She leans over them, mouthing mother-soft words, her brown eyes seeking their own. Universally, twins are known to be bad luck. She brushes a wisp of pale gold hair from the girl's face, her eyes wet. The boy's fists are clenched, as though he's unsure what to do with them. Her eyes, his nose, his lips, but her hair. She sears their features on her heart, which is heavy and aching and full of wonder and joy. If only they weren't twins, but if wishes were bees than the world would be full of honey. The whisper slips from her lips as a tear falls to the floor, "...but they're so beautiful... worth everything..."
