𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑜

* / BIOGRAPHY .

sometimes people behind closed doors do not match the image they project in public, and the taylor household was a perfect example of that notion. katherine’s story begins when her parents drunkenly hooked up at frat party their junior year of college. when vanessa fay saw the pink plus sign on the pregnancy test, she knew she had to hold hank taylor responsible. terrified of the future and what it held in store, vanessa knew deep down that she didn’t want to have a child that would make her life difficult, but hank thought otherwise. with rash promises of a perfect tomorrow, they eventually agreed to marry - albeit for all the wrong reasons.

when katherine was born, it was natural that she would become the center of her father’s universe. however, her mother was never sure how she felt about giving up on her dreams in exchange for motherhood. though she had her doubts for the longest of time, she toughened it out and tried her hardest to see through it. hank eventually made it big after graduating with a degree in law and a year later, he moved them all to new york where he worked as a public defender.

it was slowly getting better for them, financially, at least, but vanessa wasn’t satisfied. she was bitter and resentful towards hank who was able to make his dreams come true without sacrificing a hair on his head. she wanted an identity outside of being a mother, wanted a degree to her name and her own business. no matter how hard hank promised to one day make her wishes come true, those dreams kept being pushed back and back until katherine was old enough to believe in those promises in her stead. years had gone by and it was far too late to mend the cracks in their unstable relationship.

the three of them rarely spent time together as a family. vanessa refused to spend time with hank, and in turn, he began spending his nights in cheap hotel rooms just to avoid his wife’s wrath. arguments became the backdrop of kath’s childhood while she finger-painted in the living room. and though hank always tried his best to calm her down and make things work, it was never going to be enough for her. 

vanessa soon turned to using kath as leverage against her husband.

katherine, the pride and joy of hank’s life, was naive to the troubles that happened between her parents. each and every time vanessa ran away with kath, she thought it was a vacation between girls while her father desperately plead for them to come back. vanessa always gave in to his begging at the end of her tantrums and hid everything from kath. over time, katherine began to wonder why they promised an eternity together if her mother always ran for the hills the moment things got hard. after years of that twisted little game, kath learned that love just wasn’t worth the heartache.

chocolates and roses always turned into screaming and tears. she saw it all firsthand and the more she saw it at home, the easier it was for her to do without it. kath locked her heart away in a little box and threw the key away for no one to find. she was sixteen when she learned there was comfort in the thrill and decided to devote herself to the excitement of life rather than the heinous act of love. instead of talking about boys with her classmates, she was chasing after the waves of the ocean that toppled over her own feet. vanessa hated that careless side to her, the untamed spirit that was impossible to leash, but hank understood. he was much like her, and vanessa hated it.

hank encouraged kath to grab life by the horns and make the best out of it. every summer vacation, she worked hard to save up for a plane ticket to escape the hell her parents unintentionally put her through. she wanted to cradle the entire universe in her hands and swallow it whole.  

even though kath resembled her father like a mirror would, she was lucky enough to inherit her mother’s best attribute: her mind. kath spent most of her life cradled in her father’s lap, but her thirst for knowledge grew as large as her curiosity did. vanessa did for her what she was unable to do for herself and taught her all there was to learn about literature. sometimes kath wondered if it was another one of her ploys to get her away from her father, to erase the similarities she shared with him, but she was her mother. there must have been love somewhere within the act, even if the uncanny resemblance between them made her seethe.

even though life was eternally a game of tug of war between two parents who hated each other, katherine tried her best to not let it affect her too much in school. she didn’t want to be complicit like her mother or overly idealistic like her father. she worked hard to get good grades until she saw acceptance letters in her mailbox months after her high school graduation. money was not exactly something that could afford her a full ride to the university of her choosing, so kath was forced to settle for less. before she could submit her student information, she got news of her win from her father who submitted her name to a lottery for a school abroad.

