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MidReal Story
The Twin Princesses
Scenario:Two identical twin princesses are loved by everyone and are renowned for their beauty. They are inseparable and chosen to jointly rule together. They are also lesbians and secretly harbor a crush on each other.
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Princess Elara Voss
kindhearted, and introspective. Elara struggles with her feelings for her sister, Princess Alara, as they are expected to marry men to secure alliances. She grapples with the societal pressures of being a princess while secretly harboring romantic feelings for Alara. Her relationship with Alara is complex and deeply emotional.
King Marcellus Voss
caring, and traditional. King Marcellus values family unity and expects his daughters to marry well to secure alliances for their kingdom's prosperity. He encourages his daughters' close bond but remains unaware of their romantic feelings for each other. His decisions are guided by duty rather than personal desires, aiming to ensure his daughters' happiness within societal norms.
Princess Alara Voss
confident, and compassionate. Alara is unaware of Elara's romantic feelings towards her but reciprocates her sister's affection in a platonic manner. She is admired by everyone in the kingdom for her beauty and kindness. Her bond with Elara is strong and supportive, though she remains oblivious to Elara's deeper emotions.
I always thought it was weird how much I loved my sister.
Not having a choice, but still, all my life I’ve never been able to stop myself from staring at her.
Those sparkling blue eyes, that perfect smile, that soft touch, that cascade of golden hair over her shoulders like the sun coming to life.
Everyone falls in love with Princess Alara the first time they see her.
But no one loves her as much as me.
She’s my other half.
The two of us were meant to rule this kingdom together and we always do.
We were born twins to rule together and marry men from other countries for alliances and a united empire.
That’s how it’s always been with twins in my family and so we’ve always known that’s our destiny.
It's the price we pay for being born princesses.
Everyone loves my sister and me.
We’re charming and beautiful and kind.
Everyone says so.
Father is always throwing grand banquets and balls for us to entertain the nobles and dignitaries from other countries.
They all come to see us, to make deals and alliances with my father, the King of Voss.
Tonight, Father has invited all the eligible bachelors from the neighboring kingdoms to our palace.
They’re coming to woo us and try to win our hand in marriage.
I’m sure they’ll all be young and handsome and charming and polite.
I’ll pretend to be interested, but I don’t care.
I’m not interested in any of them.
Alara’s the only one I want.
But no one knows that.
It’s a secret we keep hidden deep inside ourselves where no one can find it.
The banquet hall is filled with people in fancy clothes and sparkling jewels and glittering gold and silver decorations.
The tables are set with fine china and crystal glasses and silver forks and knives.
The centerpieces are tall candelabras with white candles burning brightly above the diners’ heads.
Father stands at the head of the table to welcome everyone and introduce himself and his daughters, Alara and Elara, the twin princesses of Voss.
We stand on either side of him, smiling and waving at everyone as he talks about how proud he is of us. Then we take our seats beside him at the head of the table.
Alara sits on his right, then me, then all the princes from other kingdoms sit on either side of us so they can all try to impress us.
I always sit on Alara’s left because it’s easier for me to talk to her that way.
We always wear matching gowns when we’re out in public together.
Tonight we’re wearing sky blue gowns that bring out the color of our eyes.
Our hair is styled up in matching French braids with a few loose curls hanging down over our shoulders.
We both have golden necklaces with a diamond pendant around our necks that Father gave us for our eighteenth birthday last month.
My heart skips a beat every time I look at Alara, but I don’t think anyone else notices how much I love her because everyone loves her just as much as me, if not more so.
The first course arrives at our table: roasted pheasant with honey glaze, steamed broccoli with butter sauce, baked potatoes with sour cream, cheese, bacon bits, chives, salt and pepper. The nobles start talking about trade routes between their countries while we eat.
"Elara," Alara whispers, leaning closer so only I can hear, "Father's planning something more than just alliances tonight."
I pause, my fork hovering mid-air, and ask softly, "What do you mean?"
She glances around the table before meeting my eyes with a knowing look, "He's choosing our husbands tonight, and he expects us to agree without question."
She sets her fork down and lifts her wine glass to her lips.
I watch as her delicate fingers trace the rim of the glass with a thoughtful expression.
"I'm not sure I can agree," she says, her voice barely audible.
I watch as she takes a sip of her wine, the red liquid glistening on her lips as she pulls the glass away.
"Father will expect us to do our duty," I whisper back, my voice equally soft.
Alara nods, then looks up at me with a small smile.
"We'll face it together," she says, her eyes filled with determination.
Across the table, Prince Edmund of Westcliff drones on about his hunting exploits in the mountains of Westcliff.
I catch Father's eye from where he sits at the head of the table.
He raises an eyebrow and gestures meaningfully toward the young prince sitting beside me.
I know what he means - that I should pay more attention to him.
I take a deep breath and turn away from Alara, forcing myself to engage in polite conversation with Prince Marcus. "Yes, I've heard those mountains are quite treacherous," I say with a forced smile.
"Indeed they are," he replies, his eyes roaming over my face and shoulders before returning to my eyes.
