ambriel eden / d1 / wip

name » Ambriel Eden.
age » Seventeen.
gender » Trans male.
district » One.

a p p e a r a n c e » x

It's never been how you see yourself that's the problem.
You know damn well how you see yourself. It's how other people look at you that's the issue. They see long red hair and big brown eyes and they think girl, because they're shallow and they're limited and they're never going to understand you anyway so there's not a lot of point in trying. It doesn't matter. You know who you are.
And who you are, in your (obviously correct) opinion, is beautiful. Your features are delicate, your skin clear aside from the freckles across your cheeks - your nose small, your mouth narrow, upper lip bow-shaped. Your eyes are wide and dark. Your hair, though, is your most striking feature - long red waves, spilling down your back, the color bright and rich. Taking pride in your appearance comes naturally, but your hair is your greatest vanity. You never considered cutting it for a moment, even when you realized - why would you? To fit someone else's ideal?

The only ideal of appearance that concerns you is your own. Not to say you don't have qualms, because you do. You are your own harshest critic, after all. Your hips are narrow, but not narrow enough. Your feelings on the pronounced curve of your waist waver daily. Your chest causes you the greatest irritation, more than any other feature ever could. That you could do without.

Style is everything. That's a setting in which your family hasn't managed to disappoint you yet - your mother, for all her distance, taught you how to dress yourself, and your father shows affection better in jewelry than he ever has with words. You wear them well. Your taste leans toward expensive without being garish, flashy in the most subtle of ways. You know good tailoring and materials go a hell of a long way, and you take full advantage of both.

p e r s o n a l i t y » x

h i s t o r y » x

The Eden family, as your father is wont to remind you, is and always has been jewelers. Classy ones, at that. You're pretty sure he's always been more interested in the work than you. He certainly is now. And not on any account of you being trans, either. That doesn't matter to him. You're pretty sure he barely knows at all. He should - it's been years, after all - but you're not especially bothered by it. Let him have his metal and stones. He's made things for you - he's kept you in gems - and isn't that what matters?

You knew as a child you were different from other girls. Not for any lack of interest in dresses or tea parties - those, you liked fine. It's the girl and she and wife and mother that always rubbed you the wrong way.
Make no mistake. If you were determined to force yourself into the role, you could've played it perfectly. But you weren't about to do that to yourself. You chose your name when you were eleven. You told your mother two years later. She didn't react much - it'd be truth to say she was more involved than your father, but that'd still be giving her too much credit. You raised yourself, more than anything. You had a nanny, but Ripred only knows where she ended up. She left when you were ten. You asked why, but no one answered.
There were other things to worry about. You were better off not relying on anyone, anyway.

It's easier to believe that's true.