with a full ride, katherine was finally able to do three things she had always wanted to do. travel around the country she so eagerly wished to explore, get away from the overwhelming bickering between her parents and most importantly, get an education worthy of the schools she longed to attend. her enrollment was a no brainer and the following fall, she was settling into her dorm room miles away from home.

what she hadn’t expected, however, was for her father to fall ill her second year of college. the doctors said it was bone cancer and he had little time left. going back home was something she did not have to think twice about, especially when he had a wife who cared very little about him and flatly refused to help him during a dark time. during her sophomore year of summer break, katherine spent her time at home and nursed her father back to health. at least to the best of her capabilities. sadly, she was no doctor and her mother made sure to spend money on everything but his medications. with resentment in her eyes, kath began to hate her mother as much as she did them.

she   remembers   the   warmth   of   the   sun   beating   against   her   skin   and   the   sweet   sound   of   her   mother   laughing   as   she   chases   the   little   girl   through   the   manor.   it’s   an   old   memory,   tattered   and   well   worn   in   her   mind,   but   it’s   her   most   cherished.   however,   the   sound   of   laughter   and   her   anklets   chiming   comes   to   an   abrupt   stop.   

mirai   was   seven    years   old   and   according   to   her   old   money   father   and   his   fathers   and   grandfathers   that   came   before   him,   she   was   ready   to   carry   on   the   kinoshita   tradition.   her   little   life   was   packed   into   suitcases   and   she   was   shipped   away   to   a   prestigious   boarding   school   in   the    family’s   home   country   of   japan.   the   little   girl   didn’t   care   that   her   older   brother   had   been   sent   the   same   before   her,   she   was   not   her   brother.   she   was   mirai.   impossibly   stubborn,   accustomed   to   having   her   every   whim   and   wish   fulfilled.   she   was   mirai,   but   now   she   was   all   alone.   swathed   in   a   plaid   skirt,   white   polo   and   blazer,   there   was   no   one   to   temper   her   tantrum.   after   her   first   complaint   home,   within   mere   hours   of   her   being   there,   kinoshita   goro   made   it   impossibly   clear   to   his   daughter   that   he   would   not   tolerate   her   acting   out.

reluctantly,  she   spends   the   following   years   of   her   life   being   classically   trained   as   a   ballet  dancer   by   japan’s   best,   excelling   and   oftentimes  contending   for   top   of   her   class.   mirai   had   made   a   place   for   herself   at   her   boarding   school   and   even   found   herself   making   friends.   she   constantly   felt   as   if   her   parents   had   forgotten   about   her   and   left   her   behind,   so   she   began   filling   the   growing   void   with   those   around   her.   though,   to   some   degree,   she   loved   being   flocked   around   like   the   center   of   attention.   

as   the   years   went   on,   she   spent   her   months   and   holidays   in   tokyo   or   with   old   friends   from   new  york.   her   family   would   get   together   once   a   year   for   summers   –   sometimes   they   went   to   st.   bartz,   sometimes   they   were   tucked   away   in   tuscany.   by   her   sixteenth   birthday,   mirai   and   her   family   felt   less   like   a   family   and   more   like   strangers   that   studied   a   dossier   of   each   other’s   awards   and   accolades.   the   kinoshitas   only   met   for   two   months   in   the   summer   and   departed   until   the   next   time   around.   she   had   no   real   connection   with   her   father   anymore,   they   never   quite   recovered   after   her   outburst   at   being   sent   away   as   a   little   girl.   

her   brother   had   been   ten   years   older   than   her   and   was   on   his   way   to   becoming   the   next    chairman   of   the   family’s   investment   company,   they   never   really   had   the   chance   to   know   each   other   at   all.   but   her   mother?   she   was   the   sunshine,   she   was   the   reason   mirai   didn’t   fly   off   on   expensive   summer   vacations   with   her   boarding   school   friends.   the   past   few   years,   summer   vacations   were   the   one   time   of   year   she   could   see   her   mother,   the   rest   of   the   time   she   would   make   do   with   the   homemade   snacks   or   the   few   phone   calls   that   came   in   between.   she   no   longer   feels   the   warmth   of   the   sun   on   her   skin   the   few   times   she   visits   home,   just   a   stirring   sadness   of   a   home   left   behind.   

