Olivia Mariella Sandrino [D1] [DONE]

Name: Olivia Mariella Sandrino
Age: 14
Gender: Female
District: One
Orientation: Straight
Occupation: Career in training/Nature enthusiast.

They say I'm nothing but a wisp of air. I am tiny and hardly noticeable next to my older sister Bianca. Mama calls her our fragile protector, but I know that she is more than that. Her body may look like a china doll, but she has never feared a fight even if there is a real chance for danger. Bianca is the girl that boys watch both as she walks through the hall and as she decapitates a dummy in training. And me? I'm nothing compared to her. I am the afterthought of our family, second best to everything. I am the shadow of something glorious, of her. She has so much potential, and I am stuck in darkness.

It would not be hard to break me. I am a poorly built tree: slender waist, twig arms, short porcelain legs. My skin can be compared to a blanket of freshly fallen snow. I am white as paper, so pale I am almost see through. The only color in the midst of this blizzard are the butterflies on my back and the ribbon on my wrist. Where Bianca has art, I have nature. I was never supposed to have tattoos, but rebellious teenagers can be rebellious and I snuck out of the house several months ago to get them done. They are my symbol of freedom, and they are my escape. An escape from expectation, and from reality. The world has never been kind to the youngest daughter of a career family.

They want me to kill. Their idea of a tattoo is the decoration blood leaves on your fingers after you take the life of somebody else...somebody innocent. If they had their way, I'd be covered in crimson instead of insects. The ribbon on my wrist would be made of blood, not ink. What if I slit my own wrists? Would that make them happy? Would that satisfy their desire for sacrifice?

I am sick of it, I am so sick of being under their regime. I love Bianca, don't get me wrong, but where she protects others, I defend myself. I am not built to slaughter. My hands cannot rip soul away from body. Where Bianca swings her sword, I hold a knife. I would never dream to use it against somebody. It's just a reminder of who I am and who they want me to be.

Most of my free time is spent in the woods far from our house. There, I am released from expectation. I am free to run among flowers and can be surrounded by serenity. I am free to bathe in the water, if I want, or dig through the dirt. There is no rules that govern my propriety here. Nobody tells me what to do.

On a rare instance in the woods, I would come across a butterfly. It never happened often, but occasionally I would catch a jeweled-wing bug. Every time I do, my heart pounds against my ribs in the most delightful rhythm at the site of it. It must be the transformation of the little creature that really gets to me. The butterfly started out as the ugly caterpillar, forced into the world on its own for the first time. Unable to do much but survive.

It would endure through this horrible stage. Perhaps it would be subject to criticism or questions. All it would know would be this creepy-crawly world that was set out to harm it. All it would really have would be itself.

The caterpillar began to burrow deeper within itself in an attempt to escape this cruel reality. It would fall so far into this endless pit that it would reach the bottom and cocoon itself inside this fear, hoping that someday, it would disappear far enough to reach safety.

That was when its real evolution would begin. The butterfly always escaped from that cocoon. The longer it hid the more it forgot the pain that buried it. One day, it realized that there was something more. That life was more wonderful than the box it had created for itself. That it could actually have hope in a better future. That was when the butterfly emerged into warmer air. When it went from being the forgotten caterpillar and would fly into life with a new sense of purpose.

I guess what I am trying to say is what is the most important thing I could ever realize about myself: I am the butterfly.

I don't have the wings yet. I am still stuck in the ugly caterpillar stage: too-light green eyes, wispy white-blonde hair, forgettable features and stick-thin limbs. But my future is hopeful. I am still falling, for now, I am still burying myself in the pain that being overshadowed by your exceptional older sister brings. I have fallen off societies radar with no real friendships to count, but that is all about to change.

Soon I will transform, emerge from the expectations my parents have so diligently forced upon me.

Someday, I am going to be a butterfly.

Codeword: oDair we go
Faceclaim: Joana Gröblinghoff
Song: The Secret Letter by Brian Crain