"No one's coming to help you. Ever", her mother combed through her hair.
She sat with her head down, as if she'd been caught in a snare.
"You were playing with that box again, weren't you? Haven't I told you I hate it when you mess with my things? How hard is it for you to understand?"
She stayed silent. Her head was hurting. The mother was almost ripping her hair out.
She lifted her eyes to look at the pretty box that was placed out of her reach. She had no toys to play with. The box was about the only thing she could admire in that house.
"You nameless child", her mother mocked her, like she usually did when she was angry, "You know why no one named you? Because you didn't deserve it. What good is it giving a name to a girl? What good is a girl, anyway? You can't go to war. Can't pull us out of this shit hole. Your existence is pointless."
She was barely listening to her mother now. She was lost in thoughts of her own.
"You'll suffer here. Like I have. But don't worry, my love", the mother embraced her little body, "You'll die soon."
She paid no heed to the mother.
"Oh, what a wonderful world this is! I'm in love!" her mother was in a state of delirium.
No one but the little girl knew how crazy the mother was. She was the closest to her, after all. The mother couldn't read her mind at all. But the girl was always good at reading people. She knew every habit, every change in tone, every expression of her entire family.
"Your drunk father...I'm going to kill him", the mother said, resting her head on her little shoulder, "I'm going to feed him that puffer fish. That dead one!"
And then she broke into a fit of laughter. The girl sat silently, not finding her mother amusing at all.
"And then I'll cut my throat", her laughter stopped abruptly.
The little girl was used to her crazy behavior. Somehow, no one else had realized how lost in the head the mother was.
"Nicole!", her father's voice rose in the hallway.
"Ah, here he comes, the fat headed drunkard. I hate that sad sod", her mother pushed her away and threw the comb aside, getting up and going outside.
"Where's my sock? I can't find my sock?", her father's voice was heavy and drunk, like usual.
"I washed it. It's drying outside. Might just be dried up, I'll bring it in. Hold on, now", the mother sounded perfectly normal.
"You washed it? Why, you idiotic wench? It was clean! Why'd you wash it, huh?!"
Her mother answered in the most composed way anyone was capable of answering that question. The girl thought it was absurd that the mother kept washing the father's clothes even though he hated it. And then the mother complained how she had wasted her life washing his dirty rags.
She didn't understand why the father didn't leave them and go away when he was so sick of his life.
"If not for you kids", her mother would say, "I'd have left that man and-"
The girl thought it was absurd that they used the kids as an excuse.
She got up and went to the box. It was placed quite high up on a table, that she wasn't capable of reaching just yet.
She tried to climb up, all they possible ways she could. She had no motive to get the box. That made it all the more tempting to try to reach it.
The voices from outside had already turned into a heated argument. All over a sock.
The girl didn't care as long as she could reach the box, as if her life depended on it. That box somehow looked like eternal happiness to her. After a millennia of toiling, she had finally reached it. But just as she was about to back off after grabbing it, something slipped from the table. It was a shard of glass, from some broken window.
It fell right on her face. She fell back. When she tried to look at her hands, blood alone was dripping from her face.
She didn't know when the argument died out or if it did at all.
Two years later, when she could reach the table easily, that shard of glass still hadn't been thrown away.
The box was still in the same place. There was a noticeable scar on her nose, right next to her right eye. The mother had left.
She'd eloped.
And she'd left the box to the girl.
"I'm going to leave soon and build a nice house in a nice place", her brother said one morning.
"What kind of house, Wil?", the little brother jumped up with joy just hearing about his dream.
"A very nice, big house in a big land", Wilbur answered, excitedly, "We'll live there together, Orville."
Orville's face lightened up.
"Finish up before you go out", the girl served breakfast to both of them.
The father wasn't around.
When the brothers went out to do whatever it was they did, she cleaned and cooked and waited till they got home.
And when they did, she took care of them. She had inherited the role of the mother. After all, she was the closest to her mother.
"Nicole!", her father would drop in drunk, forgetting that his wife had already left him.
"Will you eat, father?", the girl would answer instead.
"Where're my clothes? Haven't you washed them? Why can't you do a simple job?! Wash my damn clothes, dammit!"