mirai   is   seventeen   when   she   finally   comes   back   home   to   new   york.   she’s   no   longer   the   angry   and   unruly   girl   that   had   been   sent   away.   no.   she   has   been   shaped   and   changed   into   the   poised   picture   of   elegance   her   father   expected,   what   her   place   in  high   american   society   expected.   it’s   not   like   she   hasn’t   been   back   to   new   york   since   she   was   seven,   but   she’s   never   stuck   around   for   too   long.   she   would   make   her   appearance   and   spend   the   rest   of   her   time   as   far   away   from   home   as   possible,   not   that   it   was   hard   to   begin   with.   her   father’s   favorite   gift   to   his   children   was   homes   in   different   cities   or   states,   places   as   empty   as   his   relationship   with   them—   but   it   served   her   purposes.   

unfortunately,   there   was   no   escaping   this   time.   a   few   months   after   returning   to   new   york,   mirai   found   a   legal   summons   and   a   newspaper   clipping   taped   on   their   fifth   avenue   penthouse   door.   the   information   had   all   but   burned   through   her   heart,   she   had   the   evidence   buried   deep   in   her   handbag   to   prevent   anyone   from   finding   out.   her   mother’s   secret   that   had   been   festering   like   a   disease   in   her   body   had   finally   come   out   into   the   open.   kinoshita   akane:   philanthropist,   socialite..   unfaithful   wife?

for   the   rest   of   the   year,   mirai   did   everything   she   could   possibly   do   to   drown   the   image   of   her   mother   wrapped   around   a   strange   man’s   body.   her   mother   had   made   her   vow   it   after   gifting   her   an   upper   east   side   apartment   for   being   such   a   good   girl.   akane   claimed   to   be   in   love,   apparently,   and   had   been   for   years.   her   father   had   spent   most   of   his   time   traveling   for   work,   leaving   his   wife   feeling   abandoned   and   alone.   alone.   now   mirai   knew   all   too   well   how   that   felt,   so   she   locked   away   her   mother’s   secret   inside   and   tossed   away   the   key.   however,   the   lock   was   hammered   open   when   her   father   showed   her   the   dossier   he   was   turning   over   to   his   divorce   lawyer.   

akane   had   a   secret   family.   her   fingers   had   practically   burned   at   the   tips   as   she   picked   the   photograph   of   her   mother   smiling   happily   with   that   same   strange   man   and   a   little   girl   in   her   arms.   a   girl   just   a   little   bit   younger   than   herself   when   she   was   sent   away.   not   just   a   girl,   this   was   her   daughter.   the   one   she   had   cared   enough   to   keep   around.   she   had   never   been   enough   to   fight   for,   that   was   enough   for   the   little   green   monster   to   come   clawing   out   of   her   chest.   fury   was   too   gentle   a   word   to   describe   what   she   felt,   mirai   wanted   to   destroy   everything   in   her   path.   broken   photo   frames   and   torn   photographs   littered   the   rooms   of   the   penthouse,   but   it   was   not   enough.   she   wanted   her   mother   to   suffer.   so   she   sat   next   to   her   father,   back   straight,   face   betraying   nothing   of   what   raged   inside.   

mirai   was   all   alone   once   again. 

