Da Vinci Institute

Geneviève Noir

It was always easy to fade into the background of parties at my family's estate.

My parents were always keen on presenting my elder brother and my younger sister. They were always looking for Gerald and Gemma. My older brother Gerald was an excellent pianist, so much so that people who have heard him play compare him to Bach and Mozart with the original pieces he makes. He'd graduated three years ago from Cambridge with a degree in Art History and Philosophy. In simple translation, my brother had reached the full form of what many call a "snob". Yet that was so easily ignored by everyone because he was intelligent, talented, and according to my family's peers, "sinfully handsome".

Perhaps he is because all the girls would swoon over him. They'd follow him as much as they can without looking like psychopaths and talk about how much they adored his icy blue eyes, his hickory brown hair, and his naturally tan skin. He was also tall like my father, I'd guess around six feet but I couldn't care enough to actually get the exact measurements. All I know is, my brother is every bit considered a greek god which I find entirely vain because he started that description himself, and all his admirers just went with it like the hive-minded bees they are.

My younger sister was equally popular. She's only a year younger than me and would graduate soon then enter university but somehow her perfect brown curls, hazel eyes, and sunkissed freckles were more noticeable than the fact that I'd just graduated. It couldn't be prevented anyways because like my brother, my younger sister Gemma was also talented and extremely good-looking. She's an extremely skilled violinist, an "exceptional" ballet dancer, and she's also a genius. Not the self-proclaimed kind, the actual kind of genius.

Then there's me.

Genevieve Black is the one who could literally be one with the wallpaper of the Black estate.

Or if we're being more honest, a fixture on the wall.

The only thing that's significant about me is the fact that I have hair that matches my family name. I have stark black hair that my own mother calls, "the same shade as tar." Bleak, I know, but I've grown accustomed to her indifference and seldom meanness to me. My father likes to pretend I don't exist and honestly, I don't blame him.

"Lawrence and Constance Black have three children. Their names are Gerald, Genevieve, and Gemma. All but the middle child are quite exceptional. Like a sandwich with good bread and subpar spread in the middle," is what most people who knew of us would say. This used to bother me but I've grown to be quite guarded and learned to tune out their voices. There was no point in being upset over something that was true. I'm not smart but I'm not stupid either. I'm not good-looking nor am I horrendous either.

Somehow, I received an equal mixture of my parents' good and bad genetic traits. My hair is long. straight, and pitch-black like my mother's but somehow I inherited the dullness in color from my father's. My eyes are also pretty dark, a dark brown that's almost black which neither of my parents had. My skin was also deathly pale and I had one distinctive mole just a little to the right above my top lip. I was as flat as cardboard in all areas. As you can tell, there have been many questions as to whether I was their biological daughter.

According to the many tests, they felt the need to take, yes I am. And somehow, it was much sadder for me to be their actual daughter. It got even sadder when I applied to all the universities my parents wanted me to attend and have received no acceptance letters at all. I haven't received rejection letters either.

Just, no correspondence.

None from Cambridge, Oxford, Leeds, King's College, Manchester, Nottingham, Brighton, Queen Mary, nor Glasgow.

Complete silence which honestly was the first time in many years where something made me sad for a period of time longer than a day. It's not because it would disappoint parents, it's because I wouldn't be able to escape my impending doom of insignificance in the Black Estate. As much as I didn't like to admit it, I hate feeling so common and I hate that I couldn't find anything special about myself. My siblings all found their own peculiarities and I didn't.