"You don't always have to be strong for me. I know you can't fix everything, and I love you anyway."

*

*

*

NAME

Marie Karin O'Hara

↓↓

marie (mah-REE) - she loves her name and its definition- which is star of the sea. When she was younger, Marie imagined an actual star over the sea, and still prefers her imagination to another plausible definition, which was a starfish. They kind of creep her out to be honest- any animal without a face does.

karin (kah-RIN) - a lovely gift from her Obaachan, who was not satisfied with just the one grandchild with a Japanese, food based middle name. Hers means quince, a fruit which is known to be tough, ugly, and difficult to prepare, but sweet and delicate on the inside when made correctly. Marie hopes there isn't a metaphor there.

o'hara - it does help her feel a bit like a princess, to know she was once distantly related to royalty. Marie is proud of her family and all they've been through, though it is annoying when people ask if she's adopted.

NICKNAMES

mare - she doesn't insist on nicknames, especially when her name is already so small, but some of her friends like to shorten it even more.

mary - this is less of a nickname than just what people call her when they get her name wrong. She doesn't really mind, and won't bother correcting them- she knows what they mean, and Marie knows how embarrassing it can be to be corrected. This did lead to a confusing argument, however, when her friends from art class met her friends from school, and they realized they said her name differently. 'Why didn't you tell us?' was kind of hard to explain, so she just went with 'it's basically a nickname by now, don't worry about it.'

mare-bear / kare-bear / mary-karie square bear - curtesy of her family (specifically her sister). Bridgette reserves the last one for special occasions (like when she wants to annoy her sister or get her attention). Marie doesn't mind the overly saccharine nicknames- as long as they stay in the house and as far away from her school and friends as possible.

GENDER

Female (she/her/hers)

AGE

14

(born August 23rd 2006)

this makes her an Earth element Virgo, which means she is disciplined, generous, and trustworthy. Marie is very into horoscopes and zodiacs at the moment ('did you know I'm the year of the dog? Makes sense, that's what the Harry Potter website said my Patronus was last year') and finds it fun to ask each new friend for their birthday so they can learn more about each other. Her sister (a Leo in denial) teases her relentlessly for it.

'Stop telling people I like attention you little pest, you're projecting your star cult nonsense onto me.' she'd glare, but it was one of her glares that had a bit of a smile in it, so Marie would only giggle.

'For someone who likes looking at constellations, you sure don't seem to believe in them.'

'The day they start talking to me, maybe I'll listen. Or you can check me in to a mental hospital.'

ETHNICITY

Half Filipino, a quarter Japanese, an eighth Spanish and an eighth Irish, Marie's background is a mixed bag. She likes to talk about it when asked, proud of her family and how adventurous and inclusive it is, filled with stories from so many different cultures.

She's been told she looks 'less Asian' than the rest of her family a few times before. She'll give them a small smile, not exactly sure what they were expecting in response, especially uncomfortable when the person says it like a compliment. Matched with her difficulties with Japanese, sometimes she feels like she needs to prove her own heritage, speaking Tagalog to her mom and sister whenever she can in public, volunteering at her Obaachan's until her Gyoza is sealed tight, and nodding along to her sister's ranting about one of her classmates speaking exaggerated fake Chinese to her as she walked the halls. 

NATIONALITY

American

APPEARANCE

Mari Fukushi

(okay so this was actually a complete fluke, I was worried about finding a faceclaim with the same ethnicity as Bridgette's so I looked up whether the model had a younger sister, and it turns out SHE DOES and she's also a model and has a name almost the same to what I already gave the character!! Anyway coincidences are crazy) 

Her eyes are big and expressive, and almost always smiling. They have a way of looking into people, thoughtful and deep and probably unnerving to a more private person. Her hair is thin and straight, a brown with hints of red in it. She didn't care for styling, so it had just fallen past her shoulders, until a few months ago when a bunch of strangers gave her a make-over 'to fully accentuate her goddess-given beauty.' So now she has bangs and knows how it feels to have her eyebrows plucked. There are currently cuts running up her right hand and arm, deep ones that will most certainly leave a scar.

