during a heavy rain the pair came upon the Yard, a new home, with a new family.
Never did Tantomile believe that she would ever see the dangerous and conniving tom who had saved them from the snows and slow starvation again, but like a winding river travelling through a delta, their streams happened to cross once again. This time however, the queen came to know him under the name Macavity.
Tantomile cried harsh tears of self loathing and despise. She would have done better to smother Cori when they were kittens than the let him fall prey to the devil no matter what disguise he wore. She bit her lip violently fighting back the urge to scream. She'd seen it return to him, the light in Coricopat's eyes as Macavity spoke, the fervor and eagerness to please evident. He had done small things in their time of recent captivity, things most cats wouldn't be ashamed to admit to doing in the face of death. Then, then Macavity turned the tom against her, and Tantomile learned the truth.
She had never truly saved him. Coricopat had never really escaped escaped that place, rather he had merely been sleeping all this time.
It was the sharp tang of something burning that at last saw the queen to her feet again. Slipping on hotpads she easily ignored the electrifying pain that shot through her mending fingers as she removed the charred casserole from the oven. Setting it on the table she stared hopelessly at the room which seemed to stretch out before her. What was she going to do now?
