A dark forest lay shrouded in a thick fog that hung like a heavy blanket, muted and oppressive against the towering trees. Gnarled branches twisted toward the leaden sky, their silhouettes sharp against the dim light filtering through the dense canopy. The air was cool and damp, filled with the earthy scent of moss and decomposing leaves that crunched softly underfoot.

  Dim rays of moonlight struggled to pierce the foliage, casting fleeting shadows that danced like specters, as the whispers of an unseen breeze rustled the leaves, creating an eerie symphony of sounds. Occasional breaks in the underbrush revealed glimpses of moss-covered stones and tangled roots, while the haunting calls of distant creatures echoed through the silence, amplifying the sense of foreboding that enveloped the forest.

  A sudden shimmer in the air sliced through the forest's stillness, bending reality itself. From this distortion emerged two figures, cloaked in flowing black robes adorned with intricate silver embroidery that gleamed like starlight.

  One figure, a woman, was easily discernible as the wind tugged gently at her hood, revealing strands of hair that cascaded like a silken waterfall. In her hands, she cradled a woven basket, its contents unseen yet the occasional baby voice revealed its content. The forest around me held its breath, as if anticipating the mysteries these enigmatic visitors would unveil. Standing beside her, a tall man cut a striking figure, his frame unwavering like an ancient oak rooted deep in the earth. Shadows danced around him, yet he remained a steadfast beacon amidst the encroaching twilight, an embodiment of pride and arrogance.

  "I’ve had enough of this! I won't raise these abominations anymore, they aren't even like us!" yelled the man at the woman.

  "They’re our children! We can’t just abandon them because they are different. They need us!" shouted the woman.

  "They’re a disgrace! We’re wizards and witches and they aren't even squibs. Should the other houses hear of this they would laugh at us for eternity."

  "And you want to leave them here so the animals can kill them and then what?"

  The man clenches his fists, frustration boiling over. "You don’t understand! I can’t take this disgrace anymore."

  Suddenly, he raises his hand and with a flash of light, he teleports away, leaving the mother standing alone, stricken. The woman watched the man disappear, disbelief washing over her.

  She fell to her knees, the weight of his action settling heavily in her chest, tears streaming down her face like the rain and shouted. "Don’t leave me to do this alone!"

  Taking a deep breath, her expression shifts from anger to sorrow. She wipes the twins' memories of their time together, believing it’s for the best, though her heart aches. As a final gesture, she places two carefully wrapped gifts in a basket: delicate necklaces for each girl, adorned with charms representing their childhood — a phoenix, a heart, a star, and a rose for the elder; an augury, a heart, a star, and a rose for the younger.

  "I hope one day you’ll understand... I did this for you both," she whispered to the empty forest, her voice barely rising above the silence. The air felt heavy with the weight of her decision. Each word hung like a fragile thread, woven with love and remorse. In that fleeting moment, she allowed herself a last glance at the gifts in the basket — tokens of a bond they would cherish, even if they could not recall their shared laughter.

  With a deep sigh, she vanished, hoping one day the spark of their past would find its way back. A sudden rustling from the nearby bushes sliced through the forest's breath-holding silence, sending a rush of anticipation through the air. Shadows flickered as unseen creatures stirred, their movements echoing the heartbeat of the woods, a gossip of hidden wonders swirling beneath the surface. The twins, still nestled among the duvets in the basket, stirred at the sound, their curiosity igniting like a spark in darkness.

  A figure emerged from the thick foliage. a magnificent white wolf, its piercing blue eyes shimmering with an ethereal glow. The wolf moved with a grace that seemed almost supernatural, drawn instinctively to the basket cradling the twins. Its delicate snout hovered above them, inhaling their scent, as if deciphering the secrets nestled within their innocent forms.

  The elder twin, her gaze captivated by the creature’s haunting beauty, felt a spark ignite in her heart—a connection that transcended the veil of memory, whispering promises of protection and warmth. In that timeless moment, the creature’s captivating presence enveloped the elder twin, weaving an invisible thread between them.

  It blinked slowly, emerging from a dreamlike reverie, as a soft rumble from its chest expressed intrigue. When their eyes met, a warm current of understanding flowed between them, reinforcing a silent promise: this strange being, shimmering with the magic of the forest, would become her friend in the future, but not just yet.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  With a playful glint in her eyes, the wolf grasped the basket's handle, her movements fluid and graceful. The twins watched in wide-eyed amazement as she bounded through the lush underbrush, her fur shimmering in the dappled moonlight. Each leap seemed to weave not just a path to the nearest town, but a tapestry of adventure awaiting them.