OUTFIT

This isn't her actual fashion sense please don't judge her

Soon after she arrived to the cult, Marie was pulled into a tent and every inch of her was measured. The white summer dress chosen for her was tightened around her ribs to highlight her 'womanly figure,' and she was stitched in to the point where it was half-corset. It limited her range of motion and made laboured breathing difficult, to the point that Marie was convinced that it was all by design. Where they had found dozens of untarnished, clean lace dresses at this point in the apocalypse, she did not ask about or care. It was one of their many customs, that Marie would wear the same dress the colour of purity everyday, until she gave herself over to a 'ritual.' The accumulation of filth was meant to pressure them into giving in, she was sure- she was not able to take the dress off without help.

So when she finally escaped, shivering in the light, beautiful dress, she sought more clothes. Marie found a pair of cargo pants three sizes too big for her, which she tied tightly around her waist with a length of rope. She cut the skirt off the dress and used that fabric as a bag, but she still wasn't able to remove the bodice. She also found beige boots too big for her, and stuffs the toes with newspaper she found lying around to prevent blisters. A pink sweater that says 'I went to area 51 and all I got was this lousy sweater' in big white block letters completes the look, which she layers on top of the bodice to keep from freezing to death in the night. During the warm heat of the day, she ties the sweater's arms around her waist. Bandages are sloppily wrapped around her right hand and arm (made from parts of her dress), due to injuries from her escape.

PERSONALITY

It is very hard to anger this O'Hara. At any given point she's closer to tears than a scowl, but a smile is usually what you'll find on her face. Criticisms or harsh words roll right off her back when she knows they have less to do with her and more to do with the person who wants to make her feel terrible. Comments about her looks don't bother her- but she does have her sore spots, and finds tears hard to avoid when they're hit. And if whoever's insulting her adds yelling to the mix- then she'll most definitely start crying. Marie hates getting yelled at, even more so because she can't control how her eyes well up. It embarrasses her, how easily she cries.

Marie spends a lot of time being embarrassed by herself. She thinks she's too stupid, too sensitive, and too much of a coward. She thinks people see her as a lovable idiot that needs protecting from the world, and she hates it. Marie is more quiet than the rest of her loud family, sitting back and listening as the rest of their voices battle for dominance. She likes to be a spectator, to observe the world around her and daydream with her vivid imagination. She sees art and beauty in everything, a true 'stop and smell the roses' type. 

For someone who thinks so much, you'd assume she was a cautious planner- and you would be wrong. A lifetime of other people holding her back, of people saying 'let me go first,' of people cautious enough for the two of them (cough *Bridgette* cough), has made her pretty reckless. The 'I'll figure it out when I get there' kind of reckless, where every plan seems like a good one and every instinct is as good as a plan. The need to constantly prove herself as able and intelligent, that she isn't as weak as she looks, makes her some sort of daredevil. 'Do you think I could climb that wall with only one hand? I bet I could do it.'

Her particular brand of optimism keeps her from overthinking what-ifs or the thousands of reasons something could be dangerous. It can be detrimental, but Marie always sees the humanity in people- the potential they have to be their best. Her friend Angela calls her a saint in the way she deals with the prickliest of people. 'Don't saints usually suffer and die young?' Alex will add helpfully, which sparks a debate/argument that Marie will watch with a smile. 

Marie understands people in a way that fourteen year old's usually find difficult to grasp. She makes friends easily through her special gift of making a person feel seen. Her words touch souls and the pain she finds there, and Marie has spent more than one afternoon listening and affirming as her friends burst into tears. She can see the pain, and she wants to help. To be useful, and to not be the one crying this time.

