Graveyard_Daisies

Draft 2: Prologue part 1

Zelene, a ground fae of the Atlan clam, a woman who bled and lived for war. Her tragedy is the workings of man and the demand of fate.

You see, tragic tales are always pre-destined, discussed and decided by tragic facts.

Facts are facts. Instinctive and designed by nature.

Kingdoms, courts, tyrants have always attempted to burn history- the roots of societies and the roots of cultures and the roots of people- burn knowledge because in these burns one history is told and power is gained.

This is a simple fact, known to few and suspected by most.

Without history, without knowledge fear grows because knowledge is a hostage of propaganda ruled by the wicked to spin tales of its fears.

Burns do not matter to facts, nature is as it has always been.

Facts do not die when history burns, history is context and knowledge an explanation.

But in the burning of knowledge and held histories, misinformation spreads and drowns the ignorant. The ignorant are always afraid, especially of the fae, of the magic of the realm, of the power in the ground.

Facts of nature, unknown and unexplained.

Separate creations lack understanding of each other. This is against nature

Zelene Atlan, would always be a tragedy of this.

A king is crowned and celebrated amongst his citizens, cherished by his wife and admired by sons.

Does the crown corrupt the good man or was the man never good?

Crowns make kings, greed makes tyrants, and power makes problems.

Tyrants follow as nature designs, facts are designs.

Tragedies are born from fires, tales are discussed and fate is made.

And so Zelene was called.

From king to king, from tyrant to tyrant. 6 generations of the ignorant and the cruelty of man has only increased. Fate is weaving and history in the making in a land like no other.

A kingdom hunting and controlling the magical, the fae are an uncomfortable variable, a very uncontrollable variable.

Ignorance has spun lies, these lies have twisted what humanity sees in the beings like faes.

To most, the fae are either too blood thirty or dumb child like creatures in need of a leash. When many humans think of ground games they think of soft little creatures.

Little faires prancing and dancing in the woods, who faint at blood and cannot simply fathom the idea of war. Ignorance allowed survival in the beginning, but alas when elders are killed and customs can no longer be taught the fae forget themselves.

History burned, knowledge unknown.

The ground had not brought a warrior in many years, Zelene was an exception.

Oh, but what else could she be? For she was unlike her mother, she was not the plants or the berries that healed, that fixed. Nor was she her cousins, who bloomed in early spring from the freshest of daises and roses. No, the ground did not call to her with crops and growth, she was not the steady grass floor one relied on.

No, she was not the ground's kindness or beauty. She was the cliff in the forest, where rain met dirt. She was the cracks and the shakes in the land. She was the rocks thrown in the wind, shattering as she went. She was the hills in the land, rocky and uneven. She was a mud pile fresh in the land after a rainstorm; slippery, classless and unchanged.

Zelene was the ground, in its mercy and destruction. Her purpose was crafted in the field where her vines choked and pulled as her mud became prisons, war became her. She moved through ranks fast, was celebrated in her home and loved by many.

The ground is unforgiving as man, the grounds people are taught to be weary in war for desperation creates the most dangerous of men, this Zelene was taught young.

The young forget and warriors grow cocky.

The famed and the known, are one in the same

Queens are always shackled, in crowns or in ruins.

Children their parents blades, forged and forgotten.

And Kings are never kind, actors in mind and liars to all.

One moment, one second, one falter and fate becomes you.

Tragedies and prophecies, told as one, as all fall to fate's design.

I've had a week-long disagreement with someone over my own experiences as an albino. (the other person is not, assumption based on them being a so called university graduate and still only finding out about albinism a week ago)

Alright, I was asked if I have ever had trouble finding romance as an albino- first statement asked to me, no prior contact before this- I said yes for many reasons, biggest is the creeps.

I've met/messaged several of these creepier people and by people those guys that see you as "exotic" . Specifically one man who texted me a picture of myself on my private Instagram to tell me how "delicious" my "whiteness" is and how he'd love to do x, y and z because of it. Not to mention the many people who either hate my albinism (disgusted by it) or romanticize it (only want me because of the albinism and nothing beyond my albinism)

I'm a person who is very obviously albino-white hair, white skin and violet eyes (yes red in pictures with flash). I have been called demonic looking for how flash messes with eyes in pictures where I can even stand the flash. My experiences may be shitier than the typical person when it comes to dating but I was naive and genuinely thought they had interest in me and not my albinism. So in my experience, it's hard to date.

