Oriana de la Rose ~D2~D-D-DONE

D2-FEMALE-FIFTEEN-ODAIR

{A P P E A R A N C E}

Minor.

Inferior.

Subsidiary.

Secondary.

 A failure, I think, running pale fingertips over a small, heart-shaped and freckle-dotted face belonging to the girl in the mirror. She looks back at me with pitiful eyes, one blue and the other hazel. What a weirdo.

Bony arms snake into each other, cocooning across my chest as if they can protect me from everything I'm afraid of.. But no fort, no empire can intercept the hurt and betrayal that always manages to leak through the chips in my armour. 

You should be more like {name}. 

I gasp as the pain singes at my heart, offering me yet another scar to remind me of where I stand.

Your step-brother's one of the best careers in District 2.

And I'm wretched, fresh tears brimming over my eyes and staining my colourless cheeks. A sob tears through my throat and I glance at mirror, finally seeing myself for the first time in what seems like  forever.

My cheeks are hollow, my eyes sunken and my lips down-turned at the edges. An eternal frown, I think. The light-blonde hair crowning my head is long and dead-straight, falling languidly over my shoulders.

Looks good, too. He'll make us proud.

No, no ,no! I fist my flimsy hair and grit my teeth, fighting the urge to slam my head against the wall. My knees buckle and I fall onto them, gasping for breath as the anxiety flows through my body and I convulse under the force of it.

Not good enough.

Not strong enough.

Not significant enough.

Just not enough.

{P E R S O N A L I T Y}

You see a skinny, blond girl picking knives off the floor. (They lie that way  because they didn't puncture the dummies' skin like they were supposed to.) They're just knives, but for her, they're evidence of her failure. You see her face and you are mesmerized by how blank it is. She's got this faraway look in her eyes that could sear time and space, looking into things that nobody else but her knows about.

And then she looks up to another boy effortlessly flinging knives into the dummies, and you can tell she is envious. But there's more to it; pain, sorrow, longing? You can't tell.

She looks down again, becoming quick to finish her task.

The boy throws his last knife and smiles when it hits a bulls-eye. His gaze falls on the girl beside him and you see his whole face soften with concern. "Oriana?" He calls.

The girl looks up at him wide eyes, her voice wavering a bit as she responds. "Y-yes?"

"Don't let it get to you."

With that, the boy reaches forward and ruffles her hair a little before striding past her to the exit.

A flurry of emotions move across the girl's face; shock, incredulity, hope, confusion. 

Finally, the most beautiful smile breaks across her face.

{H I S T O R Y}

I remember my mother telling me how every little girl is born a princess in the kingdom of her parents' hearts. I had smiled giddily then, not fully understanding what she meant at the time. 

Now I wish I had asked her if a princess could ever lose her throne.

"I've talked with your trainer."

"Oh?" I respond stupidly. My face turns ashen as father goes on about how I need to improve my career training skills or I might be expelled altogether from the system. The dishes in the sink are clean as a whistle from my relentless scrubbing so I grab clean ones off the rack and lather them with soap, unable to meet his eyes.

"Are you even trying, Oriana?"

I flinch but don't say anything.

"She's doing quite good, actually."

My eyes widen as {Name} speaks. With a racing heart and impossibly white face, my movements still. I hear father grunt, followed by the rustling of his newspaper. I steal a glance at {Name} and he passes me a small smile. I return it with a ghost of my own, feeling almost alien as I do. It's been so long.

{Name}'s so nice to me.

He's my seventeen-year-old stepbrother; only a wee bit older that I am. His father died when he was a kid, just like my mom did. Only, she was murdered whereas he had passed away from an illness. My dad was heartbroken and angry after mama's death; it changed him.

No, he didn't beat me or anything. He just forgot I existed, that's all. It became worse when he fell in love with {Name}'s mom. I don't like her at all; she's manipulative and frankly, just a gold-digger.

But she keeps him happy, so I can't really do anything about it.

Father thinks {Name} is nothing short of a blessing. He's the most perfect step-son father could ever ask for, which just pushes me way lower in his list of the people he loves.

Ever since, I've been taunted every single day about how {Name} is better than me. At school, training, social-life. EVERYTHING.

{Name} is so different, though. He doesn't like father telling me these things at all and sometimes even speaks up for me.

It makes me feel so happy inside.


Other: '{Name}' will be changed into an original name once the plot is settled.

Oh broken angel,
were you sad when he crushed all your dreams
Oh broken angel,
inside you're dying 'cause you can't believe

~Broken Angel by Boyce Avenue