her   acceptance   letter   to   university   arrived   just   as   the   ink   on   her   parents   divorce   agreement   dried,   but   she   had   no   interest   in   attending   harvard   like   her   father   and   forefathers   before   her   did.   mirai   wanted   to   escape   the   walls   that   she   felt   closing   in   around   her.   everything   was   happening   and   all   too   fast.   the   betrayal   and   divorce,   her   mother   disappearing   to   the   family   she   had   chosen   over   mirai,   and   the   straw   that   broke   the   camel’s   back   had   been   her   father.   of   all   people,   her   father,   the   man   who   had   never   surprised   mirai.   just   a   month   after   leaving   her   mother,   he’d   quietly   married   and   brought   a   new   set   of   strangers   into   the   house.   

it   was   almost   as   if   her   parents   were   playing   a   hand   of   cards   with   their   families,   if   one   wasn’t   making   the   cut,   shuffle   the   deck   and   bring   some   new   players   into   the   mix.   it   was   simply   too   much   too   soon   and   eighteen   year   old   mirai   could   not   stand   it.

with   a   limitless   card   in   hand,   mirai   put   herself   on   the   first   flight   to   ibiza.   then   berlin.   then   rio   de   janeiro.   and   the   list   seemed   to   go   on   and   on.   the   days   and   nights   all   seem   to   blend   into   each   other.   she   wanted   to   forget,   to   shed   the   black   hole   growing   inside   her,   so   she   spent   her   days   and   nights   in   outright   scandal,   drama   in   the   headlines   for   everyone   to   read.   she   wanted   her   parents   to   suffer   for   their   errors.   she   wanted    her   father   to   see   what   he   made   of   his   daughter,   wanted   her   mother   to   see   the   damage   her   web   of   lies   left   behind.   

so   mirai   doesn’t   stop   at   any   cost,   there   is   a   freedom   in   her   anger.   to   be   able   to   wear   it   so   openly   on   her   skin.   but   freedom   only   lasts   so   long.   like   tugging   a   marionette’s   strings,   her   father   blocked   her   credit   cards   and   gave   her   an   ultimatum.   pack   her   bags   and   get   herself   to   harvard,   or   deal   with   the   consequences   of   being   penniless   in   whatever   city   she   was   currently   tearing   through.   part   of   her   wanted   to   turn   her   back   on   everything,   to   choose   to   live   a   life   not   haunted   by   the   decisions   of   her   parents.   however,   money   is   a   heavy   handed   puppeteer   and   mirai   had   only   ever   learned   to   live   by   it’s   lead   her   entire   life.  

when   she   is  tossed   outside   the   doors   of   harvard   as   if   she   were   last   night’s   leftovers,   she   pulls   herself   together   and   decides   to   make   something    of   herself.   her   chaos   is   neatly   boxed   and   hidden   inside   somewhere   deep   within   her.   if   anyone   was   expecting   to   see   the   mussed   hair   and   her   barely   there   bikini   tops   from   the   news   articles,   they   were   set   for   disappointment.   she   was   mirai,   poised   and   proper.   she   understood   that   barbed   words   with   a   touch   of   honey   would   take   her   further   than   a   vipers   bite.   

life   had   handed   her   a   rotten   apple   on   a   silver   platter,   but   she   decided   she   would   give   it   the   midas   touch.   she’s   one   among   many,   filled   to   the   brim   with   ambition   to   make   it   to   the   top.   but,   her   father   always   taught   her   that   even   amongst   the   fish,   there   are   sharks.   learn   to   be   the   shark.   so   she   does   exactly   that.   the   doe   eyes   and   kind   smile   do   wonders   to   hide   the   ruthlessness   that   creeps   under   her   skin.  

 there   is   no   surprise   when   mirai   finds   herself   initiated   into   one   the   most   prestigious   ballet   companies   in   new   york   by   twenty - one   and   graduated    top    of    her    class    the    following    year.   even   those   in   high   society   welcome   her,   all   eyes   curious   on   kinoshita   goro’s    only    daughter.   the   little   spitfire,    a   quality   inherited   from   her   mother.   she’s   not   new   to   the   inner   workings   of   living   in   the   lap   of   luxury,   but   there   is   something   satisfying   in   knowing   you’re   finally   becoming   more   than   just   your   family   name   and   drama.   

