Lucas and Lucy, or as they were otherwise known, the two Lu’s, were connected from birth. Or at least, that’s what everyone believed, because they were twins. But when they were separated during the war, they felt no difference in their lives whatsoever, apart from the immediate persecution they were having to suffer. Lucas was immediately sent to work at a construction site, where he would load and unload construction supplies everyday, while Lucy at the seamstress’ would darn and mend the stockings and dresses and pretty skirts of those ladies who could afford to have them mended by the menial labourers. During that time, all they were concerned about was filling their own bellies, a responsibility each had to bear alone, since Father was still fighting in the war (though neither knew what the point of all that fighting really was) and Mother had died of typhus two years ago (god bless her soul), right before the twins had been separated. So it was quite understandable that when the time came when they were both set free (incidentally on the same day), their twin was a mere afterthought, a dull reminder of a past before the dark times they had lived through, overshadowed by the glee of freedom.

Lucas was the first of the two to pass on to a better world, and he died as he had lived, a plain man with paltry belongings, but many people who loved him. This paled in comparison to his twin, Lucy, who had married well to become a rich and elegant society lady, untouched by her past trauma. Nevertheless, when she received the news about the funeral for the brother she hadn’t seen for thirty years, she wore her best black gown and expression of sadness (though the death made no difference to her perfect life) and went as one of the mourners. And though a practical, healthy woman in the prime of life, she felt that there was some truth to the old wives’ tale about twins, because when her twin brother was buried, she thought he took some part of her with him, into the cold, damp soil.