𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 ❀ ᴛᴇᴡᴋᴇꜱʙᴜʀʏ₁

❀𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞❀

To go.  To not go.  To go...

I pick the petals off the daisy one by one, before eventually throwing it to the side,  all of it's white blades and even the leaves on the ground.  I realize that it isn't going to affect my decision whatsoever.  I'm still the one who needs to decide, however many daisies I tear apart.  Maybe they're trying to mimic the feeling of me tearing in half, one piece longing to stay with my sister and the other longing to remain free.

I return inside the house after discarding the dead flower stems, and with every step attempt to be as quiet as possible.  It is way past the time I should be outside, well past dark, but I had to try.  I return to my room to find my sister poring over the cards our mother gifted us, the ones with the language of flowers.  The ones I was planning on using earlier.

"Nola, whatever are you doing awake?" I question.  My sister normally falls asleep relatively early, so I have reason to be confused.

"I could ask you the same question, Wyn,"  she replies with a distracted tone.  My sister is opening a box that contains drawing pencils, paintbrushes, and an eraser.  What value could these things have?  Enola tosses the pencils angrily, and I pick them up, kneeling on the floor.  I decide I'm going to hold on to these, just in case, so I stuff them in my dress pocket.  You never know, and besides, they were hers. I want to hold on to something of my mother's.

When I turn back to the box and my sister, she is pulling out a slip of paper from a hidden place in the box.  As I peer over her shoulder, Enola reads the first five letters.  "Alone," she whispers.  "Thats your name," I can barely squeeze in before my sister hops off the bed, heading for the drawer where we keep our letter tiles.  She begins to arrange them as I watch the door.  I can't have Mycroft or even Sherlock come in and see this.  Probably wouldn't end well.

"I hear you Mother..." Enola murmurs to herself.  I can see the words arranged on the floor, and they say Enola, look in my chrysanthemums. I won't lie, I am a bit hurt by the fact she wrote Enola's name and not mine.  However, I resolve not to take it to heart.  Alone is a bit more cryptic than Nywole.  Still kind of upsetting though.

Enola sets off for Mother's room, where Sherlock noted the chrysanthemums earlier, but I have another idea.  I head for the room she used for her paintings, because the words my chrysanthemums lead me to think she doesn't mean the ones she bought.  Mother loved to paint flowers, but only once did she paint a chrysanthemum.  I have just reached the painting when Enola enters the room.  I unhook it off the wall and begin to feel the back.  Our eyes say all the words we don't need to.  That's what being twins does to you, I guess.

I peel the back off where I felt a rustling and a little bump when I ran my hand over it.  There is an envelope addressed - again to Enola - inside.  I hand it to her, a little notch of pain in my heart.  Did my mother really think Enola would be the one to find all these things? That I wasn't smart enough, logical enough, deductive enough?  My sister searches my eyes and I get the feeling she knows what I'm thinking.  She still opens the envelope, regardless, to find a large sum of money, as well as a card reading our future is up to us.  This one has a blue forget-me-not on it, which evidently means not to forget her.  We won't, but did my mother forget me?

~

After raiding Sherlock's old trunk of clothing, Enola and I both find garments that fit us well enough.  We have made the decision, with very few words between us, to vanish in the same manner our mother did.  My decision that I pored over for hours finally makes itself clear.  I am doing neither of the two options.  Maybe this was why it was so difficult to choose earlier.  We both figure it is easier to disguise ourselves as boys, for not many people will ask what "boys" our age are doing without a guardian.