Only a week after she started taking art classes, Marie had gone up to her teacher and told her that she appreciated the extra time he took to help her learn the craft. That he was very patient, and nurturing, and good with kids. Marie remembered how he had brightened after a whole day of anxiousness and dourness, thanking her and then opening up that he was going to have his first child soon unexpectedly, and was not sure if he was ready. They talked awhile, and Marie assured him that he would be better than his own father, that his anxiety meant he cared so much, and that he would have the woman he loved alone with him every step of the way.

People just opened up to Marie- Bridgette called it the 'puppy-dog eye effect.' Kindness was one of the few things Marie was a natural at, so she used it to combat almost anything that comes at her. Sometimes this doesn't work (smiling at the girl who tells every new kid that she's the dumbest in their grade won't make her stop), but Marie doesn't know what else to do- she isn't courageous like Bridgette, straightforward like her mother, or the master of deflection like her father. 

Marie has a calm disposition about her, a wise chillness beyond her years. Her swirling insecurities and frustration lay below the surface, where few people are able to spot it, and most believe her to be laid-back and kind. 

LIKES

cooking

She grew up in Osaka's Specials, stretching up on her tiptoes to watch the flash of her Obaachan's knife as she skillfully sliced up Yuzu and Momo, reaching out with her small hands for a bowl she could mix. Food meant flavour and creation, and cooking with family meant warmth, it meant holding her breath while her Obaachan taste-tested her first Onigiri, and long, playful arguments about whether a dish required more salt. Marie spent far more time in the kitchen than her sister did, discovering a passion and love for food that rivaled her Obaachan's. It was a way to bond with her grandparents, and to connect to the culture that otherwise seemed so out of her reach.

drawing and painting

She likes to create, to use her imagination to make something beautiful. Even if her drawings weren't that beautiful in the beginning, they still held stories that demanded to be explored. Instead of writing reminders for herself, Marie draws little doodles on sticky notes. Her school notes are filled with more pictures than words (not all of them related to the school subject). Marie's writing is so stilted and ugly, so she prefers her drawings.

astrology | personality quizzes | movies | the colour purple | skateboarding | rainy days | keeping things clean and organized | swearing (when Bridgette's in earshot)

DISLIKES

being coddled/ spoken to like a child 

Marie should be grateful to have a family that cares for her so much, and truly, she is. But they could be stifling at times. 'Can you read that sign for us, mare-bear?' got old by the time she was eleven- sometimes she feels like she's on the set of Dora The Explorer with how often her parents use the 'kid-voice' with her. She gets it, they're trying to keep the pressure and desperation from their voices, but it grates on her. Maybe that's why she appreciates Bridgette's brand of humor, which really takes no prisoners.

creepy crawlies

Yuck yuck gross gross, how is she supposed to know those things have a soul if she can't look into their eyes? She hates the feeling of them on her skin, hates when they buzz around her head, and will scream if there's a spider in her room. Does this speak to how sheltered she is? Perhaps.

not understanding | yelling | her own crying | books | small spaces | people touching her without her permission (new development :( ) | people mistreating others

"'Damn' doesn't count as a swear word, Bri. They say it in church.'

*

*

*

STRENGTHS

charming

People like to be around those who make them feel good, and sometimes Marie can feel like a balm for the soul. She inspires loyalty and protectiveness in others, and though she wishes she was more independent and self-reliant, Marie is never usually short allies or friends.

resilience

Her optimism helps her face hopeless situations with a determination to get past it. Marie has been shouldering frustration and failure all her life, and was used to the feeling by now. Her imagination is one way she copes, with one-sided conversations with her parents (who aren't gone if her mind doesn't let them go), and days on the warm beach when her teeth are chattering from the night-time cold

emotionally mature | agile | resourceful | observant | quick thinker

WEAKNESSES

"I'm sorry, I'm really trying..."

she's dyslexic

Ever since she could remember, words have been a puzzle that is impossible to decode. Progress has been extremely slow, and it takes a lot of time and concentration still for her to be able to sound words out. Through her schooling she's learned a few tricks, but her dyslexia is pretty severe and trying to read just makes her dizzy and frustrated. Her writing is even worse, and she's embarrassed by all her spelling errors and hand-writing.