  Nestled amidst rolling green hills and fribrat forests, the small town thrived with a charm that echoed the simplicity of rural life in the 1870s. Cobblestone streets wound their way through the heart of the town, each stone worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Quaint brick cottages, their pointed roofs adorned with ivy and blossoming flower boxes, lined the streets, exuding a warmth that invited passersby to pause and enjoy the scene even at night.

  A church steeple soared above the surrounding rooftops, its bell resounding the hour, marking not only the inevitable passage of time but also the pulse of life, cast in the warm glow of two lanterns that hung gracefully beside the entrance.

  A horse-drawn carriages rattled by, the wheels creaking softly against the cobblestones. As the moon rose high in the velvety sky, casting a silvery hue over the town, the cozy glow of oil lamps flickered to life, illuminating the streets and turning the town into a living painting as the stars twinkled overhead.

  This was the scene the twins found when the wolf carried them to the church while hiding from the carriage and left them at the door before running back to the forest and releasing a loud howl.

  The wolf lowered the twins basket to the ground at the double doors of the church. The church loomed before them, an old sentinel standing guard against the dark. As the wolf slipped back into the forest's embrace, a haunting howl filled the night, echoing through the stillness and mingling with the clatter of the carriage wheels.

  Beneath the warm glow of the oil lamps, the village stirred into action, as the residents poured from their cottages, grasping whatever they could scavenge—pitchforks, candles, and a motley assortment of makeshift arms. The air thrummed with a sense of urgency and fear. Faces glowed with a blend of excitement and concern, their eyes scanning the shadows as whispers of the wolf's howl faded into the night. The priest, cross grasped tightly in hand, swung open the door to discern the source of the disturbance.

  He glanced down, his heart tightening at the sight of the twins nestled in the basket. Gently, he cradled the basket in his arms, lifting it gently as possible. With a mix of urgency and concern, he scanned the gathering crowd, his voice steady yet filled with emotion as he called out to the villagers. “Does anyone recognize these girls or have you seen anything unusual?”

  As the gathered crowd shifted restlessly, their faces illuminated by the flickering glow of oil lamps, the coachman stepped forward, a mixture of disbelief and fascination etched across his features. "I swear, it was a pure white wolf," he declared, his voice trembling slightly, eager to convey the extraordinary vision that had unfolded before his eyes. "Carrying a basket, no less! I thought my mind was playing tricks on me in the moonlight."

  “Surely it was the drink you always have at night that played tricks on your eyes,” came a voice from the crowd, dripping with skepticism. The priest turned sharply, his brow furrowing in disbelief. “This is no jest! These children are real, and they need our help!”

  “Forgive my jest, but what shall we do with these children?" a man called out, his voice wavering between jest and genuine concern. The flickering lantern light cast shadows on his furrowed brow, revealing the weight of unspoken fears. "It’s not as if our own little ones don’t demand our every waking hour." The villagers shifted uneasily, exchanging nervous glances, as the laughter faded into an unsettling silence.

  A hushed murmur swept through the gathering as a young woman, her nun's habit flowing like a gentle stream, stepped forward from the crowd. Maintaining eye contact with the priest, she took the basket from the priest, her gentle hand outstretched toward the twins, filled with a mothers instinct that was impossible to fake. “I can care for them,” she declared, her voice steady and soothing as the flickering lanterns illuminated her earnest gaze.

  “Are you certain, Sister Theresa?” the man interrupted,his voice filled with concern. “Children require every waking moment, to shield them from the pitfalls that lurk in every corner of life.” Yet, undeterred, Sister Theresa held her ground. "Indeed, I am certain, though I may need your assistance from time to time. James" Her voice radiated fierce determination and maternal instinct.The young nun stood with quiet poise, her light brown hair neatly tucked beneath her white coif, a few loose strands framing her soft, youthful face. Bright hazel eyes sparkled with a mix of determination and kindness, revealing a spirit passionate about her calling. As she held the basket with the twins she looked like a young mother. "Now what are their names?" she wondered.

  Theresa cradled Lyra, the younger twin, with utmost tenderness, feeling the warmth of the infant intertwine with the weight of the sacred vows she had pledged to uphold. The priest, equally gentle, cradled Astrea, their names elegantly embroidered upon the soft duvets that enveloped them. The tenth of March in the year 1875 shimmered in golden thread, the date of the birth of the twins

  A soft sigh escaped Theresa’s lips as she gazed down at Lyra, her heart swelling with a fierce determination. Each tiny breath the infant took felt like a promise, filling the air with unspoken dreams.

  “Welcome, my sweet little ones,” Theresa murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with love and hope. “You are safe here.”

  The priest, in favor of her guardianship, nodded in quiet affirmation. His voice, rich and comforting, echoed through the stillness of the town. “Indeed, they will find safety here, Sister. It is our duty to raise them in an atmosphere of kindness and understanding.”