chapter one…

wednesday,  december  of  1999  -  born  underneath  the  austrian  half-moon  was  a  red-faced,  ocean-eyed,  pink  flowering  baby.  conceived  in  the  midst  of  a  lilac-misted  spring,  your  grandmother  once  said  some  of  that  bloom  still  lingered  deep  within  the  vast  meadows  of  your  heart  -  it  blossomed  so  rampantly,  she  was  certain  you  would  become  more  wildflower  than  you  were  a  girl  someday.  your  mother,  vivienne  st.  cloud,  couldn’t  bring  herself  to  care  about  the  frivolities  of  your  grandmother’s  predictions  -  not  when  you  had  become  the  final  addition  to  complete  the  greedy  inner  world  of  her  nouveau  riche  family.  known  for  being  the  genius  behind  the  renown  fashion  house,  st. cloud,  critics  say  vivienne  struck  gold  when  she  unearthed  millions  of  dollars  from  the  billowing  flow  of  couture  designs  that  revolutionized  the  future  of  the  fashion  industry  overnight.  

the  origins  of  your  mother’s  wealth  didn’t  matter  much  to  her,  not  when  image  meant  everything.  all  she  knew  was  that  you  were  the  newborn  daughter  born  from  her  new  money  aspirations,  sculpted  from  clay  not  for  a  real  desire  for  a  family,  but  rather  for  a  glossier  picture  in  the  paper.  you  were  a  st.  cloud  now  -  influential,  fame-ridden,  and  above  all  else,  idolized  by  fashion  critics  and  high  society  alike;  a  family  that  consisted  of  an  elite  matriarch,  an  elder  son  born  beneath  the  blazing  sun  and  you,  her  youngest,  keira  faye;  moon-eyed,  sweet  yet  heart-achingly  sad  if  you  look  at  the  family  portrait  for  too  long.  

you  hardly  remember  anything  about  your  childhood  in  south  london  other  than  the  feel  of  designer  ribbons  wrapped  so  tightly  around  your  neck,  it  felt  more  like  rope  to  you than  anything  else.  so,  what  was  it  about  your  girlhood  that  you  fought  tooth  and  nail  to  forget  about?  when  you  have  more  wealth  than  you  could  ever  begin  to  count  and  a  stable  roof  over  your  head,  it  becomes  impossible  to  justify  feeling  as  though  something  was  ever  wrong  in  your  life  -  at  least,  that's  what  you  grew  up  hearing  from  your  tutors  whenever  you  breathed  out  even  the  slightest  whispers  of  dissatisfaction  to  them.  you  could  only  suppose  the  origins  of  your  gloom  had  something  to  do  with  the  fact  that  you  were  raised  purely  by  a  brother  barely  older  than  you  -  or  did  it  have  anything  to  do  with  the  absence  of  maternal  affection  altogether?  the  older  you  got,  the  more  difficult  it  became  trying  to  pinpoint  it  all.  

you  liked  to  reimagine  all  those  stifling  family  dinners  where  the  three  of  you  picked  at  immaculately  prepared  five-course  meals  with  images  of  love  and  laughter  -  you  swore  if  you  looked  between  the  lines  of  your  monthly  dinners,  you  lot  resembled  a  normal,  happy  family.  while  those  daydreams  were  enough  to  fuel  you  throughout  the  majority  of  your  youth,  nothing  truly  eradicated  the  unhealthy  amount  of  hours  you  spent  in  the  gym  for  a  career  in  modeling  your  mother  thrusted  upon  your  little  shoulders.  being  a  girl  shy  of  ten,  with  a  heart  full  of  yearning  for  something  more  profound  to  the  visible  eye,  you  came  to  realize  modeling  was  your  best  chance  at  obtaining  some  form  of  affection  -  not  that  you  knew  what  it  felt  or  looked  like  to  begin  with..