her insecurities

Marie never feels more hopeless or close to giving up when a situation calls for her to believe in her abilities- especially when they're abilities she doesn't believe she has. By grade eight, she'd given up on timed quizzes entirely, sketching gardens where she was supposed to be writing answers, putting it right in the trash when her time was up. There was only so much disappointment she could have in herself, and her snail's pace of progress didn't cut it. Nothing makes her shrink into herself as much as being reminded of her incompetence. She doesn't believe in herself, and it limits her.

not very physically strong | reckless | easily frightened of what she doesn't know | short (yes this is a weakness, she cannot reach the top shelf)

MUTATIONS

Marie had felt more lost and hopeless than she ever had after she, Bridgette, and Zach settled in the blue house. She floated aimlessly in misery and grief, moving aside a layer of ash so that she could plant a garden, wandering to the nearest torn up ghost town to wander, picking up pieces of glass and rubble. Sometimes they cut her hands, but Marie was adamant on hoarding all of the beauty left in the world that she could find. She twisted wiring and glued glass to make her creations, sculptures she placed on windowsills that reflected the setting sun just so, that reminded her and her new family every day that creation was still possible after so much destruction.

Bridgette didn't know she went into the town- in fact, when Marie first started going out she told her not too. But Bri would tell her not to turn a page too quickly if she thought it'd give Marie a papercut, and every time she'd been so far there was no one else in sight, so she continued.

One day when she was scavenging for beauty, Marie found something extraordinary. It was a stone, smooth and cool to the touch, that was painted a beautiful bright blue. Intricate swirls and whorls of pale green decorated the surface, delicate and perfect. Even in the midst of the devastated town it remained untarnished and pretty. She had to bring it home with her.

Marie figured that someone had painted the stone before the bombs dropped, in the last bit of stillness before the world exploded. For some reason, she wanted to keep it to herself, as if it held within it that stillness, frozen from another time, and with too much disruption, the illusion would shatter. A time when all of her family and friends were still alive, when someone would see a rock and be inspired to take it home to decorate it.

Marie hid it under her pillow like a secret, taking it out before bed to trace the design made by a hopeful heart. A reminder from before grounded her in the present, and she slowly began to talk more and smile more.

But the stone hadn't been from before. It had just been a regular rock before it, and all nearby plants and animals, absorbed immense radiation and turned very unnatural colours. A group of humans found this place, with animals that acted far too aware and plant-life that could move on its own, and believed that the war must not have been the end of everything, but the beginning in a new stage of evolution. They worshipped everything from this place, even the multi-coloured stones, believing that it gave them special powers. When members of this cult had to leave their sacred place, they each brought a stone, on which they painted ritualistic designs.

So what Maria found was not some doomed child's art project, but a radioactive stone. After a month of sleeping with it beneath her, weird things started happening to her vision. When she walked up and said good morning to her sister, something like smoke swirled above her head, blurry and black and gone before she could make sense of it. Marie didn't tell Bridgette- she knew how much her sister was prone to worry, and Bri had done her fair share of worrying as she took care of all three of them.

She questioned Zach about it instead. Did he see the smoke above his and Bri's heads too? It's probably fine, don't worry, and please don't tell my sister. Everyday the smoke sharpened, until she realized what they really were- words, the puzzles that she'd spent her whole life decoding. They appeared and disappeared so quickly that she had no chance of reading them- it took her a week to realize that these words were Zach and Bridgette's thoughts, through the way they would speed up when Bridgette look troubled, and the way they grew in size when Zach and her sister had an argument.

She thinks her real mutation must be irony. The words are useless to her- they are a constant reminder of how incompetent she is, a distraction as they fight for her attention. Marie still doesn't know what caused the mutation, and wasn't able to scrape up enough courage to tell Bri about it before she was taken.

LANGUAGES

She's fluent in English and Tagalog, though she knows more words in English. She can't read or write Tagalog, and can only read and write English very slowly, with a lot of concentration.

