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“Dahlia… do you think we're ever gonna see mommy again?”
“No.” she spits out immediately. “and don’t call her that.”
Her twin sniffles. They were already 8, and Iris still can’t manage her emotions.
“She left us.” Dahlia continues on. “She treated us like trash, and you’re asking me if I think she’ll come back to see us?”
“No, but…” her sister turns away, hiding behind her wet sleeve. A moment passes. “Never mind.”
“What?” irritation lies in her voice. Iris was the one to bring up their useless mother, and now she doesn’t want to talk? “You better tell me.”
“You’re gonna think I'm stupid…”. Then, in barely a whisper: “I just… miss her.” Before Dahlia could respond, however, Iris' voice grows, “I know that she’s gone okay! I know that she was mean to us, but dad is never home, and—” A sob interrupts her, uncontrollable and ugly.
“What are you crying for?” She just cannot understand Iris. Why waste energy on someone who won't love you back? As soon as they were born without any spiritual power, the place in their mother’s heart died. Her twin was too stupid, too emotional, to see that. They had each other, but even that didn't seem good enough for Iris. She couldn't move on.
“You’re pathetic.” is what comes out.
Hurt flashes through Iris. “You’re sounding just like her!”
The regret is immediate. Iris covers her mouth as if the words were going to undo itself. “Dahlia wait—”
“Oh, so I'm just like Mother, huh? I tell the truth to you and it's the same as what she did to us?!” She takes a step back, disguised by her twin. “You miss dear mommy? Then leave. Go, go back to that dumb village and see how much she cares about you!”
“Dahlia, please, I didn't mean it!”
But it was too late. The anger within floods, bursting out before she can control it. “My life would be better without you in it anyway! No more being mistaken for you, no more having to deal with your crying, your complaining, your stupid problems!” She refuses to be in the same room as her sister anymore. She storms out of their bedroom to the door.
Looking back at Iris’ broken face, Dahlia can only say this: “You don't like it here? Fine. I’ll make that clear to Dad.”
Dahlia ignores the pain in her own chest.
Not her mother, not her father, not her sister. If there’s one thing Dahlia knows of this world, it’s this:
Nobody in this world is reliable except yourself.
—
This time they’re sitting down together, feet dangling over the stream of Eagle river. The breeze of wind and rushing of the water below surrounds their conversation.
Dad doesn’t know she’s here, but that’s nothing new. 8 years ago, after a blur of anger from their fight and talking to Dad, Iris was given away to a temple. Gone. Just like that, as if her twin never existed at all. Dahlia doesn’t know when she started sneaking out to speak to Iris, only that, if she didn’t go and do it herself, she would never see her twin at all. It’s not like Dad would care about her absence as well anyway.
Down, down, down, she looks at the water. So pressured she sees the white mist spraying out, crashing against the jagged rocks. Endless. Untraceable.
Iris looks at her with a question ready on her face. Dahlia knows her sister more than anyone else, more than herself at times. She knows when Iris swallows down the question of why Dahlia is here. Why she visits. Why Dahlia can’t stand to live in the house for more than a second.
So her twin says this instead: “Dahlia, please, come live with me. I know Sister Bikini will accept you with open arms, like she did for me. Please. I know you don’t like living there.”
She grimaces.“I won’t be happy living here, Iris. You may like your life, alone in the mountains, but that's not how I want to live mine.”
“... I’m not alone when you visit me.”
Dahlia doesn't have anything to say to that. She remembers all the times Iris was too shy, too quiet to speak out her desires. A nice, quiet life where almost nothing happens suits her passive life. She can’t do the same. Dahlia had to be the one to speak for both of them, lest they drown together—someone had to grab the rope. And Iris, always loyal, would cling with her.
“You really want to help me?”
“Of course I do,” she says. Iris grabs her hands, switching her attention from the stream to her face. Her twin gives a light squeeze to the touch. A spark of determinations runs in her eyes, rare and useful. “You know I’ll do anything to help”.
“...Okay. I have a plan. Something that will get me out of that house and with a lot of money so I can just live my life.” Her voice hardens, “And, it will hurt Dad in the only thing he cares about.”
“Then it’s a plan,” she says, simple as that.
Iris maintains their handhold.
—
When she opens her eyes, the cold, solid heaviness of stone surrounds her. The monitoring eyes of the cameras mark its territory across the room, waiting for its chance at usefulness.This feeling was not new, of course. She got a taste of surveillance after Valerie’s death; after it happened, she saw no end of police questioning and investigation from that pathetic coffee addict, and from Mia Fey.
Mia Fey.
Not a day goes by that she doesn’t think of it. The target of her poisoning should have been her. Although she does not have many grievances with her acts, letting Mia Fey live was one of them. Letting Iris back into her life was another.