chapter  two…

every  night  since  your  modeling  debut,  you  scribbled  wishes  of  unity  in  your  journal  until  it  tore  clean  through  the  pages;  thinking  that  if  you  wrote  your  wishes  hard  enough,  made  the  letters  big  and  bold  enough,  maybe  they  would  finally  come  true.  it's  never  going  to  be  enough  -  you  learn  that  the  older  you  get,  when  the  rose-colored  lenses  begin  to  fade  and  the  red  flags  aren’t  as  pink  as  you  initially  thought  them  to  be.  instead  of  harnessing  your  mother’s  affection,  you  discover  a  wider  audience  captive  in  the  palm  of  your  little  hand  -  an  audience  that  loved  you  so  dearly  and  so  purely,  they'd  take  a  bite  out  of  your  plump  rosy  cheeks  and  eat  you  alive  if  they  could.  you  are  a  fashion  icon,  known  to  the  world  as  vivienne  st.  cloud’s  reflection  in  the  mirror.  successful,  beautiful,  and  pioneering  for  your  age  -  but  there  is  no  straying  from  the  fact  that  you’re  starved  for  connection.  you  are  underweight  for  a  love  so  essential,  it’s  almost  too  grotesque  a  reality  to  behold.  the  solution  to  your  loneliness  in  a  tempestuous  world  is  unearthed  where  you  least  expect  it  -  in  the  company  of  dead  poets  and  literature.  

born  from  the  introduction  of  shelley’s  frankenstein’s  monster  was  a  special  kind  of  understanding  of  the  world  you  belonged  to..  you  supposed  you  were  your  mother’s  very  own  post  modern  prometheus  if  you  looked  closely  between  the  break  lines.  a  creation  made  naught  for  individualism  nor  freedom,  but  rather  for  the  company’s  pristine  image.  you  are  chained  away  from  attaining  a  true  sense  of  self  and  your  mother  held  the  key  tightly  in  her  grip.  your  newly  blossomed  love,  still  ripe  and  sickly  sweet,  is  stolen  straight  from  your  fingertips  the  moment  you  are  found  with  your  nose  in  a  book  rather  than  attending  an  important  rehearsal  —that  to  you—  was  as  unnecessary  as  rhyming  was  in  a  free  verse  poem.  it  is  then,  at  the  tender  age  of  thirteen,  that  you  learn  you  have  no  corporeal  identity  outside  of  the  st.  cloud  name,  and  though  your  mother’s  disappointment  stung  more  to  you  than  anything  you’ve  ever  come  to  know,  it  was  fiction’s  affection  that  awakened  the  sleeping  wilderness  nestled  perfectly  within  the  cracks  of  your  soul  -  the  very  thing  your  late  grandmother  once  foresaw  when  she  first  held  you  in  her  arms.

chapter  three…

much  to  your  mother’s  dismay,  you  turned  out  to  be  a  lot  more  clever  than  the  world  gave  you  credit  for  -  smarter  than  she  would  have  ever  preferred.  you’re  fourteen  when  you  realize  just  how  important  being  yourself  was  in  a  household  as  absent  and  domineering  such  as  your  own.  by  the  time  summer  rolled  along,  you  began  to  resemble  a  shakespearean  nymph  in  the  woods  more  than  you  did  a  runaway  model;  feral,  hungry,  and  more  alive  with  the  garden’s  soil  between  your  toes  than  you  were  in  diamond-studded  heels.  you  realize  there  is  power  in  rejecting  everything  your  mother  wanted  you  to  be,  a  beauty  in  taking  the  reins  of  the  chariot  you  liked  to  call  your  fate.  