It's hard dating if you cannot drive(my albinism or my impairment?), it's hard dating when looking for your date in the restaurant or a crowd(my albinism or my impairment because of the albinism?) it's hard to stay outside when you cannot stay long outside (my albinism or my skin condition?) it's hard to be at football games for a band marching bf when you cannot even see him and for an hour you have to just sit not truly knowing what is happening beyond the crowd screaming(still dating him, still hard). It's hard dating as a woman in general, of course it fucking hard dating as an albino.

Again, I'm just tired about arguing about my own experiences and then being told I'm wrong for how I view those experiences when for most of those experiences I was a dumb kid with waaaay to many dumber older men(I was 14-16 talking to men from ages 16-68) interested in me but these are still my experiences. Hell you could say, it's easy to get preyed on when you don't think you are getting preyed on and still going out trying to date.

See, Ben/Mal paring I never thought of it lasting because Mal genuinely doesn't seem the type to WANT or enjoy being a queen which is what she will need to be with Ben.

I do find it odd that Auradon isn't judging her more harshly but that's probably Ben hiding some criticism from her after D2.

Ben definitely needed the Vks perspective but he probably could have done more in making it easier from the Auradon side.

I always thought, the little kids view mal as this hero versus the older kids like Uma ECT who view her differently.

Ben is too much of a pushover for Mal sometimes especially in D3. This boy needs to stand up to her, his advisors and his daddy.

Again, I don't think Mal has learned/Integrated enough into Auradon to have making the decisions she did. Especially after D2, she seemed to be in an insecurity spiral especially with Ben and her friends who have arguably integrated much better. Which is perfectly normal but she hasn't found a space like the other 3 did. Fashion for Evie, that sport for Jay and I think Carlos has lots going on between Jane, his dog, tech and that sport. Mal has art but I don't think she's found that space in Auradon. She definitely seems more put together in D3 but still has major issues.

Depression, suicidal idealation, domestic violence, self harm

Mothers and daughters, teen depression, feminine rage, isolation, domestic violence and teendom.

Rage, a powerful and dangerous feeling especially with mothers.

Covid hit when I was 13, I was basically isolated from everyone besides 2 people who were consistent in fighting each other or me. I was starting at a screen doing work that made no sense in house that felt like a prison or a cage. My parents worked most days, so I was alone constantly . You don't know what being alone for 12 hours days on end for a solid 8 months does to a 13 year old. Even when your parents are home, you're stuck inside your room speaking to none except getting called for dinner or chores. There were no conversations. Those 8 months killed me., then I went to highschool because I was failing as a honors kid dying in that house. I died some more because people and teachers and pedophiles and being a girl and deadlines and general worth issues with a gifted kid burning and my parents fighting and my friends fighting and me fighting my friends. Highschool was hellish, but it wasn't as hellish as that house alone for hours. But that was not rage, it was soul crushing when every environment you have is not enjoyable. When everything that could kill you will try to.

Rage grows from desperation, like a vine of poison entrapping you in this sick depressed state where nothing can matter and if it does it goes wrong.

My rage came from my mother, she planted the very first seed in my desperation and encouraged my sadness and broke me any time I was Happy.

She was there at every bad moment, she was the bad moment. If the earth split near me, she definitely pushed. If gun shots came near and I had a shield, she broke it. If it was a sunny day, she was a hail on my thin glass.

The rage that comes to a girl watching her mother stay with a man that hit her when angry, who became irrational and dangerous when drunk and hated his own step daughter is many things but it is never calm rage.

How could she put that man above me and yet mock me for my own depression? She apologized to me for putting him above me in a fight and I've never forgotten it.

How could she? How dare?

How could she? How could she think I had no friend and made their names up in only 6th grade? How could she weigh much more than me but constantly drag me for mine? How could she? How could she look at me and say "my father did not cut he simply died" how could she belittle me in every way possible?

