a finch with a broken wing

     It's been a year. A single year since Finch came to be. A beautiful girl, grown up with wonderful parents, only to realize she was not a girl at all. An imposter, maybe. An evil being, come specifically to rot the family from the inside out. A thing, a thing that the Duke and Duchess of Stanleyshire whished never to encounter.

Finch is no longer their precious little daughter, fit to rule Stanleyshire after her parent's passing. 

It's been a year, but to the Duke and Duchess, today will be the day they meet Finch.

They remember the look on their parents' faces. 

Sitting in the living room of their mansion as maids bustled around them, Finch can remember their parents' words at their coming out.

"Darling, of course you're a girl. You want to inherit our throne, don't you?" their mother had said after a beat. "You cannot give up on yourself so easily, my dear."

Before they could get a word out, their father chimed in. "What kind of mockery is this, Eileen? Do you realize what this could do to the entire family if this got out? You're a girl. You are to be the Duchess of Stanleyshire, don't you understand?"

Before they could prevent it, tears began to cloud their vision.

"Why don't you understand? I am not a girl, and I never was! You seem to believe that I'm out to get you! I'm your only child, can you not respect my one wish?! I'm not a GIRL." They spat, turning on their heel. Before either the Duke or Duchess could react, they had fled to their room, robes billowing behind them.

Though the house is massive, Finch had always despised large, open spaces. Their room was small and quaint, decorated with plants and relaxing lights; perfect to help them calm down from any meltdown.

Though they claim to be a put-together person, this one moment had proven otherwise. Their guard (yes, guard) could confirm that it had not been a pretty night for the Marquess. There had been screaming and crying from within their room, objects flung at the wall, and fists pounding on the carpeted floor. Their perfectly pink gown ruined with makeup, and torn to shreds by sharp nails. 

It was nearly midnight when Finch finally snapped.

In their en-suite bathroom, they had pulled out a pair of scissors they'd been hiding for the last couple of months. In only their underclothes, piece by piece, they cut their hair. Shorter and shorter and shorter, hair falling off their head by the inch. Hair previously reaching their waist had now been chopped into a slightly messy, but very short, haircut. A sort of manic laughter had escaped them upon seeing the result. 

For the next 20 minutes, they simply stared at themself in the mirror. Though their makeup was messy and running down their face, and their skin was irritated with tears, they felt the most beautiful they had in years.

They slept in the bathroom that night.

There were clothes at the door of their bathroom in the morning. Packaged with too much care to be from their parents, they noted to thank the guard in front of their door before they left for school.

While they used to get bullied for their... extravagant clothing choices, they've discovered a friend group that really accepts them. 

These clothes are far more beautiful than anything they've ever laid eyes upon. They're elegant, but not in a feminine way at all. They're mostly dress pants and blouses, along with jewelry and underclothes. There are some night clothes hidden in the pile as well. Though the colours are limited, that's no different to their old clothes, though instead of muted pinks and purples, these consist of forest greens and coffee browns. They nearly squeal with happiness.

They take their time getting ready for school. First, they put on the underclothes, then the pants (a beautiful brown, a shade they've only ever dreamt of wearing), then tucking in a cream coloured blouse, finishing off with rings and necklaces. They quickly powder their face and draw on some eyeliner, finishing off with light blush, mascara and highlight. They curl their hair, too, before slipping out of their room.

They walk down the long corridor before freezing in their place. They turn around and face the guard by their door, Ian. He is genuinely one of the sweetest people in their parents' mansion. As soon as they make eye contact, Ian stands up straighter.

Finch breathes in for a long moment, before rushing out what they've been wanting to say all morning. "ThankyoufortheclothesandthankyouforsupportingmeIloveyouokbye-"

They sprint down the hall, hearing Ian's response echo on the corridor walls. "You're welcome, my Lord Marquess. I love you too."

Finch checks the time on their phone. Ah, no time to waste. Without even grabbing their lunch, they sling their bookbag over their shoulder, and tie up their shoes. Hmm, new dress shoes? They'll take some getting used to, but they're much better than the blush pink flats they were made to wear to school.

Their escort leads them to one of the cars. This one is slightly beaten down, and is much better for hiding their royal heritage when arriving at school. They would rather fade from existence than show up to school in a royal carriage.

"Eileen- sorry, Finch? Your parents have requested you reconsider this, how shall I put it, phase you have put yourself in? It really is no way for the future Duchess to live, my Marquess." Their escort says. His tone is feeble, hesitant, as if afraid to upset the Marquess. Finch doesn't even bat an eye.

"Take me to school, please. My friends are waiting."

"Whatever you want, my Lady- I mean, my Lord Marquess." He stumbles, starting the engine.

"Just Finch is fine." They reply. Dear Lord, this is going to be exhausting.

Upon their arrival, Finch can see their friends waiting near the doors to the school. It's a bigger school, but it's quite old. It's not particularly... clean, either. 

As soon as they step out of the car, they wave the escort off. Their friends spot them almost immediately.

"Finch! Your clothes! They suit you much better! How'd it go with your parents?" Veronica asks as soon as they're within earshot.

"Thank you... and it went alright, I suppose." As much as they love their friends, this moment was perhaps a bit too much for eight in the morning.

"Good. I was worried for you there. You didn't answer your phone all night, we got worried." Emothy says, a trace of worry to be found in their tone.

"Ah, well... you know how things go. I cut my hair. By myself. Ian supplied the new clothes." Finch replies, pushing open the doors to the school. As soon as they're inside, they wince. "Does anyone have hand sanitizer? I can practically feel the germs on my skin."

"Here," Matt offers up a bottle of hand sanitizer. Finch opens their hands to receive a drop. "and your hair looks great. Totally suits you!"

Finch lets a small smile grace their features as they rub in the hand sanitizer. It feels good to smile. 

As they part ways to go to their own separate classes, the group of seven exchange small smiles.

Finch clears their throat. "Enjoy your classes. I, for one, will suffer in my nutrition class until break. See you then."

Though the road ahead will be rough, their friends will always be there to catch them. A finch with a broken wing can still learn to fly.