Breath2ice
Ebène had always been a master of masks. To the world, she was quirky, fun, and effortlessly charming, the girl who could laugh off any awkward moment, who kept the mood light even when the air was suffocating. But inside, she was a contradiction-deeply reflective, painfully self-aware, and weighed down by the knowledge that she would never belong. At twenty-five, she was still purple. A child in the eyes of society. A fraud in her own.
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The world they lived in was a cruel result of humanity's past mistakes. A combination of all the wars and the wrath of Mother Nature had unleashed gases that fused with the air, triggering genetic mutations. Babies were no longer naturally conceived; they were grown in incubators, implanted with the necessary microchips at formation. The world could not sustain unchecked reproduction, and so society was engineered. You had sixty years, sometimes less. By eighteen, you had to prove your worth. By then, you had to bleed something other than purple blood. You shall pass your biannual MRI test with success. They monitor the tree growing within yourself - color, type, leaves and the curves of the roots.