An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
There was nothing that you hated more than missing your target. You were a competitive girl, someone who aimed for perfection... and when you didn't succeed, you easily became frustrated. Fortunately, you had worked to become the best. To some, you were, indeed, the best. You had earned that title through your hard work and determination. Despite your sassy nature and short fuse, you were still a diligent learner who tackled your goals obstacle by obstacle. Unlike many girls your age, you weren't afraid to get down and dirty.
Your parents thought that you were hopeless, that you would never live to become the prissy lady that they wanted you to be. As much as you hated to displease them, you couldn't help it. The frilly and perfumed life was not for you. You had a wild spirit, and they had better accept it. Very possibly against his better judgment, your younger brother had carved you a bow. You secretly bought arrows with a bit of spare gold and practiced this art of archery on your own.
A small grunt of effort grazed past your lips as you let an arrow loose. You loved the feeling of strain in your arm as you drew the string of the bow backwards. In just a blink of an eye, you saw that your arrow had hit its mark, and the halves of an apple from the tree tumbled to the ground. You stepped forward, picking up both halves, one in each hand. Upon seeing that they weren't split perfectly, you growled in frustration.
So close... you seethed mentally. So close but yet so far away. As hard as you worked, you still had difficulty making every arrow hit its target. You slumped against the trunk of the tree, biting into one of the apple halves. You would have to practice some more. Perhaps you could find some time to come out before dinner... would you parents become suspicious?
Probably. With a growl of frustration, you chewed and swallowed, knowing that your mother and father would be quite upset if they found out that you were practicing archery behind their backs. Only your brother knew, and you planned on keeping it that way.
Part of you wished that you could be more like your sister. She was younger than you by four years, but she was the crowned jewel of the family, the one who everyone seemed proud of. Your parents would gladly introduce her to their friends at parties, while they kept you hidden in the back. You didn't mind so much because you didn't like these formal occasions to begin with, but it was their shame and frustration that upset you.
You only wanted them to be proud of you, to smile when they said your name. However, you didn't want that if you couldn't earn their satisfaction by faking who you were. You couldn't be the person who they wanted you to be, but you had yet to find a way to make them see that.