There are two sides to every coin, right'

The gift, or perhaps curse, that God (or whatever you want to call It) blessed upon humans is free will. It is our choice as to which path we shall follow. We can listen to the eternal song. We can let our heart guide us through life. Or we can ignore it. We can let our brain always guide us down the selfish path. In the end, it is always our choice. Every human born has the capacity for both good and evil.

But what if that isn't always true"

Perhaps Sam and I are some sort of freak of nature. A horrible cosmic mistake. What if we were meant to be just one complete person instead of two separate, incomplete personalities" She is, after all, light, honesty, and goodness. I am lies, selfishness, and manipulation. She is shy and demure while I've never met a stranger. She can never see the bad in others no matter how hard she looks and I can never over look the bad in others no matter how hard I try.

This is really all just nonsense. I am merely making excuses for my actions, for what brought me here, for what drove me to the transformation. I was not born a con artist. I was not born a sea nymph. These are all choices I have made with my own free will.

This is the life that I have chosen for myself. * * * * *

That Saturday afternoon found the two sides of that one coin dishing about their Friday nights as young women will often do in Samantha's simple flat. To Serena's great disappointment, Samantha's night had been spent with her nose in some ancient manuscript in a dusty old library, brushing up on the many magical methods of flight. However, the cute librarian (albeit most certainly in a geeky sort of way) she had her eye on was there and, therefore, in Sam's eyes the evening had been perfect. Books and awkward conversation with a dorky guy were all that she needed.

The details of Serena's night thrilled her sister and after recounting the events of the wedding (and the stunning dress the bride wore) several times, there was one key detail that Samantha was stuck on — "So you went to the wedding with Rix" Not Alain?"

"I don't think Alain needs me here any more." Serena's palms fell to the kitchen counter and she pushed herself up onto it to take a seat. Her brown eyes fell to her bare feet as they crossed at the ankles to swing back and forth. Her heels lightly thumped into the cabinets beneath every time they were drawn back. "I'm wondering if I'm actually impeding his recovery at this point rather than helping it."

The heavy pestle in Samantha's hand clunked against the side of the stone mortar as she dropped it. If helping Alain get over his loss was the reason Serena was back, a small part of Samantha couldn't help but want that loss to linger. "But I thought you two were dating?"

"It's really nothing that formal. I'm okay playing the rebound girl. He's one of my best friends and I'd play any role he needed me to play. That's what he needs now." Her words came casually as she arched her neck to inspect the herbs being crushed within the mortar. "But I saw him yesterday hanging out with this girl and they were just so cute together. It seemed right. I think he'd be happy with her."

Samantha's lips twisted into a tight frown. Although Serena's transformation had broken their empathic connection, they still had shared a womb for nine months and a room for the following nineteen years. Samantha knew just what Serena was dancing around. "You're going to try to set up the man you crossed an ocean for with another woman' You are ridiculous."

"As his dearest friend shouldn't it be my job to make sure that he is happy?"

The question drew a firm shake of her head as Samantha set down the mortar on the counter beside Serena. "No, it is your job to respect his decisions and respect that he has a mind of his own. You cannot make everybody do what you want them to do all the time." She dipped her finger into the mortar to coat it with a layer of the concoction.

Serena leaned down, dropping her elbows to her knees to allow Samantha access to the partially healed cut over her forehead. "Of course I can, Sam. It's what I do," she murmured in a soft, truthful tone as Sam coated it in a layer of the healing mixture.

The cut, the words, and her tone all sunk in deep, adding up to a truth that Sam would have rather not known. With unhappy acceptance, the blonde twin slumped her shoulders as she turned towards the sink to wash the remaining mixture off her hands. "You're scamming people again, aren't you?" There was a well of deep disapproval in her voice.

The lonely emptiness of disappointing her sister settled in. Yet, the sooner Sam accepted the truth, the better. "I need the money."

"You do not. I am sure that tending at the Inn will keep you until the local surfing gets in gear again." The words were as heated as Sam could direct her way. Sam's brown eyes remained fixated on the faucet. There she could not fall prey to Serena's charm.

"It is who I am, Sammy." Serena's hand reached up and her fingers lightly danced over the mixture which was now hardening into a paste over her cut.

Finally, Sam peeled her eyes from the faucet to meet Serena's with a ghost of a smile and a shake of her head. "That is not true. That's never been true and one day you'll realize it."

I often think of my death and usually without much fear. Everyone knows already how my death will come about. It can be seen in Alain's eyes when I tell him of a new project. It can be seen in Sam's furrowed brow when I tell her I can't meet her for dinner because I'm working. It can be seen in the occasional concerned frown from Eless and Tucker when they catch me lying about my trade . Eventually, my reckless antics will lead me into a situation that I cannot get out of. Out of stubborn pride, I will resist asking my friends for help until it is too late to save me. I shall die at the hands of an angry mark alone and playing the role of someone else. It is already written in stone.

