[ closed ]

[userunfriendly]

Who ❄ Michel, various
What ❄ memshare and assorted overflow
When ❄ ~August
Where ❄ Lumina Cloth carnival
Content Warnings ❄ child abuse and violence, captivity, torture, gore, pet death, transphobia, misogyny, TBA. Specific warnings in headers.


[ Plotting post here! ]

Comments

2/3 ; cw transphobia, misogyny, mentions of miscarriage, gender dysphoria

[dissimulative]

[ --a scene in a cheerfully colored room is where you wake up. You've just turned ten a weeks ago, you're in bed, and you can't feel anything: physically and emotionally. The hollowness in knowing that you changed somehow, but not completely, weighs on you so heavily that it shouldn't be a child's concern. Yet, here you are.

cw transphobia, misogyny, mentions of miscarriage, gender dysphoria

The scene before you is blurry. Your glasses aren't on, but maybe that's just fine with how you don't want to see anything in the moment. However, you see a person in white and hear their footsteps rapidly leaving. They must be going to alert the doctors and his mother. A short time later, more blobs of color filter their way into his room. You know the white blob is your mother, for her beautiful white hair that somehow made her seem younger than older for her age. You feel a hand stroke your forehead.

As they discuss, many words just go in one ear and out the other, but you can hear your mother, ever so elegant, who always stands with dignity and poise... break down. You can hear her quietly crying.

"If only you were a boy... I'm sorry, Satria."

Your name is Oria Severine.

And your mother wanted a son.

You hear some more things as you blankly stare at the ceiling that's a blur of bright colors as if they're trying to cheer up. The reassignment surgery was half a failure. You vaguely remember the name "Satria", an existence that was paired with you. There were supposed to be two babies born that day. Only one came out alive.

So Kaleria Ostrovsky-Severine, your mother, was determined to raise you as a son.

From this day on, you quietly vow inside your head... that you will strive to be what you're supposed to be.

Even if you're not enough, and never will be. ]