Alfred needed me. It wasn’t uncommon, as two sides of the same coin, he needed me as often as I needed him.
He was the only one who could possibly understand me, and I the only one who could understand him. The insects churning under my command below meant nothing compared to my brother.
We sat together, the carousel above our rooms spinning to the sound of our song, OUR song . I watched as he cried, trying to fight the tears as the horse drawn carriage turned slowly under the tinkling music box’s lullaby.
Alfred needed me. My expression changes little, but I know he could see it in my eyes. They carried my care for him as I watched him struggle to compose himself.
It was father again, as often was the case. Once more he’d reprimanded Alfred. Once more he’d called him a failure. All for the sin of having been born alongside me into the world. Once more he’d wounded my other half while glorifying all that he saw in me.
I put my hand on his with a whispered promise. I would always put him first, over the world. Together, we came to the only solution to his hurt. He needed to be free of Father. We needed to be free of him.
Father would be hurt, had been hurt, after we bound him to his chair. He hurt when I injected him with the T-Veronica (as predicted, a failure. Another slavering monster. I made extensive notes). He hurt when I told him he would never be human enough to see me harness Veronica to reach our full potential. Our potential. For once the virus was perfected, I would hurt Father’s memory by ensuring my brother evolved alongside me.
But that didn’t matter. Father’s hurt was a soothing balm for Alfred. Not ‘healing’ but soothing the wounds the senior Ashford inflicted upon him. A promise kept.
He and I above all else. No matter what. Even if the world had to burn, I would burn it to ashes for him.
