THIS IS REALLY BAD AND CONFUSING ITS NOT EVEN FINISHED DONT JUDGE ME THANK YOU.
TELL ME IF I SHOULD CONTINUE.
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This biography, should I call it, is taken from my role-play character on a website called Smallworlds. I have decided to present her story to others. Enjoy! ~Chaz
My name is Eve. No, not Eve Stargirl. That is the name others have formulated for myself. Why? I'm afraid I cannot answer that. But I'm sure you're rather curious as to who I am. You're not curious? Too bad.
I don't know what year it is on the island in which I currently reside on. Though, I can tell you this. I was born 9011 years ago (not that you particularly care about that, or the other facts I'm about to tell you for that matter). I was born within a kingdom named Irabör, located near, but not in, the Northern Pole.
Irabör was separated into two divisions; The Quartes and the Halves. The Quartes were the people who lived within their wealth, coddled by their ignorance of the real world. If you were born as a Quarte, than you're life was laid out for you on a plush red carpet, Halves obeying your every command like the servants they were.
The other half of Irabör consisted of The Halves (clearly). The Halves were the workers, the slaves, the servants, the miners, the gamblers, the smugglers. The Halves did the filthy work for The Quartes. It was black and white, grey being nonexistent. The Quartes had smaller, healthier families with an abundance of food. The Halves had larger families with various, tiny workers, and an abundance of mouths to feed.
I suppose you could take an educated guess, and determine which division of Irabör that I was born to. Yes, I was an ambitious worker at the age of only ten, and I shoveled ice off of the usually paved streets of The Quartes. My family was loving, caring, large, all the good traits that a family could muster, besides the fact that we could barely provide food for the nine of us.
And so I wanted to forget. And I needed to forget. Despite the fact that I was working to semi-support our low-income family, I went to work to take sight of the usually magnificent sky. I was a rather odd child. I was looking up when I was supposed to be looking down, in order to shovel, but I somehow managed to do both.
The Elders screeched for us to shovel harder, quicker, more efficient. They didn't provide gloves for us. So there we were, piercing rock-hard ice with burly iron shovels, ignoring the fact that our bony fingers were tainted pink at first, then frostbitten as they blushed blue. Some acquaintances of mine didn't have enough fingers needed for shoveling, so they were sent to become servants in one of The Quartes families' palaces. Sometimes, I even wished that my fingers would fall off, for it meant that I could be a servant, being warm and fed properly under a Quartes family.
And so, on one particular chilling day, The Halves's smuggling went utterly wrong.
The sky was azure at dawn, the sun taking baby steps in beaming any light. It rose slowly, the azure diminishing into a violet color with warm undertones. Its beauty chilled me to the very marrow of my bones...or was it the cold that did just that? It was an unique mixture of both, as I made my way to shovel the streets of The Quartes at dawn. I nearly dragged that cursed shovel with me for what seemed like miles, though it was only a few dirt paths.
The scent of lovely sweet porridge filled my lungs as I stopped near a bakery, staring into the windows, my shrunk stomach pleading for something warm to play with. I stared at the heavy set lady, rolling the dough just a few yards away, unaware of my presence. Leathery oven burns lined her arms, making her peach skin appear rosier, tanner. I longed to be her, to be warm, to be well fed, but some things really are an impossibility.
And so I continued trudging along the dirt path, heading towards the Quartes division.