She does not speak as much Japanese as her Obaachan wishes she did. The language had always been tough for her to learn, and though her Obaachan tried tricking her into thinking she spoke nothing but Japanese for the first six years of her life, she ultimately gave up when realizing her immersion did not speed up Maria's dismal progress. She knows just enough to have a very bland conversation- and she is very knowledgeable in the Japanese names for types of food.

She knows a few Gaelic words, and remembers the especially funny sounding ones, like gobshite and mcgubligan (macgublagan?). Seeing as they were brought through her family in oral tradition, no one really knows how to spell whatever their grandpa's saying when he's making fun of the way boys wear their pants these days- which makes her like them even more. They're a mystery to the rest of her family in the way that every other word is a mystery to her.

"I only have yellow and black paint left, so I can either paint you a bumblebee or... yeah whatever I try to draw will end up looking like a bumblebee anyway, so that's what we're going with."

*

*

*

BACKSTORY

Marie was born the youngest in the family, and it has stayed that way her whole life. They had no first cousins, and the second and third that they spoke to were already kids when she was born, so Marie has perpetually been the baby of the family. This was great when she was actually a baby- plenty of attention at any family gathering, and the moment she opened her mouth to wail, there would be three different binky's offered to her.

This gave her the potential to become quite the spoiled toddler- full of tantrums and screaming and parents that gave in far too easily- but it wasn't in little Marie's nature. Her father remarked with relief on how little she cried, content to lie there with wide eyes and a calm disposition. It was a far cry from their past experiences with parenthood (which was, in Bridgette's case, unbridled chaos) and Althea and Makoto called her their little angel.

The only issue was her complete contentedness in staying quiet.

'Can you say mama for me, anghel? Nanay?'

'No, you don't want to give her the satisfaction, do you tenshi? Dada is more fun to say.'

Althea would shove him with a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. How old were babies supposed to be when they said their first word? Bridgette had been a year old when she finally said mama, followed closely by dada and the infamous 'why'. Marie was coming up to two years quick, and the most they got out of her was happy babbling.

'Stop your worrying Althea-chan. The child will develop at her own pace. Makoto took six years to be toilet trained, and he turned out fine.'

'How is it that something I can't even remember keeps being mentioned against my good character?'

'You might not remember it son, but I'm the one who had to clean up after. I remember that.'

Even if the grandparents (mainly Chiasa) assured them that it would all work out, they fretted like new parents were wont to do. As a stay-at-home mom, Althea had nothing to do but worry, and spoke to her quiet little baby as much as she could, alternating between English and Tagalog.

'Why won't she talk?' Bridgette frowned one day, poking Marie's sides as if that would help her learn fluency.

'Bridgette Rosamie, maging banayad sa sanggol!' Althea snapped, stressed and frustrated and at her wit's end. Bridgette's face closed and she crossed her arms, striding from the room with that fiery look in her eyes that hid tears. Althea sighed, sinking to the ground and feeling like the worst mother in the world. Then little Marie toddled over.

She looked over at her mom, shuffled closer, and lifted her little hands up to Althea's crumpled face. She remembers looking into the big eyes of her tiny baby, eyes deeper than anyone she's ever known. They stared at each other, then Marie opened her mouth. 'Happy. Happy, mama.' And then she was. Althea let out a choked sob, bringing her baby close in her arms. She apologized to her eldest daughter, called up everyone she knew with the good news, and never stopped smiling the whole day. Maybe that was the day Marie learned the power of words, because she'd done her best to bring people joy with them ever since.

Marie had a happy childhood, beloved by everyone she came into contact with, told she had an 'old soul' before she even knew what it meant, under the protective umbrella of her entire family. When she wiggled in the arms of one family member, she was passed on to another, never letting her dainty feet hit the ground when all she really wanted to do was run.

