On Tavira, the moon that lay above Eons, in the capital city of Aporia, in a Secure Medical ward, an Issian lay in restraints and sometimes fought them but they were too too tight to give even an millimeter. She was a youngish woman, in her thirties but had long ago given up any kind of care and concern for her look or her body too. Half-conscious and always in a drug-induced stupor, the woman lay quietly on the bed.
Her hair, now tangled and knotted and even missing in some spots along her one temple, should have been blonde but was now brown with dried blood and puss from an open sore. It hadn’t been washed or cleaned in months.
Her toenails, were long as were her fingernails, curled and dull yellow as the keratin was thick and unkempt and if anyone ever got close enough she would try to rake them with those nails. But that was before the dosages were upped and she hadn’t tried that in weeks.
Her teeth were once shiny and white and now were yellow and brittle and even a few were missing; for some reason she would worry a tooth with her tongue and do that long enough and often enough that she would spit out a tooth onto the plain steel ward floor. They fed her via a gastric feeding tube that had been inserted through a small incision in the abdomen into the stomach and was used for long-term enteral nutrition. She hadn’t tasted food in almost a year but she just didn’t care at all.
Her eyes were light blue but such a light tone as to be almost white; each had a huge iris that took up almost the whole of the eyeball—the coal black pupils were large too. Staring at her many had found was treacherous—one could easily fall right into her brain some said. And what a brain it was—she was an Issian twin with all the anxiety that that might mean.
Her gown, if it could be called that, lay on her frame like an old tarpaulin on rough ground. She had the usual female parts but not a single one would be called a curve. She was anything but attractive—in fact she was anti-attractive to anyone who could see the real woman.
Of course, that never happened up here in the Issian Secure Ward.
No one came.
No one visited.
No one cared.
In fact for a full sixty feet around this ward room, no one was ever allowed to enter, except the medical robo drones that the ward staff used to tend to her. Once a week a real live Issian Doctor attended who read charts and nodded and did nothing.
There was nothing to do—she was a twin.
And now change was coming and as yet, no plans had been made for this twin…