Family Affair

Sylvia knew her sister would be distraught at the thought of her son competing in a sword-fighting competition, so she decided to pay her a visit.

The weather was mild, and there was hardly a breeze coming off of the sea. It seemed like the gods were being kind to Henry while he had to compete outdoors that day.

Sylvia held up her floor-length skirt as she walked to the town, only letting it go when she was out of the long grass and onto the dirt path. She took a sharp turn to the right and soon made it to her sister's shabby house.

Before she could knock, her eyes went over the state of the dwelling. Things had certainly gone downhill since her brother-in-law passed away a couple of years before. He was the handyman of the house, making sure things were in shape. She pondered Henry's situation. If he were knighted and received a higher salary, he could restore the house to its former, meager glory.

Sylvia finally knocked, not waiting for an answer, and pushed open the door.

Just as expected, Celia nervously paced around her house as she thought of her son facing anyone in battle. She had a broom in her hands with the intention of sweeping up, but she kept getting distracted and stopping as soon as she started.

Sylvia wondered how Henry was faring in the competition.

There were ways she could quell her curiosity and she looked to her sister.

She asked her twin sister, "What have you been writing lately, Celia?"

Celia's mouth hung open in disbelief at her older sister's words.

"Why are you worried about my writing when my son is facing men with swords?" As she spoke, her arms waved in the air.

Despite her dramatic actions, Celia easily relented. She went to her room to retrieve the writing she had been working on lately.

Any interest in her writing was met with enthusiasm. It was always her dream to put her stories on bookshelves so that others could read them as well. So far, only a few had sold and she kept writing, wondering if each new idea would be what put her on the map as a writer.

Henry grew up and lost interest in her stories. Her husband passed away, and she no longer had a listening ear around the house.

She sprawled out the sheets of paper across the old wooden table in the center of their house and clasped her hands together as she proudly looked over her work.

"Henry has been giving me a lot of inspiration lately," Celia explained. "After he tells me about his adventures with the knights, I can't stop myself from putting quill to paper and letting the words flow."

Sylvia and her sister were among only a small number of peasants who were literate. Henry had a very basic reading level and there were a few others who could read minor things because their work required it. Most of the jobs available to the peasants were those of physical labor so there was rarely a need to learn how to read.

Sylvia's brown eyes scanned through the papers that were laid out in front of her. She started stacking them up the further she got before she suddenly stopped.

"You're writing about a sword fighting competition?" Sylvia asked.

"I couldn't help it! I can only imagine what Henry is seeing and feeling right now," Celia looked into the distance with a dreamy expression on her face. "I feel closer to him if I write about his adventures."

Sylvia's eyes didn't stop moving as she read to the end of the section about the competition.

Her eyes stopped on the last page and her eyebrows lowered.

"What on Earth is this?" she cried and lifted up the page so she could shove it in her sister's face. "Why would you make the hero of your story come in at second place?"

Celia's eyes widened and she immediately held the papers to her chest protectively.

"I've told you before to trust the artist," Celia defended herself. "It wouldn't be realistic if someone starting off so inexperienced won a sword-fighting match right away!"

"No, no, no," Sylvia shook her head. "Go get your quill and ink. We're going to change this. It's all wrong."

"I'm not going to-"

"If you won't then I will!" Sylvia shouted.

Sylvia ran towards Celia's door with all her might, but Celia tried to block her path with her body.

When the two of them collided, Celia dropped all of her papers and they scattered all over the room.

She cried out in horror and began stacking up the papers again but they weren't in order anymore.

Sylvia ran around Celia's room before she found the ink and returned to her sister who was picking up papers from all over the house.

"What have you done now?" she asked. "We have no time to waste!"

Celia didn't understand why her sister was suddenly so passionate about a story she was writing, but her sister's energy caused her to want to take what Sylvia was saying seriously.

They both frantically organized the papers in the correct order.

When they got to the final page that talked about the young knight coming in second place, Sylvia grabbed the paper and started ripping it up before she tossed it into the fireplace.

Celia gasped in horror at all the work she had put in being destroyed right in front of her face.

"Be more generous to the hero," Sylvia said, handing her sister the quill and ink.

Begrudgingly, Celia did as she was told, remembering the details of her previous draft, but being sure to flourish this time around and allow the knight to have a lucky win.

"There we go," Celia said, lifting the quill off of the paper. "Are you hap–"

As Celia spoke, she used her hands to emphasize her point. Her words were cut short when her hand bumped against the bottle of ink and it spilled over, covering the bottom half of the paper she had just written in ink.

Sylvia gasped.

"Sister, what have you done?" she asked. "Now we'll never know the outcome!"

Celia grabbed the sides of her head and stared in horror at the mess on her table. She watched as her sister put the ink upright and tried to blot off the pooling ink as best as she could.

She still didn't understand her sister's sudden fixation on her work, but she couldn't help but feel like she needed to write the story again in order to make it up to her.

"I can write it again," Celia assured her. "The section wasn't that long and we know that I'm going to change it so that the hero wins."

Sylvia sighed.

"We'll never know," she responded. "We can only let fate decide now."