"Then let it be quiet," Amara said, her voice steadying. "For tonight, you don't have to be a mirror. You don't have to be a daughter, or a rival, or a copy. You can just be... here."
Amira pulled back slightly, her eyes swollen and raw. She looked at Amara, really looked at her, not as a target, but as a witness.
"Why are you being kind? After everything? After the pain I cost you, after the lies... why are you holding me?"
Amara tucked a stray, matted hair behind Amira's ear, a small, sad smile touching her lips. "Because I'm tired too, sister. I'm just as tired as you are."
Amira pulled back, her eyes searching Amara's face, looking for the inevitable blade of judgment she had spent a lifetime anticipating.
Instead, she found only a mirror not of the hatred she had projected, but of the shared, hollow ache of being tired of the world.
"You are perfect just as I am, just like our mother and father," Amara said, her voice softening as she reflected on their shared history.
