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Description
     It was a start of a sunny day in October. She woke up early; he was still sleeping, and his hair was sparkling like copper in first rays of mild autumn sun when she left her bed.
     They both had work to do. By agreement with the Prophet, the Lamb had to be observed regularly in as many probability spaces as possible in order to ensure and correct Her future. Day by day, through tears they were peeking further into the uncharted and unhappened, observing and taking down notes, watching and learning.
     This time the July days of 1912 were their target. The machine was powered up, and she was doing the last calibrations before the tear would open up.
     - It’s all ready, brother dear, - she smiled as he entered the room. - The power level is steady, and the machine is building up the charge. In approximately three minutes the tear will open up.
     He stepped closer and kissed her cheek taking a journal from her hands.
     - So, July, 14th, 1912 for today? - he asked, making marks in a table.
     She nodded.
     - Yes. Picked the date from the middle of the month. Would you kindly pull this lever? It seems to be stuck again.
     - Of course. Please remind me to fix it next time.
     - Surely, dear.
     The machine was working; the hum of electricity was getting more and more loud. The air was already vibrating slightly when both stepped on the paddle right under giant capacitor; he looked at his watch for the last time before an enormous zap of lightning ran through the air. A strong smell of ozone filled the room; a new Tear was opened. And there, in the Tear they saw...
     ...nothing. It was a charcoal darkness that was waiting them at the other side of the Tear. As their eyes were adapting to the dark, heavy clouds became distinguishable in gloomy sky above.
     - Are you taking notes? - she asked nervously.
     - Yes, dear, - he answered, pulling a silver-plated pencil out of the pocket. - It’s July the 14th, 1912, probability space №1735. We experience... - his voice went down as a distant flash with subsequent rumble caught his attention. After a small pause, he continued: - We experience a harsh weather with a thunderstorm; also, seems like there is a chronographic shift of about 12 hours between our reality and this one. Atmospherical conditions are similar to midnight...
     She was not listening to him. Instead, she was listening to something deep in the streets, from where a strange noise was coming. It was not right. It was not thunder, it was not wind, it was not rain. It was something scarier; something primal was rising in the streets, something like the voice of...
     - Robert, step back! - she shouted on the top of her lungs, but it was too late.
     An ugly crowd with torches made of wreckage was flowing into the plaza, shooting and shouting. She was shocked as he fell at her feet before her, writhing in agony and coughing with blood, leaving her alone before the roaring crowd... before the Vox.
     His fading voice brought her out of the daze: “Close The tear, Rosalind, close the Tear...” She rushed back and pulled the lever. With a zap, powerful lightning brought the scary image away, distorting the shouts and shifting colors as the Tear disappeared.
     The two were now left alone. Almost fainting, she crawled to where he was laying. His face was pale white, with drips of sweat on his forehead; he was breathing heavily.
     - Brother dear, - she mumbled standing on her knees, - you’re wounded, please don’t move...
     He grasped her hand clumsily and tried to smile.
     - Rosalind... are you hurt? - he asked, with last of his words disappearing in cough.
     - I’m not, brother dear... please don’t move... I’ll help you... - her eyes widened in terror as she realized that he was not moving. Nor was he breathing anymore. And that awful, sharp feeling pierced her through as the understanding came. Something awful just happened, something... something... Quietly, she began to sob; her voice was rising slowly until she finally allowed herself to cry out loud.
     ...No one knows how long she was sitting there, with head of her beloved brother on her knees, soaking in his blood. All came in place, the pieces of the puzzle came together; she knew what to do, she just had to do it all the right way. She just had to calculate everything precisely - the level of power, the shift of the lenses, the difference of potentials... And then, when she was ready, she stood up and powered the machine again. The air began to hum and tremble; with both hands greasy of blood she pulled the lever, and the Tear opened up. As she was, with her hair tangled, her skirt and jacket stained, she entered the calm morning on the other side of the Tear...

     ...It was a start of a sunny day in October. They have already woken up, and pleasant smell of coffee with cinnamon buns filled the house. Now, in the bathroom, they were helping each other to dress up for the breakfast. With a hairbrush in his hand, he has just finished telling a joke and expected her to laugh, but she didn’t: a grim shadow of what happened was still chasing her. Or, did it ever happen?..
     - Rosalind? - he stopped combing her hair suddenly.
     An unnerving silence fell between them. She was trying to concentrate, to stop her trembling voice from betraying her; as the familiar words were flowing off her mouth, a smile would not show up:
     - Yes, brother dear?
     Still looking at her with a combination of sadness and tender, Robert stepped closer and whispered quietly, putting his head on her shoulder:
     - You have gray in your hair.