Once my life ends I, like everyone else, will be expected to account for my deeds, misdeeds, and poor choices. I will have nothing to say for myself. I will stand tall and proud before whatever entity is there to judge me and I will accept my punishment without defense. I have always known my sins and the consequences of my actions. Yet, I have continued to play the same selfish games merely for my own entertainment.

Wickedness is always wickedness.

* * * * The spine of "The Complete Novels of Jane Austen" that lay in Serena's lap was lined from heavy use. The tips of the corners of once side were folded inward from falling to the floor the other night when she had fallen asleep with it in her lap and the bottom of the cover was ragged from Sam shoving it in countless bookbags over the years. A fingertip drifted beneath the words as she read aloud.

"I do not know whether it ought to be so, but certainly silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way. Wickedness is always wickedness, but folly is not always folly. It depends upon the character of those who handle it. Mr. Knightley, he is not a trifling, silly young man. If he were, he would have done this differently. He would either have gloried in the achievement, or been ashamed of it. There would have been either the ostentation of a coxcomb, or the evasions of a mind too weak to defend its own vanities. No, I am perfectly sure that he is not trifling or silly."

With a hefty sigh, Serena closed the book, using the receipt for the bagels she had forced on Jolyon this morning as a bookmark. Her dark eyes lifted from the book to the silent, prone man in the bed. Hamish was his name and prior to the stroke that had left him in this coma, she had never met him. At first, she had sat here for Jolyon but soon she realized that a man who was so dear to her friend could not be alone in such a frightening time. Eventually, she sat there for him too — a man that she did not know, a man that could do nothing for her in his current state.

"I know," she stated with a slight cringe as if he had spoken aloud most men's feelings for the author she had chosen to read from. "You don't seem to be a Jane Austen sort of man. Perhaps tomorrow I shall bring the Farmer's Almanac. That is after all the farmers' bible right?"

Sitting here was darn near selfless. The fact didn't escape her and didn't put her at ease. The thought had to be dismissed. She reached up, slipping her hand beneath her collar and the dark hair that had escaped her high messy bun to rub firmly at the whining pain in the back of her neck. "These chairs really are as uncomfortable as Jolyon said," she murmured beneath her breath.

The beeping monitors seemed to grow louder with every passing moment and the chatter from the hallway seemed incredibly distant when separated by the thick door to the room. Time seemed frozen within the room just as Hamish's life was frozen with his soul hovering between this world and the next. Her voice held a warmness that she herself could not feel. "It's spring. You should really wake up now because you can't die in spring. It's not a good time. When I die it'll be winter. There's something poetic in that."

Her dark eyes settled on the old man's weathered face. Her expression softened suddenly and she gave a slow shake of her head. "He really does care for you deeply. Given his personality I doubt he's ever directly told you that. He told me about you, though. He said you were like a surrogate father."

"You seem a stable man of the land. I suppose you are very much like Jolyon in that way. I am the opposite. I am an irresponsible woman of the ocean," she stated in a slow, careful tone. Her elbows dropped onto her knees as she leaned forward towards him. Perhaps it was mentioning him as Jolyon's surrogate father but suddenly she felt the need to explain herself.

"He doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me. He thinks I'll grow tired of this game and move on. Until I can prove to him that I won't, I will get no where. But how can I prove something like that with the failure of Cor hanging over my head?"

She hesitated over the truth and her dark eyes fell back to the ground. In a coma or not, admitting the truth to one who's approval she wanted was beyond difficult. "Cor never really trusted me either. He was always waiting for me to leave and eventually I proved him right. Three separate times, I think, in fact."

"Maybe I just need somebody to trust me." Hope infiltrated her voice in spite of herself. She carefully studied the lines of his face with a thoughtful frown. "I think that if somebody in my life expected good behavior from me then I might rise to the occasion. It's easy being the bad twin. It's easy to lie and be manipulative when nobody is expecting any better of you. There is nobody in my life who would be the least bit surprised or disappointed in me."

She fell silent as she dropped her chin into the open cusp of her palm. The machines chirped their constant message and a gurney was rolled past the closed door. Once or twice a few strands of Brahms' Lullaby would slip in through the crack in the door as it was played over the intercom system to announce a birth in the maternity ward. Yet, her eyes could not leave the old man in the bed. Just by studying the lines of his face, she came to the conclusion that being trapped in a useless body being tended to night and day was not a position that he would ever want to be in.

"If you have to go, it'll be okay," she finally stated in a soft whisper. The words came in a swift wave, crashing as they broke before she even knew exactly what she was offering. "Everything will be okay. I promise I will look after him for you. I understand what he needs now."

"If you do decide to put your trust in me, I will rise to the responsibility of it. I know I can."