At 15 I wanted to die, when someone asked "what of your mother?" I thought Good. I hated and raged so much about her. I thought of the mother who didn't like that I had scabs on my legs so much so she stopped me from finishing the last week of second grade. I thought of the mother who hated how shy and emotional I was as a small child. I thought of the mother who thought it was our sole purpose to reproduce. I thought of the mother who never tried with my hair and always wanted it different. I thought of my mother who wanted me to walk off years of degradation from peers. I thought of my mother who never once understood me in any way. I thought of the mother who put in the situation where I had to lock my dad out of the house because she may have packed that car but she never drove it out of that town. I thought of my mother with so much anger and judgement and disgust when viewing anything different from her looking at me her different daughter.

I thought Good.

I hated her and loved her, in the only way a daughter could. I didn't believe in her love for me. If my death is what it took for her to love me fully then. That was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I hated her so much, I wanted her to find my dead body and realize she ignored me when I cried to her. I wanted her to mourn me for the rest of her life knowing she could have saved me. I wanted her to bury me young, I wanted her to lie everyday and say there were no signs. I wanted her, the woman who craved children so badly yet could no longer have them and had to settle for her mistake at 16 to lose the only child she had. I wanted her to hurt so bad, my hatred for her was one of many reasons to die.

I was so so desperate for her to just love me I wanted to die because it would be the only proof I would ever have that did even if I was forever 14.

I didn't die at 14.

I went through a big big heartbreak that broke me in all the ways a mother could not, crying, looking at my ceiling begging God to just end it all for me just to turn my anger to him as well because he did not. But I didn't die at 15.

I dissociated so much at 16 I can only remember 3 dates my father lost his mind and I walked in the bathroom hearing their fight that got dragged outside into our yard and seeing my mother's blood splattered all over the bathroom. But I didn't die at 16.

I skipped my second day of senior year because my dad lost his mind, I wrote him a letter about how he broke me and I counted down days until I left that house, that town and that state. But I didn't die at 17.

I moved from my parents house on my birthday, the day after my graduation and never looked back. I started college, flunked college because I was no longer drowning in that house but college with a disability is hard. I met a boy. But I didn't die at 18.

I dissociated and had depression for most of 19 and love is foolish but I love him. And I haven't died.

I'll be 20 soon, I pray I know more about what I'm doing and where I'm going. I'm out of that house but the issues linger and thoughts linger and scars get darker. I broke the foundation and forgot to build up again so I've been stuck at the bottom sitting on glass expecting not to bleed. I'm picking out glass as you read and I'm trying to buy tools to rebuild my foundation but I don't know.

Death would be easier, I crave it still but not as much as I used to. I buy multi use razors now. It is better not gone, t's an addiction you pick up once and never drop. A smell that will stay and burn into your brain forever.

There are bad days and that happens a lot, but not frequently and consistently.

I do not dream of gravestones but I find comfort here, I have drawn it several times, it has daisies there now. Sprouts of life I can know say is enjoyable.

My rage is bottled, but the earth does not shake and rattle nearly as much.

I'm still here. I'd be fine with death but I do not seek it anymore. Living is still stupid and hard and every other word that goes with that, but sometimes I see the sun.

My teendom has died, there is barely a month left. I pray I do not forget.

I barely speak to my mother now, rarely speak to my father.

Rage, is still what fuels me. Spite helps. It's there. But it's burning down.

The isle- is obviously where VKs and their parents live and obviously many of them know or like that they are bad but Auradon isn't explored enough as a dystopian Utopian Kingdom.

Because all the Villains are gone right? That says so much about Auradon:

"The people that are obsessed with proper, goodness and the idea that why would need magic anymore? They've modernized! The villains are gone. "

Does this apply to everything? Because people are still rude there but it isn't exactly acknowledged and you cannot take every bad person away. Bad people exist eve. Like does it apply to everything bad? Abuse, assault, robbery even cheating ECT ? Because how could such an act happen when the villains are gone?

Because that idea is so interesting to me. The isle of the lost where they are openly bad, knowingly bad but it's normal because they are villains. It's openly acknowledged that this is what bad people do.

