It was almost impossible to forget Izzy. Her long, wavy blonde hair was paired perfectly with inviting baby blue eyes, which were always twinkling with amusement and mischief. She had always had a pale complexion, unlike Emeline, whose skin always tanned lightly every summer, when she was out in the sun for long periods of time. Her sister's face was also absent of any freckles, of which Emeline had quite a few.

How could she even begin to forget her sister's scent? Even when Emeline didn't spray her sister's perfume, she could still smell the scent of sweet peas, an odor her sister had always loved. And even though she remembered what her sister had looked like before, she was still haunted by all of the scars her sister had received from a day she just wished to forget...

But it wasn't the physical scars that occupied Emeline's thoughts as she stared at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. To any normal human being, the person standing in front of the mirror and the reflection were one in the same. But as Emeline looked at herself in the mirror now, like any other time for the past two years, all she saw was the face of her once living twin sister, Isadora. Though they might have had slight differences in appearance, the similarities had still been so strong, that it wasn't difficult to see they were twins.

It took Emmie a few moments to tear her gaze away from the mirror, ignoring the stab of pain in her chest as she grabbed her bag off of her bed and slowly made her way downstairs. She stopped in the kitchen, watching her mother as she prepared something on the stove. It was a few minutes before the woman noticed her, jumping in surprise when she realized Emeline was standing in the doorway.

Rebecca Pierce was, even in her forties, a beautiful woman. Like Izzy, she had long, golden hair with soft waves, and gentle ice blue eyes, a trait both of her daughters had inherited. And just like Emeline, she had fair skin, though not as fair as as Izzy's, that tanned ever so slightly in the sun. In fact, except for the hair and the fact that she had faint freckles on her cheeks and her mother did not, Emeline looked like a spitting image of her mother. She even had the same small, gentle hands as Rebecca, just like the ones used by her mother to caress her as a child.

"Emmie, you startled me. I didn't hear you come in. Would you like something to eat?" she asked softly. Emeline shrugged, and her mother smiled kindly at her. "Come and sit down," she said gently, motioning toward a seat at the kitchen table. Emmie complied, slowly sliding into a seat and looking at her mother as she set the food onto the table before before sitting down herself and looking at her daughter. "So, did you sleep well?" she inquired. Emmie shook her head, and her mother sighed softly. "Oh Emmie. Please, try to enjoy your first day of school. This is your last year of high school. I want it to be special." she said.

Normally, most people would reply when their parents spoke to them. But after Izzy passed away two years ago, she developed selective mutism. She hadn't spoken to anyone since then. Granted, some people who developed selective mutism could talk to family and close friends, but Emmie had chosen not to talk to anyone. She had even avoided her closest friends, or ignored them if they did happen to run into her, for nearly two years. It was obvious to her that her parents were hoping she would eventually get her voice back again, and truthfully, so was Emmie. But she wasn't really sure if that was ever going to happen, or at least anytime soon.

Emmie ended up skipping breakfast, instead kissing her mother goodbye and heading out the door, beginning the walk to school. It wasn't a long walk, maybe ten minutes at the most, but even so, it was monotonous just the same. Nevertheless, she blended with the rush of people entering the building, and she hastily made her way to her locker before looking for her first class: Physics. Now, science wasn't necessarily her favorite subject, but it was one of her stronger ones, so she wasn't too anxious. At least, until she walked in and immediately noticed who was sitting towards the back of the classroom . . .