"But the view from the top is breathtaking."
I nod politely, "I'm sure it is."
As we continue to talk, I feel Alara's hand brush against mine under the tablecloth.
My heart skips a beat at the touch, and I almost jump out of my seat.
She squeezes my fingers three times - our childhood signal for "I need you."
Without drawing attention to ourselves, I squeeze her fingers four times in return - our signal for "I'm here."
After years of practice, we can communicate silently with just a touch of our hands or fingers or toes or feet.
The dinner drags on for what feels like an eternity.
Finally, after the last course of fruit and cheese and nuts is served, Father stands to make an announcement.
"I'm so glad you could all join us tonight," he says, his voice booming through the great hall.
"As you know, my daughters have come of age and it's time for them to marry. I've invited you here tonight because I believe it's time for our countries to form alliances. I expect my daughters to marry well and form strong bonds with the men they choose."
He pauses, looking around the room at the princes seated at the tables.
"I expect you all to be respectful of their wishes and courteous in your pursuit of their affections."
The guests all murmur in agreement as Father sits back down.
Alara squeezes my hand again, this time with five quick presses - "I'm scared." I squeeze her hand back with three quick presses - "I'm here."
After dinner, we all go into the great hall where there’s a live band playing music and a bar serving drinks.
The men all come over to talk to us and try to win our favor.
I watch as Alara charms them all with her beauty and grace and polite conversation.
She’s always been better than me at being charming and polite.
She’s always been better at everything than me.
She’s prettier and smarter and more talented.
She’s always been the one who gets all the attention from Father and everyone else.
I’m just happy to be by her side, watching her shine like the sun in the sky. As the night wears on, the guests start saying goodbye and leaving.
Father thanks them for coming and tells them he’ll be in touch soon about forming alliances between our countries.
I watch as Alara bids farewell to Prince Edmund of Westcliff with a curtsy and a kiss on his cheek.
When she straightens up, she catches my eye from across the room and tilts her head slightly toward the garden terrace outside the glass doors behind me - our childhood hideaway where we used to sneak off when we were little girls.
I nod almost imperceptibly in response before turning back to bid farewell to Prince Marcus of Northwood who has come over to say goodnight to me.
When he leaves, I pause for a moment to kiss Father goodnight on his cheek before following Alara out into the cool night air on the garden terrace. The moon is full overhead, casting a silver glow over everything.
Alara is waiting for me by the stone railing where we used to play as little girls.
She’s watching me as I approach, her face illuminated by the moonlight.
She’s identical to me in every way, but somehow she’s more beautiful, more radiant.
She’s pacing back and forth with her hands wringing together, a habit we both have when we’re nervous or upset.
I approach slowly, giving her time to collect her thoughts before we talk.
The night air is filled with the scent of blooming jasmine, sweet and heady.
We stand there in silence for a moment, listening to the crickets chirping in the bushes and the distant sound of music still coming from inside the palace.
Finally, Alara turns to me and I see tears glistening in her eyes.
She reaches out and takes my hand in hers, our fingers intertwining naturally as they’ve done since we were babies.
Her thumb traces circles on my palm, a gesture so intimate it makes my heart race.
I lean my elbows against the stone railing and look out over the gardens below, illuminated by the moonlight.
Alara does the same, standing beside me with her face in profile.
She’s looking out at the gardens but I can tell she’s not really seeing them.
She’s lost in her own thoughts.
"We don’t have to do it," she says softly.
Her words hang in the air between us for a moment.
The music from inside the banquet hall has stopped now and the palace is quiet except for the sound of crickets and our own breathing.
Alara turns to look at me, her blue gown rustling softly as she moves.
She releases my hand and grips both my shoulders with her hands.
Her fingers are firm against my skin but gentle.
I look into her eyes and see the vulnerability there.
Her voice trembles as she speaks.
"We can run away. We can go somewhere where no one knows us."
I step closer to her, drawn by the pain in her eyes and the tremble in her voice.
The scent of jasmine fills the air around us, sweet and intoxicating.
I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her against me.
She melts into my embrace, her head tucking perfectly into the crook of my neck like it always has.
Our matching gowns rustle softly against each other, silk against silk.
Her fingers clutch at the back of my dress desperately, pulling me closer.
I feel wetness on my shoulder where her tears fall.
I hold her tighter, stroking her back in slow circles with my hands.
"Alara, you know Father would never let us go," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the night sounds.
She pulls back slightly, her eyes searching mine with a fierce determination.
"Then we'll make him see that we deserve to choose our own path, even if it means defying him."
I squeeze her hand and lead her toward the path that will take us to Father’s study.
Our silk gowns whisper against the stone as we walk.
The guards at the entrance to the garden bow as we pass, used to our late-night wanderings together.
We’ve been inseparable since birth, even sleeping in the same bed until we were old enough to know that it was considered strange.
Father’s study is located in one of the towers of the palace, overlooking the gardens below.
Alara’s grip on my hand tightens as we approach his door, making my palm sweat.
I raise my hand to knock but pause, studying the intricate oak patterns carved into the wood.