He'd throw a tantrum if his clothes weren't washed, pressed, and put away in the most proper manner.
Every day was the same. The girl felt life dulling away.
"I found a huge beetle!", Orville's every day adventures were the only thing keeping her together.
She was happy when he told her his stories.
When Wilbur left the house an year later, Orville cried. But in the end, his sister was there, acting as his mother, his father, and his brother.
The girl forgot about life. She was living only for Orville. His food, his sleep, his happiness, that was all that mattered to her. Orville was her best friend. And she was his. She tried to be as perfect as Wilbur but she knew nothing would truly replace Wilbur in Orville's heart.
She was fine as long as Orville could still be happy.
An year later, she was 13 then, Wilbur showed up.
"Do you want to come with me, Orville?"
The girl knew Orville would never choose her over Wilbur despite all those years of devotion. And so it happened.
Orville didn't look back even once.
She stood in the doorway without any reason to exist anymore. The mother was right.
"I found a way!", her father announced, coming home that day, "A place for you to make money!"
She stared at him, agape.
"The war! The war!"
She understood that he was selling her off. He'd get enough to get by for a month or two, perhaps.
All she had when she left that house was the box her mother had left her. The uniform didn't fit her. No one cared. She was 13 when she first saw the slaughters right in front of her.
First, she got rid of her long hair that her mother had nurtured amidst care and ripping them out. They were light colored, just like her mother. And Orville.
If she couldn't fight, she ran. She kept moving just so she wouldn't get hit. Why was she so adamant on living? Why didn't she take the easy way out? What reason did she have to go on? Did she have anything to look back on? Was there a home she could return to? Was anyone waiting for her?
She knew all the answers but she mindlessly fought, holding on as if she had a future.
"Who will remember me?", a soldier's cries, that she overheard, awakened a spirit in her.
She went to see his face and carve it into her memory. She could almost see herself in him.
"I will."
The soldier broke into uncontrollable tears. She watched him till his final moments, so she could remember it all.
But there was no end. It felt like she'd been fighting for years, perpetually.
Until one day, she found herself in a lone field, filled with corpses and blood as far as the eye could see. She felt like burying herself among them and never returning again.
But then she saw a figure standing in the distance. She walked up to it. It stood tall and foreign. She thought it was a god or someone sent by a god.
"What do you wish for?", the tall figure asked her, with a solemn, all-knowing look on his face.
Her blood painted face looked up at his face. It was gentle, but hardened by time.
"Freedom."
"Are you sure?", he asked, his face looked like he was mourning.
"I want wings...to fly", she muttered.
"Freedom in this world is a curse", the figure answered, "This freedom will bring you nothing but eternal misery and an end that will bring down all else along with you."
She remained silent. It seemed like nothing else could effect her anymore.
The figure saw in her eyes that she wasn't going to back down. He wore a grave face. But then he extended his hand and placed it on her head. He tilted his head to look into her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Lady", the figure said, as if foreseeing everything.
Her story got spun into the tale of a witch. A little witch that had slaughtered an army to summon a wish granting mage or a demon. And that mage granted her wish with a prophecy that she'll destroy the world twenty years later.
Whether that was going to happen or not, the real girl ended the war two years later. She was 17 when the war ended. By then, she'd seen far too many battlefields where she was the only survivor.
"Iris, there's an idiot that wants to meet you today", General Bardock entered the huge office room.
"If only you hadn't taken my name, Bard", she pouted.
"Well, what am I to do now, anyway?"
"Indecisive as ever. I can't believe you're going to be leading this country", she shook her head, closing the book in her hand.
"Oh, for goodness sake, not now. I won't be leading this country alone. You'll be here too", Bardock answered, putting his cigar out on a window sill, "Now, will you meet this man or not?"
"Send some lad in my place. Don't send the one you sent last time. Isn't he too haughty?", she replied carelessly.
"They all are. War's over and they're the military. They basically think they're heroes, each and every one of them. But most of them haven't even seen the battleground at all."
"Central has nothing but pigs and chickens, after all", she sighed.
Her uniform was custom made. It fit her perfectly. She had honorary badges and stars on her shoulder. And her heavy fur coat rested on her shoulders too.
But most importantly, she had a name now.