alas,  mother  hamsters  eat  their  young  when  they’re  penned  in  together  for  too  long;  you  had  become  far  too  curious  for  your  family  to  manage,  too  restless  as  you  passionately  recited  emerson  and  tolstoy  to  your  brother  and  the  maids  atop  of  expensive  kitchen  counters.  you  were  too  hopeful.  too  eager.  you  were  too  much.  it  wasn’t  acceptable  for  a  member  of  the  prestigious  st.  cloud  family  -  you  just  didn’t  belong  amongst  the  new  gods  in  the  gilded  heavens.  you  still  remember  the  chagrin  in  your  mother’s  voice  when  she  spoke  about  you  to  an  unknown  man  -  a  lover,  you  presumed.  it  had  always  been  that  way  for  as  long  as  you  could  remember;  vivienne  against  the  world,  even  against  her  own  flesh  and  blood.  to  her,  fixing  what  she  ignorantly  called  teenage  rebellion  was  as  easy  as  forcing  you  to  skip  a  meals  to  look  perfect  for  the  catwalk  or  as  easy  as  the  grass  was  green  and  the  sky  was  blue.  

before  you  could  muster  up  the  courage  to  utter  out  a  word  defiance,  you  found  yourself  becoming  yet  another  package  on  your  mother’s  delivery  invoice,  priority  shipped  to  a  prestigious boarding  school  in  the  upper  east  side  of  new  york,  somewhere  out  of  sight  and  out  of  worry.  it  was  only  natural  that  grief  stemmed  from  the  wound  in  your  heart  that  once  poured  love  so  effortlessly  into  the  world.  even  though  you  suffered  in  the  face  of  your  desolation,  fitting  in  with  the  crowd  failed  to  be  a  concern  of  yours,  not  when  you  were  the  shiny  new  toy  all  the  other  boys  and  girls  wanted  to  play  with  -  like  something  dropped  from  a  magpie’s  beak  only  to  be  swiftly  snatched  away  the  moment  it  touches  the  ground.  and  as  quick  as  that  grief  overshadowed  you,  three  years  had  somehow  passed  by  in  the  company  of  your  poetry  and  an  old  typewriter  your  english  teacher  gave  you  on  a  loan.  

you’re  three  years  older,  three  years  wiser  and  out  of  that  time,  you  learned  never  to  give  yourself  away  entirely,  to  never  wear  your  heart  on  your  sleeve  again.  unfortunately,  luck  was  never  meant  to  be  eternal,  and  on  the  eve  of  your  eighteenth  birthday,  your  mother  arranged  for  your  eagerly  awaited  return  to  the  industry.  what  you  didn’t  know  how  to  voice,  however,  was  that  you  weren’t  so  sure  you  fit  into  the  st.  cloud  mold  any  longer.  the  future  beckoned  you  to  become  a  poet  someday  -  you  wanted  to  attend  columbia  and  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  ginsberg.  you  wanted  to  spin  stories  about  girls  with  hungry  hearts  and  scuffed  knees  who  grew  up  delphic  and  half-wild,  just  like  yourself.  

chapter  four…

upon  sending  your  applications  all  the  way  from  boarding  school  and  returning  back  to  south  london,  the  first  thing  you  do  is  come  face  to  face  with  your  mother’s  relentlessness.  while  you  were  steadfast  in  your  method  of  approach,  nothing  could  erase  the  memory  of  your  wrathful  matriarch  stomping  on  your  dreams  like  wildflowers  growing  amongst  the  cobblestones.  in  the  face  of  a  grotesque  tragedy,  you  realize  you  have  reached  the  limit  of  your  patience.  it  was  only  when  you  uprooted  yourself  from  the  st.  cloud  lineage  to  pursue  an  education  away  from  the  fashion  industry  that  your  mother  knew  she  lost  all  semblance  of  control  over  you.  she  wasn’t  sure  what  felt  worse:  losing  money  from  the  loss  of  her  fashion  company’s  mascot,  or  failing  to  maintain  that  fraudulent  image  of  a  perfect  family.  whatever  it  was,  you  knew  that  wasn’t  your  problem  anymore.