Behind this door lies a choice that will shatter years of tradition and expectation.
Alara’s thumb traces our childhood comfort pattern on my wrist, three small circles followed by a diagonal line.
I draw strength from her touch and knock three times on the door.
The door creaks open, revealing Father seated at his desk, papers scattered around him.
He looks up, surprise flickering across his face before settling into a stern expression.
"What is it, girls? It's late," he says, his voice carrying the weight of authority and expectation.
We stand before him, our hands still linked.
The candlelight casts shadows on his face, making him look older than he is.
He waits for us to speak, his eyes flicking between us.
My throat tightens, making it hard to swallow.
Alara’s thumb continues to trace circles on my palm, giving me the courage to speak.
Before I can voice our rebellion against arranged marriages, I turn to look at my sister.
Her face is identical to mine yet somehow more beautiful.
The curves of her cheeks and nose blur as tears fill my eyes.
I draw her closer until my lips are almost brushing her ear.
"My heart is yours forever," I whisper, the words hanging in the air between us.
Alara’s fingers tremble against my palm, but she doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she leans back just far enough to meet my gaze.
Her blue eyes, the exact shade as mine, burn with an intensity I’ve never seen before.
The candlelight flickers around us, casting shadows that dance on the walls of Father’s study.
Father clears his throat from behind his desk, but the sound barely registers in my ears.
I’m consumed by the sight of Alara’s face, every feature so familiar yet so breathtakingly beautiful.
I’ve memorized every detail of her since childhood: the slight tilt of her nose, the curve of her cheeks, and the softness of her lips.
As I gaze at her, a realization hits me like a wave crashing against the shore.
The realization that has been hidden beneath the surface for so long, waiting to emerge.
It’s not just love I feel for my sister; it’s attraction.
Desire.
When Alara’s free hand reaches up to cup my cheek, its touch sends shivers down my spine.
I grip her hand tighter, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Father’s voice cuts through the silence, his tone firm but laced with a hint of confusion.
"What is it, girls? You’re acting strange."
I turn to face him, Alara’s hand still clutched in mine.
Father sits behind his massive oak desk, papers scattered before him.
The flickering candlelight casts dancing shadows on his weathered face.
The scent of old parchment and smoke fills the air.
Alara’s steady presence beside me gives me the courage to take a step forward.
"Father," I say, my voice trembling at first but growing stronger with each word.
"We cannot marry the princes you’ve chosen for us. We will not."
Father’s eyebrows rise sharply as I continue, my words pouring out like a dam breaking free.
"We deserve to choose our own paths, our own destinies. We will not be bound by tradition and expectation."
As I speak, Father’s face darkens with displeasure.
He rubs his temples, the candlelight casting deep shadows in his eyes.
His carved wooden chair creaks softly as he leans back, his gaze fixed intently on us.
The silence stretches between us, broken only by the soft crackle of the candle flames and our nervous breathing.
Alara’s hand tightens in mine when Father finally looks up, his eyes tired yet softening as they move between us.
He picks up his quill, twirling it absently in his fingers as he considers our words.
It’s a familiar gesture from my childhood, one that brings back memories of seeking Father’s approval for every decision I made.
I grip Alara’s hand tighter, my heart pounding in my chest.
Father’s eyes bore into mine, the candlelight casting shadows across his face.
He waits for our response, his silence a challenge to speak our minds.
My mouth goes dry as I meet his gaze, the weight of our decision heavy in the air.
Alara’s thumb brushes against my knuckles, tracing a familiar pattern on my wrist.
It’s a gesture we’ve shared since childhood, a comforting reminder of our bond.
Three slow circles followed by two quick ones, a secret language known only to us.
The touch steadies me, giving me the strength to speak my truth.
When Father leans forward in his creaking chair, his elbows resting on the scattered papers before him, I force myself to meet his questioning gaze.
"Father," I say, my voice steady yet trembling with emotion.
"We choose each other."
Father’s face transforms in the candlelight, his stern expression melting into something softer.
He rises slowly from his chair, the papers rustling as he pushes back.
My grip on Alara’s hand tightens as he approaches us, each step echoing in the quiet study.
When he reaches us, his arms open wide, the familiar scent of his worn leather vest enveloping us.
He pulls us both into a warm embrace, his lips brushing against our foreheads.
Alara trembles against me, her breath catching as Father leans close.
Time seems to stand still as we wait for his response, the only sound the soft crackle of the candle flames and our pounding hearts.
I lean into Father’s embrace, my cheek pressed against the warm leather of his vest.
His words sink deep into my soul as Alara’s fingers tighten around mine inside our shared hug.
The candlelight casts dancing shadows across the study walls, casting an intimate glow over the scene.
Father holds us for a moment, his strong arms a protective barrier around our shoulders.
When he pulls back slightly, I see tears shining in his eyes, matching our own.
He cups both our faces in his weathered hands, studying our identical features with newfound understanding.
"I knew this day would come," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.
Alara's eyes widen, her grip on my hand tightening as she asks, "You did?"
Father nods, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.