Board Thread:Short Stories and Fanfictions/@comment-44044902-20191223012817

I was bored, got inspired by The Beauty Of Scars - a Biana Vacker autobiography, and thought, why not? So here are a few recollections (and new scenes that I made up) from our favorite Marella's point of view.

Chapter 1

Hey. I’m Marella. Marella Redek? You probably know me better as Forgotten.

It wasn’t always like that though. Being a level one at Foxfire, I was the center of attention. I was known as The Gossip Queen, and I loved it. I knew all about Lyren’s parents who’re secretly in divorce. I knew all about how Stina’s dad’s “fake fiasco” (which was hilarious, by the way). I knew everything about everyone, and who wouldn’t want in on that?

It also doesn’t hurt that I’m extremely good at hiding my true feelings. Mostly. Growing up without a dad and a mom whose deemed crazy gets pretty rough. I’ve always wondered if I’m really the one to blame for the accident. Guilt’s a fatal thing, yeah, yeah, but it’s like a river. Once it trickles in, you can’t prevent it from flooding. Even if it comes in small scoops. Especially if it comes in small scoops. Ugh, being all metaphorical is so not my forte. At least everyone saw me as this flattering, gossipy elf.

And then Princess Prettypants came along.

She was definitely the official unofficial Queen of Perfect. If I didn't know better, I'd probably say she was even worse than Stina. Her striking teal eyes could put any boy she wanted under her spell. With a swish of her curls, she could crumble anyone’s reputation. By batting her eyelashes, she could get anyone to do anything she wanted. I swear — if I wasn’t so busy hating her, I’d probably be in love with her. But I saw the deeper, darker, side of Biana Vacker. That girl had a fatal flaw—and it wasn’t guilt. It was jealousy. I vividly remember the time she came up to me and spat, “You’ll never be on my level, Redick. Go cry to your mom and hope she doesn’t start laughing.” Sure, the brat was only eleven, but her words cut deeper than any knives that could’ve been stabbed into my skin by the Neverseen. I remember the nasty scowl painted over her delicate features, the way her overly glossed lips slightly trembled. I also remember the treacherous bucketload of tears that leaked out of my eyes, and her satisfied expression of hurting an already-broken girl. I made a vow that day. I’d never make that idiot’s life easy again. The Queen was officially dethroned. 