𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀 liked to remain a mystery. It's what kept her safe; sane. The only thing that kept her in the shadows, along with the whisperings of her little birds feeding her their secrets.
The war was her escape, and Small Heath wa...
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❝My name is Aurora Lucia Malandra.❞
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃, there was a large family crest that used to be hung on the wall just above her bed. A big, grotesque thing, that screamed entitlement and obscene levels of self-importance. A very fitting symbol to be dotted about all over that manor that morphed itself into a chamber of torture. It was in the shape of a shield, like most crests are, and was painted in a rather brutal shade of red that was accented in black veins protruding from the corners like the swirls of darkness you see in the corners of your nightmares. A large gothic 'M' slammed right into the middle while the three heads of Cerberus growl and spit from their stations surrounding the shield.
But while that image, of demonic dogs lurking above her head, every night she slept, may have been taunting and terrorizing for the young mind of child, Aurora had never so much as flinched at such a sight. Sure, it was intimidating, and made purposefully to instill fear onto those that suffered beneath their Malandra feet, but there wasn't a moment in time she would feel those cold damp shivers wrack up her spine upon looking up to the wall above her bed. Well, not at the dogs at least.
All family coat of arms come attached with some fancy scroll at the bottom, scribbled in Latin with some phrase or another that should represent your clan, like they were living in the dark ages where battles were fought with brandished steel instead of smoking barrels. And so, on their scroll, were two words, strung together, that had become burned onto the tips of her tongue, as her father forced her recitation at the breaking of each daylight morning and the awakening of each dusk.
Morior invictus. Death before defeat.
It's all very dramatic, and so very proud, but it still managed to haunt Aurora's every move, like the three-headed hound chomping at her heels with their daggers disguised as teeth. For it meant that, failure was never tolerated, under any circumstance, whether that be for even the smallest of menial tasks, or the things you simply have no control over. Pain and suffering the only thing you were welcomed with on the other side, if such fates ever came to pass.
So, as she stood, in that Shelby kitchen, empty hands and an empty heart, harsh glares and undiscernable stares narrowed down onto her flesh, the only thing she could seem to picture was that godforsaken family crest and those hellish words that come stitched alongside it. Failure currently scrubbing her skin raw until she was standing bloody and broken in front of the ones she had grew to care for most in this world.
"You're a Malandra?! A fucking Malandra!" John's hands flapping out wildly, as he paced back and forth and back and forth on the tiled floors. His face having turned a beat red not too long ago, Aurora unsure whether to appoint all this wild rage towards herself or if the words of her volatile older brother were still leaving behind a putrid stain.