Compared to that of Auradon where everyone is basically gaslighting you because how could such a villainous act happen here? And the bad people hide here easier because why would they actually be bad? Where the king could easily send you to the isle for the insinuation that someone could do something so villainous, it's slander, creating panic in such a good safe kingdom. Someone's money laundering? Here in Auradon? Hmm are you quite well sir? Child abuse? Such a thing doesn't occur here! "You be patient with your father, You have no idea what he went through!!"

Ben constantly rewriting or removing laws because they are outdated and getting pushed back because of tradition. Auradon kids seeing their parents go through traumatic responses and sometimes violent episodes. Auradon parents pushing for perfection, goodness and tradition because of the threats they faced didn't allow them too. Magic being more taboo so many never learn to use what they have, trained to do what their parents could do or even acknowledge they have it - where it's an animal side like the beast or basic magic. Auradon kids trying to be perfect consistently, drowned in public appearances- because they have titles they are responsible for- constantly under public scrutiny in lives where the public opinion means everything especially to their parents and council members. And all the issues that can create for kids in a pressure perfect society.

Vks: do what they want, be the worst, the only rule is don't be the weaker link and whatever way their parents "raised" them as.

Ask: follow societal demands, perfection and everything that entails, be whatever their parents demanded. Never relaxed.

Vks going between the two environments realizing Auradon may be better but isn't by much.

From 2022-26- What a journey. From traditional work to digital, my improvement is very visible.

For this latest version of one of my favorite characters, I love how much the hair pops. My biggest improvement would be the general shapes and fine lining.

Many mention children like a new handbag, a recent shopping spree, a silly little design. Yet, many elder generations describe it as inevitable. My own mother says it's our purpose, exactly what we're for.

To me, motherhood is a an anxious tragedy praying for miracles and u denying hope for the best.

I ask myself , is that I don't desire children or do I simply fear that title that comes with children. Motherhood, you sign a contract that doesn't end, a title that will follow you to the very end. I myself, have a strenuous relationship with my mother, yet sometimes I crave a mother's touch, a moms advice. Everyone wants a mom, not everyone has one.

Motherhood, an eternal title, a world of raising children, raising people. I feel distraught in nightmare stories of women raising men that become monsters, raising daughters that become bitter women, and watching your children become the very things in your life you avoid. Will my son forget my humanity in my role as his mother? Will my daughter feel disgusted in the man I choose to keep around them? What if it's all for not? What if you raise and yeah your children to the best of your ability and yet they become hidden monsters in someone's world? What if you forget important lessons and make naive daughters and ignorant sons? You cannot be perfect but what is the effect of imperfections when raising people? Where can you make mistakes that don't become traumatic realities? What if you attempt to raise that child isn't enough? I fear motherhood because there can be fatal errors that affect everyone.

I fear it because I feel my own mothers mistakes everyday, from my relationships with other women, my own maternal clock and how I view men. My mother raised me with a man that wasn't kind to her, but she wasn't kind to me either. She, a strong woman in her opinion, sleeps next to a man who hates women and has beaten her. She is my mother, my first bully too. I fear this experience for my own daughter, I hope I choose a man who is a good father to my children, a good example of a man to my daughter. Motherhood is terrifying, you raise children that must live in society. Do you have the funds for disabled children? Chronically sick children? To give them opportunities to follow dreams? Are you prepared to give advice to them when maybe one day they may choose to have one of their own?

Motherhood is fear inducing. It can be a choice, a surprise, a product of a crime or of a love, but it can happen any time. They even did it to Jane the virgin. I cannot do it because I simply fear it too much.

Pregnancy, months long torture that can effect your body forever, that cost money to survive. Research, for the right day cares, the right schools, the jobs near those schools, can you be present with your job for your child and still afford that child? So much to do, so many mistakes that could be. Motherhood: a topic women know early. We're taught early. It touches you no matter what. From what type of mother you have, to the fact you don't have one, the quiet wonder of your mother, the quiet want of a mom, the crave to be a mom, the maternal instincts you may develop, a fear, a crave, a love, a hatred.

I don't desire children enough to experience motherhood. To be in a category you cannot be removed from, even in death it will be a title you will wear to the afterlife in the hopes you did well enough. A responsibility that cannot be erased, or forgotten, or found lacking. That has more responsibilities within it, so a child can thrive.