Description
     It was a start of a sunny day in October. She woke up early; he was still sleeping, and his hair was sparkling like copper in first rays of mild autumn sun when she left her bed.
     They both had work to do. By agreement with the Prophet, the Lamb had to be observed regularly in as many probability spaces as possible in order to ensure and correct Her future. Day by day, through tears they were peeking further into the uncharted and unhappened, observing and taking down notes, watching and learning.
     This time the July days of 1912 were their target. The machine was powered up, and she was doing the last calibrations before the tear would open up.
     - It’s all ready, brother dear, - she smiled as he entered the room. - The power level is steady, and the machine is building up the charge. In approximately three minutes the tear will open up.
     He stepped closer and kissed her cheek taking a journal from her hands.
     - So, July, 14th, 1912 for today? - he asked, making marks in a table.
     She nodded.
     - Yes. Picked the date from the middle of the month. Would you kindly pull this lever? It seems to be stuck again.
     - Of course. Please remind me to fix it next time.
     - Surely, dear.
     The machine was working; the hum of electricity was getting more and more loud. The air was already vibrating slightly when both stepped on the paddle right under giant capacitor; he looked at his watch for the last time before an enormous zap of lightning ran through the air. A strong smell of ozone filled the room; a new Tear was opened. And there, in the Tear they saw...
     ...nothing. It was a charcoal darkness that was waiting them at the other side of the Tear. As their eyes were adapting to the dark, heavy clouds became distinguishable in gloomy sky above.
     - Are you taking notes? - she asked nervously.
     - Yes, dear, - he answered, pulling a silver-plated pencil out of the pocket. - It’s July the 14th, 1912, probability space №1735. We experience... - his voice went down as a distant flash with subsequent rumble caught his attention. After a small pause, he continued: - We experience a harsh weather with a thunderstorm; also, seems like there is a chronographic shift of about 12 hours between our reality and this one. Atmospherical conditions are similar to midnight...
     She was not listening to him. Instead, she was listening to something deep in the streets, from where a strange noise was coming. It was not right. It was not thunder, it was not wind, it was not rain. It was something scarier; something primal was rising in the streets, something like the voice of...
     - Robert, step back! - she shouted on the top of her lungs, but it was too late.
     An ugly crowd with torches made of wreckage was flowing into the plaza, shooting and shouting. She was shocked as he fell at her feet before her, writhing in agony and coughing with blood, leaving her alone before the roaring crowd... before the Vox.
     His fading voice brought her out of the daze: “Close The tear, Rosalind, close the Tear...” She rushed back and pulled the lever. With a zap, powerful lightning brought the scary image away, distorting the shouts and shifting colors as the Tear disappeared.
     The two were now left alone. Almost fainting, she crawled to where he was laying. His face was pale white, with drips of sweat on his forehead; he was breathing heavily.
     - Brother dear, - she mumbled standing on her knees, - you’re wounded, please don’t move...
     He grasped her hand clumsily and tried to smile.
     - Rosalind... are you hurt? - he asked, with last of his words disappearing in cough.
     - I’m not, brother dear... please don’t move... I’ll help you... - her eyes widened in terror as she realized that he was not moving. Nor was he breathing anymore. And that awful, sharp feeling pierced her through as the understanding came. Something awful just happened, something... something... Quietly, she began to sob; her voice was rising slowly until she finally allowed herself to cry out loud.
     ...No one knows how long she was sitting there, with head of her beloved brother on her knees, soaking in his blood. All came in place, the pieces of the puzzle came together; she knew what to do, she just had to do it all the right way. She just had to calculate everything precisely - the level of power, the shift of the lenses, the difference of potentials... And then, when she was ready, she stood up and powered the machine again. The air began to hum and tremble; with both hands greasy of blood she pulled the lever, and the Tear opened up. As she was, with her hair tangled, her skirt and jacket stained, she entered the calm morning on the other side of the Tear...

     ...It was a start of a sunny day in October. They have already woken up, and pleasant smell of coffee with cinnamon buns filled the house. Now, in the bathroom, they were helping each other to dress up for the breakfast. With a hairbrush in his hand, he has just finished telling a joke and expected her to laugh, but she didn’t: a grim shadow of what happened was still chasing her. Or, did it ever happen?..
     - Rosalind? - he stopped combing her hair suddenly.
     An unnerving silence fell between them. She was trying to concentrate, to stop her trembling voice from betraying her; as the familiar words were flowing off her mouth, a smile would not show up:
     - Yes, brother dear?
     Still looking at her with a combination of sadness and tender, Robert stepped closer and whispered quietly, putting his head on her shoulder:
     - You have gray in your hair.