Dalilah "Dj" Deveroux {D11/FIN}

I am the calm wind before the storm, the gentle warrior cleaning glistening blood off her sword in the midst of a battle. I will not be fazed by fear or death itself, and I will not stand down. I will protect myself, my sister, and my family, and I will look effortless while doing it. I am my own knight in shining armor, with red hair and freckles peeking out through my helmet. With pale skin like the moonlight and eyes like the blue sky itself, I will ride far and fair. Except there are no flowing dresses or shiny suits of armor to be found, no, they are old and dirty, showing every mark of adventure that they have experienced. I do not appreciate the nice clothes and pretty objects that my sister so annoyingly drones on about. They are pointless, holding no apparent value to me.

While my sister does prefer these things, I don’t mind, for it wouldn’t be fun if we were exactly alike now would it? We are different in almost every single aspect except for our looks, and for that, I am thankful. She is elegant and fragile, with bones like the thin sticks I used as swords when I was little, whereas I am rough-edged and scuffed. I’m the taller sibling, but only by just a tad, maybe an inch if we’re being generous. We’re both healthily thin, although I’m a tad more filled out that she is.

People often say we look alike, and I suppose we do, but that is not how I wish to be defined. I want to break away from the ties of being a twin. I am craving for a different kind of uniqueness, outside the boundaries of how I am physically defined. Most people can pinpoint one thing about themselves that puts them apart, distracts from the normality that falls upon a certain group of people. But I, because of my sister, am constantly trying to do something that will not combine us to the nature of “twins.” Maybe it’s my eyes, the blue striking out against hers-- no, she has the same. Maybe it’s my red hair that flows like the blood pumping through my veins-- no, she’s got that too. Where is the difference I am looking for? How long will it take me to find it?

I am two parts ice and one part fire, the gentle wind before a hurricane. I am calm and rage bundled into a mixture that could only end in some kind of explosion. I am calm in the midst of danger, and I will not be afraid of the tragedies that may befall me. I am smart and cunning, able to think my way out of any situation. I am the favored knight of fairytales, the holder of the king and queen’s trust and bravery. My life is a story and I am the protagonist, dancing and twirling through a world that only wants me dead. The fires that lap at my skin at every mention of death burn me not, because I am young and naive. I refuse to believe in anything other than a happy ending.

I have always found bad things in the world, but I tend to not think of them as bad as they may be. To me, they are nothing more than unfortunate events that, as long as they are not happening to me, are gently nudging one along the path. We are walking the lined pages of a story that could only be our own. I am tiptoeing across the letters, dragging my sword behind me by the hilt. My steps are light, like the wind on a feather, and everything I do, I do carefully. A warrior cannot miss her target, because then you put yourself and the ones you’re trying to protect at risk. Why can I have no faltering steps, as the knights in the stories? They never have to worry about missing their marks and targets, so why should I? Shouldn’t I swing with the intentions of precision, and only be shocked when they are not as I planned for?

I am favored by my parents and loved by others. But I do not know if I love myself. I get wrapped up in this twisted idea of happy endings and castles but there are none to be found around here. There is only growing up on the horizon, and I am pushing it away in a desperate attempt to find one more story, one more book that I can fling myself into and never look back. People say that once you entered the realm of a story, you would realize the harsh reality behind it, but I don’t quite believe in that. Because in my stories, there is always someone who wins, just maybe not quite who you believed it to be. Sometimes, you just have to look a little harder, squint a little more, because there is always a happy ending.

Once upon a time there was a girl-- actually two girls, who grew up underneath the same roof and the same parents but grew up in completely different ways. I grew up the favorite of the two, with my excitement of a weapon and my eagerness to do any tasks that required strength that, at the time, I did not have. I always felt bad for my sister, because my parents didn’t look at her the way they did at me. It almost made me feel bad for her, as I wasn’t trying to put her down or kick her any lower than she had already put herself. I had never understood why my parents didn’t love her like they loved me. It never made sense, really. She was her own person and I was mine, and shouldn’t we be loved as the different people that we are? Maybe I’d think differently if I was the underdog, but I can’t quite picture it.

I’ve grown up happily with what I’ve had, as I am not one to enjoy expensive things (which is good, considering the extent of our luxuries.) My parents tried to spoil me at first, giving me what they thought would rank as riches that could never be stowed away, but I hadn’t enjoyed them like they had planned, so, as any decent sister would do, I gave them to Ally. She loved them, and in turn, we were both happy. We didn’t seem as content as we were so few years ago. She seems tense and tired, and neither of us are as carefree as we were. I am now trying hard to cling to the last glimpses of childhood that I still have, those last carefree moments where I can live in the world that I have for so long wanted.

We are now approaching an age where we will have to make choices of our own, choices that will determine things to set us apart from each other for the rest of our lives. Even though it is obvious, I tend to forget that we are separate people. Don’t ask me how I don’t realize it because I do not know. We have grown up together, like any siblings, but we have also learned each other’s ways. I have learned the way her eyes cast when she lies or the way she bites her lip when she’s upset. She knows how I work too, and I guess if someone has to understand me, it might as well be her. We are fire and ice, blood and water, and we will go down together in an ending that will most certainly be happy.