wanda lovejoy. d10. fin. cb.

She dreams of flight.

It's something everybody experiences, right? Dreams of soaring away from Ten, leaving all burdens behind. There is a world out there to explore, yet she wakes up in the same creaky house every morning. Her dad looks at her the same way he always does, with a tired gleam in his eyes, worn from years of hard labor. At the same time, he was proud of her for following his trade.

"You have a craftsman's hands," he said, and it was true. Wanda always had a natural aptitude in building and carving, especially with wood. Her mother said she was beautiful, but her hands were not. They were calloused and splintered from her years of practice.

It's not the worst thing in the world. She has a future. Everyone needs a house, and she prefers sitting on rooftops to walking through farmland. It's sweaty work, it's hard work - nails occasionally find themselves in her skin, or hammers near her bones, but every job in ten has its hazards.

The heights do not bother her anymore. She is a girl of unrelenting optimism. When there is death and destruction, Wanda finds a bright spot in an otherwise dark tunnel. Her friends warn her that life is not all ice cream and smiles, but Wanda is not ignorant. It is her choice to leave frowns in the dust. To forgive, to forget, to choose the cleanest path. Striving to be a good and happy person in a grey world is hard work.

She manages, somehow. She always does.