And all of it coalesced into her current situation.
She’s thought about it thousands of times over. There’s not much else one can do in prison, except think and think and think. What she would have done differently, how she should have taken back the necklace the moment she was cleared.
And, god, how stupid is Mia Fey? To send her own cousin to death, and not even know it. With all her supposed smarts, she still didn’t figure that out.
Her father, of course, made sure this happened: “We can live in the main family manor once your mother is worth it.” It was the sentiment of a man who thought of his family as nothing other than a suppressed embarrassment. She still remembers the glances and quick looks she would try to steal of the main family. The village whispers of the failure of Morgan Fey, of her daughters. At least prison, for all its faults, gives the comfort of silence.
“Ms. Hawthorne, there’s someone who wants to speak to you,” a voice cuts through, entering her cell.
Now that was interesting, all things considered. She refuses to have any visits from Iris, and after her own trial, there wasn't any new testimony to give.
“Who?” she asks, sitting up from her bed.
“...It’s your mother,” the guard responds. “She’s… well, if you haven't heard the news already, she’s been imprisoned here as well. And she requested to speak with you.”
The words come to her normally, but the impact of them hits fast. Of course, is her first thought after the initial wave. Of course, her ruthless mother would get herself thrown in jail!
She smiles at the guardsman. “Lead the way, sir.”
~
Even though it's been over a decade since she last saw her mother, her presence remains the same, predictable. Her wrinkled and bagged eyes may reveal her older age, but that did nothing to disguise the shrewd eyes Dahlia recognizes. A confession of her wrongdoings is laughable. Whatever that woman could want from her, she is not as naive to think that this is a mother-daughter visit.
Dahlia, from the moment she was born, had to fight. Harden herself to a world where people do not care about her. Where people will only either leave, disappoint, or take advantage of her. That she had no choice but to fight to have a say in what happens in her own life. To contort herself into what people wanted to see— a sweet doll to play with. She plays her game to go another day.
And what of her mother? A woman who was doing all of this not out of survival, not out of struggle, but instead envy. A vapid title. A goal Morgan will cling onto until her last breath.
After a decade of abandonment, murder, and criminal plots, this is the first thing Morgan Feys says to her:
“You’ve dyed your hair”.
Ah yes, her hair.
The number of times she got mistaken for her sister as children caused her endless aggravation. As soon as she got the chance, she dyed her hair and never looked back. Soon after arriving here, however, her black roots began to show, and with it eternal annoyment at its color. With some talking, however, she was able to continue her hair dye treatment.
If she was going to spend the rest of her life and die in this horrid place, she will go down looking exactly how she wants to.
“You’re probably wondering how I got in here,” Morgan continues.
“Tsk.” She looks to her nails— something infinitely more interesting than the nonsense her mother will undoubtedly spew out. She almost leaves right there and then if not for the fact she could get useful information out of her. It’s been a while since she heard of the outside world.
And so the story went like this: her mother tried to kill Maya Fey. She had an accomplice that would also benefit from Maya’s imprisonment. That was her first mistake, letting someone else in her plans. But she did not speak of this thought and allowed Morgan to continue. When her tale finished, however, she noticed someone missing from her story.
“Why would you go after that little brat instead of Mia? Surely if your plan succeeded, Mia would take notice and grow suspicious of you.”
“That’s because,” she takes a sip of the water beside her, “Mia Fey died one year ago."
“What.” She growls out. Elation mix with anger swirls within her. Mia Fey is dead, and Dahlia had nothing to do with it. “How,” she manages to get out. “How did she die?”
“Murdered. She foolishly stuck her nose into something she shouldn’t have and died for it. As you can imagine, this worked favorably for me.”
From the way Morgan described how she was caught, Dahlia assumed that the lawyer who caught her was Mia. Those underhanded tactics, nitpicking stubbornness, and questioning had Mia Fey written all over it. And with that, a rare curiosity takes hold of her.
“If not Mia, then who?”
At this question, anger flashes across Morgan’s face, ugly and twisted. In the fog of childhood memories, her mother’s look of wrath stood clear. Morgan’s cup of water shakes under her grip. “A vile man called Phoenix Wright. Mia’s apprentice.”
……
What!?
This— this was too good! Before she knows it, deep, guttural laughter spills out, echoing across the room. “Phoenix Wright!?” she eventually manages to speak out. “Your decade-long plan, you having another daughter— all of it— was foiled by Feenie!? That man!!
If Morgan Fey was caught off guard by her laughing, she did not show it. “... I did not know you knew of such a person.”
Unfortunately for Morgan, Dahlia continues her outburst.Guards and inmates alike look towards them, but Dahlia does not stand to care. It was one thing to have her mother in prison— knowing her wickedness, it was bound to happen at some point— but it been done by Feenie. One of the most pathetic, whimpering, and gullible man she had the displeasure of meeting!?
