The Me You Stole ✔

Survival 1

1

Andrea had heard that you can't change who you are. She'd never questioned that until today. Everyone could change—even their basic nature—if they tried hard enough. Why not? Times changed; places changed; so what made people the exception? People can change if they want, she thought. And so could she.

Today, as she walked past the tall gray pillars of the main hall, her footsteps echoing on the onyx floor, she contemplated the changes taking place and what they would mean for her and her family's school of fine arts.

Despite the uncharacteristic calm of her subterranean home, when she looked up at the three paintings at the end of the hall, she was filled with dread. She'd come this way to see the largest one in the center, but Andrea's eyes drifted from her father's picture on the left to study the superior quality of her own portrait, the one on the right. Oil paintings weren't common in the Colony anymore, but her grandfather had insisted on it. Andrea looked pleasant enough in the picture, her pale blue eyes and narrow face innocent and hopeful last year when she'd posed—she had been hopeful.

Your face always stays slim, at least. But you look strange there, Andrea, like you don't belong, she thought, forever focusing on her light blond hair. She was the only blond in her family, and although she thought it suited her, just for today she wished she looked more like her grandfather.

You can't change who you are.... Why the hell not?

The hand put on the small of her back felt comforting until she saw that it was Marian, her mother. She stepped back; checking to make sure the woman hadn't stabbed her with something.

Today Marian, too, looked different.

Eyes narrowed, Andrea stared at her, trying to determine what had changed. It wasn't Marian's raven hair, wound up in its usual neat bun, or the black dress on her slender frame. The plain-looking clothes surprised Andrea until she noticed the sequins and detailing. As always, her mother had the proper dress for the proper occasion; she was nothing if not proper.

Yet something was different about her.

Finally, Andrea focused on her mother's lean face and found the answer. Marian's face usually seemed mismatched—youthful with weary eyes. Today was the first time the woman didn't look haunted. Today she looked young, something Andrea had never seen before. Marian was much older than her thirty-something looks suggested, but without her usual scowl, she almost pulled it off.

"I didn't mean to startle you. Are you all right?" Marian asked, uncharacteristically gentle.

Any idiot could have answered, but surprise stole Andrea's will to talk. When the woman stepped closer and attempted to hug her, Andrea recoiled.

Marian raised her hands. "I know this is hard for you," she said, "but just for today, let's try. Let's try to be a family. Please, what's wrong?"

Andrea tried to place her mother's unfamiliar expression, but she ultimately gave up. Instead, she focused on the center painting again.

Marian stepped beside her and mused, "I think you get your looks from me."

Yeah, along with my inferiority complex.

"You look gorgeous there. You always complain about that beauty mark under your eye, but it does look good. Don't you remember me telling you?"

I must have blacked out for that part. 'Cause all I remember is you screaming "Suck in your gut, suck in your gut!" even though it was a damn portrait.