The changeling upbringing is an interesting one. It is, by human scientific classification, a parasite. The changeling must blend in from the beginning of its life to the end, lest it face human persecution. Evolutionarily, there was an obvious, yet invasive way to do this. Occasionally, the off changeling would attempt to raise their young through the mammalian method. That is, nurturing them from birth and raising them themselves. Evolutionarily, this didn’t catch on. Those changelings never did as well. Attempting to mimic societal behavior from the outside looking in that placed those changelings at a disadvantage. Those changelings raised by their mothers died out or went into hiding.

  The tried and true method was also perilous. The changeling mother would need to find an equally pregnant human mother. This human mother would need to have a large enough bulge that it could account for twins. This was important because the way that a human baby’s primitive reflexes were to grab anything that reached between their fingers, it was a changeling baby’s reflexes to turn into the thing closest to it in size. So once this changeling mother found a home with a potentially twin-pregnant mother, she would need to stalk them, hover around their house while she waits for the mother to give birth. The changeling mother would keep her distance, only visiting at night because while she was pregnant, her hormonal imbalances prevented her from taking on a different form. Once those twin girls were born, the timer started.

  The pregnant changeling would need to sneak into the house in the middle of the night and replace one of the twins with her young changeling (known in some circles as a changelingling). This might seem cruel. This might seem like abandonment. But the sad truth is this has given her daughter the best chance at life.

  As Lala’s mother placed her in the twin crib, she reflexively changed to the young baby beside her. In this case, a fair-skinned baby with sprouts of red hair.

  It was not often that a changeling mother would weep. Weeping was too noisy for the crucial act of burglary. It was not often that a changeling mother would kiss her daughter goodbye. Every extra second spent in the foreign house meant a higher likelihood of getting caught, and the changelingling would be out of a home. Maybe this was some higher brain function that was repressing her instincts. Maybe it was because… despite what the humans thought, a changeling did care about her daughter, but Lala’s mother did both. And as she left her mimic baby after kissing her on the forehead, her baby began to cry.

  Lala’s mother had one foot over her window when Lala’s adopted parents stormed into the babies’ room. Lala was wrapped in a cloak and had covered the baby in a blanket.

  From the human perspective, there was no worse fate, no crueller trick of nature than a changeling. It was a haunting. A pale ghost would stalk you for months and sneak into your house to steal your child. The curse brimmed through idiom and teases. “Lock your windows,” said to new mothers, “Don’t stay out too long, you’ll get replaced by a shiftie,” Said to young children. In the height of the Mad Age, it was customary to abandon one or both twins.

  One chancellor claimed that the best thing you could do for your twin is abandon one of them in the forest. And that if your twin was the changeling, they wouldn’t be there the next night because they would have reverted back to their parasitic form and retreated. That was often some solace for parents. But that was also not the reason the babies wouldn’t be there the next morning.

  A changeling did not grow up knowing they were a changeling. Lala grew up as a human with her twin sister, Marisola, and Lala’s name was Arribela. Even still, though Lala was convinced that she was a human, and had no inclination of her true nature, there was a feeling. A common lump in a changeling’s throat growing up. Not a literal one, but one that was instinctual. It was a little niggling feeling in the back of a changeling youth’s head that forced them to be hyperaware of their standing. It was a feeling of dread that told them:

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  You are not quite right.

  This feeling was a survivalist instinct, because it was correct. Arribela looked like Marisola. They played together. They smiled and laughed on occasion. Arribela cried frequently but not more than most girls her age. So what was different about her? Nothing was noticeably different, but something was not quite right. Her playfulness was not in tune with the other children. She was, at times, too rough and, at times, too soft. If she was not careful, her smile would put people off. Her laugh was tinny and high-pitched. Her twin sister’s laugh would bring joy, but her own would cause other people to stop laughing. When Marisola cried, her parents were quick to comfort her. When Arribela cried, her parents would console her, but if it went on too long, there would be a sharp, “That’s enough.” Or a “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

  Arribela’s nature was to retreat into quietness and hide behind her twin. Marisola did most of the talking and would often introduce them as a single unit. The neighborhood girls would invite Marisola to play, and Marisola would tell them that her and Arribela would love to. Despite the way that Arribela put off everybody else, Marisola was Arribela’s biggest fan. They were inseparable. The proximity to someone who was able to do the whole ‘human’ thing so effortlessly only stood to highlight how Arribela was not quite right.

  Arribela still remembers how she met her first friend, Cadie. She and Marisola went off to primary school, and Marisola instantly started drawing with a new girl with blonde hair. Arribela was left alone and Marisola had to come tell her to draw with them. After a whole day of playing, Cadie said with the bluntness of a child:

  “I only like Marisola. Arribela is weird.”

  This made Marisola incredibly mad on Arribela’s behalf, and for some dumb reason Arribela felt the need to apologize for not being liked by this turd of a child. On that first day of primary school, Marisola grabbed Arribela by the hand and pulled her away, and Marisola spent the day comforting Arribela about the situation while Arribela cried.

  “They don’t like me,” Arribela said with tears in her eyes, “Go be friends with them. If you keep spending time with me no one will hang out with you. No one will want to be your friend.”

  “I already have enough friends, silly. Besides, they just need to get to know you. We’re twins. We do everything together.”

  Marisola made Cadie apologize. That day they all became ‘best friends.’ ‘Best friends’ is in heavy quotes because there is a kind of best friend you make when you are a child that absolutely hates you. But because you haven’t had a best friend before, you think that is normal. For years, the three were best friends with each other. Marisola and Cadie and, begrudgingly, Arribela. Cadie would play rough, be mean, and when forced, apologize with a heavy eye roll. She was plenty nice to Marisola, and fine to Arribela when Marisola wasn’t around, but her rancor came out in other ways. When they wanted to play house, Cadie wanted to be the mommy. She wanted Marisola to be the Daddy. And she would always insist that Arribela be the doggy, or the adopted child, or the mailman. When they drew pictures together, Arribela was always made a little uglier. Marisola would get mad and demand Cadie apologize and Arribela would insist that nothing was wrong. How could she not? Arribela had spent years feeling like a drag on her sister. Years without a friend. And now she had made one, no matter how terrible. Arribela did not want to be alone. She did not want Marisola to chose her. But worst of all, she was not confident that between Cadie and her, tha Arribela would be the one chosen.

  Their tenuous friendship grew, but things changed when the changes started.

  Arribela first noticed it one morning when she began her 11th year. Marisola was outside of the restroom while Arribela was examining herself in the mirror. They were set to play with Cadie. Arribela looked at the mirror, hoping she wouldn’t find anything that Cadie might remark about. That was when she saw it. It was… a fleck of skin hanging off her forehead. She stared at it in the mirror as she guided her hand there. Her fingers gingerly grasped the skin and pulled.

  The small fleck stripped her human flesh off and left a stripe on her forehead of pale, exposed, changeling skin. Arribela did the only rational thing she could think of. She screamed.

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