ᴾʰᵒᵇᵒᵖʰᵒᵇⁱᵃ [ᴶᵃˢᵒⁿ ᴳʳᵃᶜᵉ]

ix.

a/n: trigger warnings: self-harm, suicidal ideation, emotional abuse

Natalia Malin had bleached her hair ever since Aza could remember. Every month she would touch-up her roots, because even a hint of similarity between herself and her daughter was too much. Aza could only assume her mother's eyes weren't actually light blue; she could tell that, from old photographs, even chocolate brown was far too similar to russet.

She wondered if she had ever truly known her mother, not that she knew very much. She knew very little, considering the woman never looked in her daughter's direction and had spent most of her time at home shut away in her bedroom, leaving Aza to parent herself. She knew that her mother liked The Princess Bride, hated Aza-Everett and didn't care for French food. She didn't like to clean and she hated cooking even more. Natalia hated confrontation, and she hated drawing attention to herself, which was why she was all too happy to send Aza off and to pretend she had never even existed in the first place.

But for some reason, when Aza opened her eyes, all she saw in her mother was herself, standing amidst the wreckage of wretched war. Their cheeks were different; Aza's were gaunt and sharp, and her mother's were plump and dimpled, though their freckles both looked like someone had splatter-painted their faces. Aza's jaw was harsh and angular, and her mother's held a gentle slope; their eyebrows were both dark and thick, and they both had almond-shaped eyes and a strong nose.

Dried tears made Aza's cheeks feel stiff, and her thoughts were merely crumbled leaves in an autumn gale; wild anemoi in the winds, too hard to grasp on to. She gasped for air, clutching at her throat; her nails pressed tightly into the sides. She didn't even consider the crescent-shaped marks they would leave. Around the two Malin women the battle raged on, and Aza's companions lay glassy-eyed and watching them; the audience for a sickening play, watching as Aza rocked back and forth and clawed at her hair.

Hatred wove its way into her mother's expression in a way that was almost comfortingly familiar, and she sneered at Aza with all the disgust in the world, like the sight of her daughter made her feel murderous. Aza hated that her mother's voice sounded sickeningly like her own - raspy and gravelly - like she had swallowed sand, "You will always be a failure. You will always cause death and destruction wherever you go, just like your father. Those who don't die because of your mistakes will wake up and do the same thing I did: throw you away."

Aza cried harder and collapsed in on herself, burying her face into her knees. Her jeans grew wet with tears and snot, and she wailed and bit the fabric beneath her viciously, snapping at the skin beneath. She would always fail. She could never do anything right; Aza was the reason that so many people had died. She was disgusting - a fool who tried to play hero only to let those she cared about die right in front of her. She had seen the shine fade from their eyes - Aza had seen the sparkle dim and life slowly ebb away from people who counted on her. The only thing Aza had ever wanted, to reach Elysium, was hilariously far from the tips of her fingers. She wasn't a savior nor a martyr; Aza was pathetic, small, and nauseatingly worthless. That, she knew.

Her mother spat at the ground beside her daughter, "You wanted to be a great hero, but you never will be - you'll never amount to anything. You will always be scum."

Aza's head felt as though someone was pounding at it with a hammer, and like Zeus before Athena was born she wished Hephaestus would split her skull open, although unlike the immortal king the blow would send her straight to Hades. She was okay with that. She prayed for it. Her chest shook with every breath, shuddering and jolting. Her heart began to beat faster and faster - she was sure it was going to burst from her chest and flop onto the paved city streets; but her mother was right. All Aza wanted was... to be a good kid. To be a hero; not just to prove herself, but to exceed everyone's expectations. She wanted to save lives and make a difference in the world, but all she had ever done was let people down. All she had ever done was watch the people she loved die around her because she was a coward. Because she was useless.