Flaviae. That was their name or, at least, that was what everyone called them. Flavia One and Flavia Two was another nickname, another way to be known. Once upon a time they must have had separate names in public. Now they cherished the privacy, the secrecy, of having their own names, all to themselves. Maybe it was selfish but the girls felt that a little bit of selfishness was acceptable when you lived a life like theirs.
"Flower," one had said the first day.
"Flavia," the other had said the first day.
A misunderstanding. "Flower?"
"Flavia," she had said again, firmly and loudly this time.
He had chortled. "Two little girls, both have the same name?"
"No-"
But it was no use. It had stuck and no one listened. They had been bundled into the van and as it rattled along on its journey, someone else- a prisoner, an act. Was there a difference?- had given them a name.
"Flaviae." A quiet whisper, the grasp of an old but strong arm on their small and weak ones. "Flaviae."
The woman had disappeared a few days later. The girls kept the name; maybe out of respect, maybe out of a sense of hopeless hope.
Flaviae.
That was a long time ago, now.