JOURNAL ENTRY. 4:24 AM. - BAD LUCK.
One set of twins being born is deemed a rarity.
Two sets though, it was branded as bad luck where I come from, and my parents were supposedly superstitious.
I say supposedly of course because I didn’t really know them, I was too young to remember much when the rat plague came. In fact, the rat plague and the band of odd orphans that were left over after the plague ravaged the city were effectively what raised me. Moreso than that though were my two older twin sisters. All I ever remember of them was how stern and rough they were, bless their hearts they had to give up so much so fast it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. Though I suppose it wasn’t fair to anyone in the city, especially those of us who barely made it by as is. But they did their best to protect me, to take care of me despite all of my many blunders. I think they resent me for it.
But this entry isn’t about them, it’s about me. A long time ago I’d taken it upon myself to rummage through the rubble of our old homestead, it was a hard decision but it was all I could do to find scraps of a life I never got to see. A home full of people I’d never get to meet. Truth be told, I’d found quite a lot of writings, all kept in books or wooden crates, all torn, and worn from time and weather. I wanted to read them, I wanted to know them through their writings, but I couldn’t. Part of me feared that if I read it, I would feel worse, or I wouldn’t connect with them. I feared that I would yearn for a mother I could never see, or the guidance of a father I would never receive. In my fear, I made the decision to lock away all of the writings safety, but recently I’d worked up enough courage to read some finally, with the help of Doyle of course. I wasn’t ready for what I found, Doyle wasn’t either. Within what I believe to be my mother’s writings she mentions a set of twins due to be born soon.
At first, this mention didn’t surprise me, after all, my sisters are rather obviously twins so at first glance this didn’t surprise me. But, as I read on she mentioned my sisters having already been born, and having been a handful. To be expected of course they were always the smartest pair, that’s why they survived, that’s the only reason I did as well.
So if this set of twins was set to born then what could this mean, I wondered if perhaps I had another set of twin siblings somewhere, separated or perhaps they had run off to start their lives elsewhere. My mind was racing with possibilities until I continued on.
Having a second pair of twins is bad luck, that’s what she said. It’s a superstition I’ve heard it many times, but she added in another letter perhaps a few months later that she felt as though for the first time in her pregnancy that this may be true. She said that there was something wrong, she journals that she’d not been the same size as she was when she had my two twin sisters at the same time, apparently she’d been journaling for a long time.
I have stacks of her journals and entries that I’d found in our home, or what was supposed to be my home. But I fear I can’t take continuing on any longer, I fear the things that she may have to say may very well answer the question of why exactly Doyle is here.
I always try to use logic to make sense of things, it’s where my comfort lies. If I can secure myself an outcome there’s no doubt within me. But...superstition? Bad luck? Could this be the cause of this... ailment? Is this why Doyle is here in the first place? I’m not sure, and I’m not ready for the answers that my mother may have for me.
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