Board Thread:Short Stories and Fanfictions/@comment-43957690-20191101212115/@comment-43957690-20191217220339

Chapter 8: Drama

So I’d come to terms with my identity. Found where I belong- at least, that’s what everyone thought. Finding yourself is like searching for a needle in a haystack. It takes forever, all the possibilities all the emotions tangled up in a knot around the truth.

And life doesn’t make it any easier, as I found out when Alvar came to live with us.

Traitor.

To think I used to look up to him, think of him as a role model, someone who understood me, shared my problems. He’d often talked to me about our Legacy- but not as a good thing, as something that would drag us down to the dirt. “All the responsibility, the fame”, he said, “would go to our heads if we didn’t stop ourselves”.

And it made sense to me at the time. I seemed to be born into the wrong family. A girl with the power to disappear, the daughter of those who were made to be in the spotlight.

We were supposed to be the pretty trinkets, made to look at, not to use.

After a while, I realized it was all a scam, something I just had to ignore. I could be myself if I wanted, and if that didn’t fit with the system, then that wasn’t my problem.

But nonetheless, Alvar was a piece of dirt. I didn’t care that he’d ruined our family’s honor and reputation- it was gonna happen sooner or later. What made me furious was the fact that he got off without punishment.

You know the rest of the story: he opened the gate, and let the Neverseen in. The troll hives on our property, bla, bla, bla.

The point is: A traitor is a traitor, no matter how much you thought you trusted them. I’m over it now. I don’t seek revenge, like my brother, Fitz. I’m just glad he’s out of my life.

At this point, my problem was the fact that I knew who I was, but was afraid to show it. What would people think of me, if they knew that the delicate beauty was more than a pretty girl. Elves say that girls are equal, that you can be whatever you want to be, but I always felt like there was something wrong.

And I realized that it was appearances.

Everything was supposed to be beautiful. If it wasn’t, it had no value.

So I decided that if I wanted to be myself, I had to flaunt the part of me that was less than perfect. My imperfections was what set me apart, made me who I am.

Scars.

I needed to show my battle wounds.