Him! Sending Morgan Fey to prison!
She tries to will her laughter away for the sake of the attention they’re getting, but it is no use; the most she can manage is barely suppressed giggling. Morgan grimaces, the action having no effect in deterring her.
“Wipe that amusement off your face, horrid child!”
“Hahaha! I don't know if you ever heard of it, dear mother, but if you want something from someone, insults are not all that persuasive.” With one last giggle, she drops her happiness, wanting to rid of their game. “So tell me. What’s the real reason why you want to talk to me? Let’s not pretend that it’s because you suddenly had a change of heart.”
At this, Morgan smirks. “... I have a plan.”
“Good luck with that then,” she says, getting up from her chair. Whatever inept plan the woman has to get Pearl as the master, Dahlia wants no part of it. Mia’s death and Morgan’s humiliation were welcomed news, but that was all her mother was good for.
“Dahlia,” she says the name like an insult. “Don’t you want revenge on Mia Fey?”
Dahlia tilts her head. “Hah! You are in no position to do such a thing. You yourself make sure of that.”
“Mia Fey is dead, and think of me all the awful things you want, but I at least know that she was the person who put you in here.” She pauses. “You can’t kill Mia Fey. But I believe—” silent eyes scan the room, assessing the distance of guards and inmates— “we would both have something to gain if… Maya were to perish,” she finishes, voice lower and full of intent.
Dahlia can say the offer was tempting. Mia Fey was dead. And although the happiness that came with that news filled her soul with righteousness, it was not enough. It couldn’t be enough. After what that hag did to her, she did not just want Mia to die: she wanted that woman to suffer.
She did not get the pleasure of killing Mia herself, no—but if she took the life of her beloved little sister…
Dahlia takes a deep, thoughtful breath as she calculates. Morgan, for once, is silent, save for quiet the drumming on the side of her drink.
She knows the look on Morgan’s face all too well. Cold, twisted black eyes. It was the look of someone who thought that being put in jail was a setback rather than a stop. It was the look of someone who did not care about who she would have to hurt to accomplish her goal.
And it was the look of her mother.
It was the look of someone who abandoned her twin daughters because they would not be useful to her. It was the look of someone who is only talking to her daughter on death row only because she wants something out of her.
Dahlia does not allow herself to think of where she would be right now, if she had a different mother. A different father. She does not allow herself to think of the cruel circumstances that lead to the two of them, unwilling mother and daughter, to be tied together in a tapestry of the Fey clan once again.
She does not allow herself to think about how different her life would be if she was never born a Fey at all.
So this is what she does think about: she thinks about the decades worth of Fey clan bloodshed born from spite and anger. She thinks about Mia Fey, and how she took her freedom away. About how Mia sent the life of her cousin to jail and did not even recognize her. She thinks of the wrath inside of her, its festering power bursting for the chance to take action. Of five years wasted, and of the last one that she will have left.
People around here have always failed her. Whether or not Morgan’s goal of Pearl being the Master succeeds is of no consequence to her.
She will take matters into her own hands.
“You have a minute,” she says, sitting back down. Morgan raises the corner of her lip.
Bloodshed is what she knows.
—
When Dahlia opens her eyes, she is in robes she has not worn since childhood. A great vanity table faces her as shes sat down. A figure—no, Iris— stands behind her. Dahlia feels a tug of her hair before she realizes Iris is brushing her. A sweet smile lays on her twin’s face.
What the hell are you doing? Is what she means to ask, but the words don't come out. In a confusion, she tries to stand up, but finds she can’t move her legs. Bounded, she can only stare back into the mirror, like a doll on display.
Brush
Brush
Brush
“This was always my favorite part,” Iris says, putting the brush down. Her twin gathers the front parts of her hair, splitting it in a beginning of a braid. Dahlia wants to scream.
The mirror cracks, sudden and loud in the quite of the room.
Iris halts her braiding.
“Why?” A voice, Iris’ voice, echoes out. It twists and curls itself, a farcry from the sweetness of her previous tone. “Why did you do it Dahlia? After my move to Hazakura temple, away from society, away from you, you came back to me. Why?”
She finds her voice. “I thought you would be useful to me for whatever I wanted.” In her new freedom, she rushes to stand up and face her twin. She hears the mirror crack further and further, pieces falling to the ground. Shes yelling now: ”I needed you for that diamond and you couldn’t even do that right! Lying when you said you would do anything to get me out of that horrible house!”
Iris grins. “Ah yes, poor little me didn’t show up. I let your little plan fail, and yet,” she creeps forward, smiling, “you came back to me again. Our relationship was damaged, sure, but you still had me in your life—all the way until little Feenie showed up. So I'll ask again, why? If I was such a burden to you, such a coward, why maintain our relationship?”
