On the Splitting of the Thread

“In the old telling, the world did not intend two.

When a child is born, a single thread is drawn from fate and tied to the soul. Yet on rare nights, when the unseen pulls in opposing directions, the thread is stretched beyond its measure. It does not break. It splits. Thus are twins born.

They begin as one breath and one purpose, divided not by will but by necessity. The world cannot hold them whole, so it sets them side by side and waits. From the first moment they are unequal—not in worth, but in weight. One bears what is seen. The other carries what is lost.

As they grow, their paths bend apart. One is recorded in stone and ink; the other passes without mark. What fortune grants to one, it withholds from the other. This is not cruelty, but balance imposed after the fact.

The gods watch in silence, having already failed once before. Fate alone governs the pair. They are not meant to reunite what was divided. They are meant to endure it.

When the first twin dies, the second feels the tightening of the thread. When the second dies, the world releases the breath it has held since their birth. For the story of twins is not of two lives begun together, but of one life that could not remain whole.”