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Undeniable by long_live_luna_bellatrix
Chapter 1 : Undeniable
 
Rating: 12+Chapter Reviews: 13


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You liked to change the color of your hair, the shape of your nose. You took pleasure in experimenting, seeing how closely you could look like a pig and laughing when you just looked plain silly. You liked to shortcut, growing smaller to avoid the hanging light fixture instead of ducking. You liked to tease me, going bald when I told you exasperatedly to brush your hair.

When you were little, you flicked from person to person faster than I could blink. You liked your hair curly and blond like your best friend's, then bristly and brown when she betrayed you. You could make yourself gorgeous without pausing, but you quickly learned that beauty did not guarantee you happiness.

As the years passed, you learned to like your hair short and pink, like the pixies in the stories your father created when you were a child. You liked being tall, but not too tall. You once told me you altered your height depending on your current boyfriend, so that he would have to lean down to kiss you, but you could still look him in the eye.

Some days you would come home with a button nose, and a long freckled one the next. Sometimes you made your ears pointed, or your eyes glitter in an inhuman way. Sometimes you looked like you, sometimes you didn't.

There was always a spark in you, though, that I could identify no matter how you chose to look. It was there when you smiled, or laughed, or cocked your head in confusion. It fell with your tears, and snored in your sleep. It always irked you that I never failed to pick you out of a crowd, or recognize you when you pretended to be your father. You were never satisfied with my feeble explanations. You just rolled your eyes, and I would say, "There! There it is again!"

It bothered you that you didn't have one identity. You always asked me what you looked like, the moment you were born, as if that would define who you were supposed to be. I was too soft to decline. But I did tell you that you had to make yourself, that I would start saying you were born with pink hair, just to quiet you. You never understood my need to tell you that, either.

Sometimes, I see the same spark in your son. When he hums, or hugs me, or visits your grave. He too does not understand how I always know him, even when he gives himself dreadlocks or a tangled beard. He wishes he could hide from me. He wishes he could disguise himself perfectly, and rolls his eyes when I tell him that ordinary folk can't do it either. And then I say, "There! There it is again!" But he just shakes his head bemusedly.

I wish you knew him. Then you would see the spark. Then you would know, undeniably, as I do. That no one can escape themselves.




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