verena bainbridge, district two | finished

You were born on the shoulders of an empire, holding fast to the castles and the towers — and for a time, you tried to be content with that. With the sky at your fingertips, and with treasures at your feet. They would rust away to nothing, and you would watch them leave you. You were always watching. Something, someone; in the distance, by a window, through a door.

Suddenly you were there, in the world — and you were beautiful, and you were loved, but no one ever asked you to be anything more than that. You think you could have lied there for centuries, and no one would have asked you to stand. Until your bones were made of marble, and your soul was trapped in all the glass and faded gold. You were an heiress, a thing that was made to be owned.

And you held those chains
in the palm of your hand,

and you scorned them;

and you broke them.

Because your parents only expected a fair face, an obedient heart — but you were a god king in your own right, and rulers were not meant to be merciful. You grew tired of clinging to kingdoms, you wanted to crush them. And when you were trained in etiquette, you taught yourself how to wield a blade; and when they forced you to speak softly, you shattered things with your fists.

They wanted a perfect daughter, but they had no idea what perfection meant for a woman. It did not mean smooth skin and red lips, it did not mean sweet songs in the garden and ballet shoes hanging by a mirror — it meant intellect, and savagery, and an unbreakable will. They gave you a list of traits, of ambitions, and you tore it apart. You wanted everything, to be everything.

It wasn't until your parents recognized your skill that they supported you in your endeavors, when they realized a girl could be worth more than simply continuing a legacy — she could create her own. And that's exactly what you planned to do. They bought you the best training that money could afford, the sharpest weapons; but you were never satisfied. You wanted more. You inherited their hunger.

The Divergent Academy offered you what you were seeking — a chance to prove yourself, to tear yourself down and rebuild yourself as the ideal Career. You enrolled at the earliest opportunity, throwing yourself into your education and neglecting none of it. You were ravenous for knowledge, for power; and be it public interest, or compassion, or growth, you excelled.

But it was never enough, the closer you got to being complete — to being Divergent. You still felt a horrible mix of being empty, and being too much. You had a voice like honey, but your words were like daggers. And you worshipped that part of yourself, but you feared it, too. You were terrified that you would never reach the point where you could stop, where you would be finished.

Perfection was a death sentence;
and you were stretching out your neck
right beneath the guillotine.

There are two classes left for you now, two obstacles before you make history — and you saved the most difficult exams for last. You want to feel that pressure, to lock yourself in your own mind and hear your screams. You thrive on that feeling, that tension. You are a diamond, and you are perfect. But you don't know what that means. Your reflection is a refraction now. There is so much to see.

You flex your hands,
see the blood on your fingers

— and then you show your teeth,
white and brilliant and sharp.

This is what you wanted.

You are everything;
you will be everything.