“My regret is not calculating how much you would fail at trying to redeem yourself. You couldn't even get a necklace from that man for 8 months, and you expected me to just, what, wait while you played dress-up!?”
“Wrong answer,” Iris sneers. “You always say I am the more emotional one. But we both know that’s not exactly true, is it? Because despite the distance, despite the messiness, the betrayal, you still loved me. And that’s what makes you hate me all the more. That I’m the only person in the world that has that power over you.”
“You!? Have power over me?! I had to be a leader for the two of us the moment we were born! Don’t delude yourself for a second that you’re the strong one here!”
She smiles, like a snake before its prey; an expression unrecognizable to see on Iris. She closes in, a final attack: “I’m living a life, will live a full life, without you in it. Can you say the same, sister? You’re scared of the truth. I can live a life without you in it. But you can't live without me. The one time you went off on your own, the one time you didn't tell me anything, you end up in here.”
The walls crack and spit out blood, flooding everywhere. From the carnage three bodies emerge to the surface.
Valerie. Diego. Doug.
Iris’ bones crack, twisting and warping itself. Her face blurs into incoherence and a mess of black hair. Then, suddenly, the face sharpes.
Morgan Fey stands before her, towering over her in height. She looks to the bodies, a wicked grin taking over her. “You really are my daughter,” she says in poisoned affection.
“I’m nothing like you.” she grits out.
“You say I'm cold, ruthless, but you know the truth.” She walks across the room, blood seeping into her sandals with every foot. Neither the squench of blood or the crunch of mirror shards deters Morgan from her target.
“Oh my Dahlia,” gently, her mother puts her hand to her cheek, disecptively maternal: ”you and I will do anything it takes to get what we want.”
Dahlia wakes in a cold sweat. Her rapid breaths bounce off the concrete walls. She fights her body to slow it down, down, down until her lungs submit to her will and stop until finally, the room is quiet again.
—
The only, singular reason she’s allowing Iris to visit is because she knows it’s her last chance. The final time she can inflict as much pain and guilt as possible onto as Iris before she leaves this world.
When Iris enter the room, Dahlia can only smirk. “You must be pretty proud of yourself. Choosing a man over your sister.”
Iris looks away. “I loved him… and you were going to kill him.”
“No, Iris, he loved Dahlia, not you. He doesn't even know you exist, and yet you still chose him over me. And even then, that didn’t work out for you. For all your talk of saving Feenie from me, you didn't even show your face to his trail.” She scoffs. “Tell me Iris, how much of your love do you think would have saved him from a rope snapping his neck?”
Now that gets her. Dahlia sees the struggle on her twin’s face, trying to smuggle down any visible hurt—trying to be strong-faced in front of her. It’s a laughable attempt.
Iris takes a breath, clearly trying to stay on track. “Dahlia… what happened to us, what happened to you, shouldn’t happen to anyone. After we left Kurian, we were just hurt and confused kids. We fought. You were lashing out. Even after Dad sent me away to Hazakura temple, I wasn’t angry at you. Even then, I knew Dad didn’t care for me. What kind of father sends their child away like that? But…I don’t regret that happening. It gave me a new life. A new home. I just wished… you came along with me. Maybe then…”
It wouldn’t have turned out like this, she doesn't say.
“I don’t need pity from a coward,” she growls out. “You had your chance to help me, and you failed pathetically. I should have never seen your face again after Dad kicked you out.”
“Dahlia please… this is not how I want our last conversation to go.”
That’s not her problem. She gets up from her chair to make her exit.
“Do you remember when I lost my shoes?” Iris lets out.
“What?” She turns her head back. The hell she’s on about?
Iris goes on. “We must have been five or something. I couldn't find them anywhere. I remember just sitting there, crying, mom yelling at me for being so careless. I remember what happened next so clearly. You went up to right up to Mom and said for her to leave me alone. You grabbed my hand and guided me all throughout the house until we found them, right underneath the bed.” Her eyes stare into hers, unwavering. “…I've always thought you were strong, Dahlia. That's what I admire most about you. And I'm sorry I couldn't protect you the same way you protected me. I just want to say, despite everything that’s happened, you’re still my sister. I cannot forget the things you have done, but… I still love you.”
Anger explodes within her, hot, violent, and boiling.
“I hate you, Iris," she spews out, with all the hatred and venom she deserves. “You’re a traitor who helped your sister die. My hanging will be by your hand. Don't you ever forget that. Goodbye.”
“Dahlia wait!”
Hair like her sisters, eyes like her mothers, none of it will matter soon— death is not the end of all things.
So she will play her part.