Before language remembered them, the tigers whispered in reverse. The bones listened. Sitting in a garden made of apple trees and vines. The garden never woke, it had forgotten what it grew. Somewhere beneath the soil, something soft pulsed. It wasn’t a heart. It was older than that. The twins sat across from each other, mouths stained. One laughed like peeling bark. The other swallowed a seed whole. Neither knew which one had been planted. But both heard the roots hum.