The coddling only got worse when they realized she was a late bloomer when it came to reading too- and exactly why that was. Dyslexia didn't mean anything to Marie when she was a second grader who still couldn't write her own name. She thought part of the challenge of reading was trying to wrangle the sounds that flipped around, to clean up the phonetics that bled into one another.

Althea had wanted to return to her job as a pilot once Marie was in full-time school- but now she knew her child had a disability, and there was no way she would let her struggle alone. Althea researched online on what to do, and came up with a year long plan.

Mrs. O'Hara set up an IEP for her with the school, read aloud with her every day after school, and encouraged her to read on her own. After a year of progress, Althea was confident enough to go back to work, and dedicated less time to helping her. This was a good plan, but unfortunately, Marie had a tendency to resort to frustrated tears many times at the beginning of the year, and quickly formed a dislike of reading of all sorts. It surrounded her every morning at school, then the moment she was home, up until she went to bed. So Marie had cheated- she lied about finishing books she read independently. When her mother read aloud to her, Marie focused on memorizing her words, on where she paused to turn the page. She could 'read' back any of the books Althea had gone through with her first. So where Althea saw progress, there actually was very little.

Her progress in school was, unfortunately, very slow. They gave her assignments audibly when they could, but they couldn't teach every lesson twice just for her, and anything written on the bored would be missed. She couldn't write notes, though she tried very hard. Her mind moved quickly but her comprehension was slow, so Marie was prone to daydreaming in the middle of lessons, missing all that the teacher said.

'An O'Hara like Bridgette? Oh she was one of my top students, and I hear she's gunning for student council president next year. Sit up front Miss Marie, and I'm sure Bridgette will have competition from you soon enough.'

Every year, trailing in the wake of Bridgette's excellence, it was the same. Marie couldn't even hope to get the same grades her sister did, saw the furrow between her teacher's eyebrows as they handed her back the first fail of the year, felt a familiar shame rise up to choke her. She sat in the back of classrooms, away from eyes that would look at her and wonder what happened between one sister and the next.

Bridgette trying to help her just made it worse.

'I don't get it, okay, I just don't understand! I'm trying, but I'm not like you!' Marie had blown up at her one day, after one too many 'come on, you can do it, just try again's. She blew up very rarely, and ashamed tears sprung to her eyes the moment her yell stopped echoing.

Bridgette just pursed her lips before saying, 'I'll go get mom.'

Then Marie cried her eyes out all over her mom, who rocked her back and forth like the baby she was, who cried when she was frustrated and couldn't even read. 'You are smart, sinta, you will get it.' She would whisper, and Marie would cry harder because she didn't believe her.

There were a few Mary's in her grade five class, so a few of the girls took it upon themselves to clear things up.

'There's sporty Mary, short-haired Mary, and,' Sheila smirked as she pointed from one to the other, then landed at Marie, 'empty-brained Mary!' She and her friends laughed, and Marie had to turn her head so they couldn't see the tears gathering in her eyes. She didn't want to be so stupid she couldn't read. She couldn't help losing focus in the middle of class, where she couldn't read the board anyway.

'Don't listen to her, Mary O. My father has dyslexia. I know it's tough.' Her friend, Mary H (sporty Mary) tried to reassure her. But tough didn't seem a big enough word for how immense the challenge was to Marie.

"Yeah, you're kind Mary, if anything!' Mary L (short-haired Mary) turned around to interject with a smile. 'Sheila's just jealous you've got more friends than her.'

But it didn't feel like jealousy when Sheila broke into laughter every time Marie was called on in class and couldn't answer correctly. It didn't feel like it when there was something new scribbled on her desk every day, more words taunting her because they probably said stuff like 'empty-brained' and 'idiot' but she didn't even know.

Maybe she should have stood up for herself. But she heard from some of her classmates that Sheila's parents were going through a rough divorce. Marie knew what lashing out looked like- Sheila was just in pain- and she told herself she could take it. She didn't want to be a weak cry baby.

Her self-confidence wilted with every snicker at her failures, every comment about how dumb she was- until Marie began believing it too. She avoided academics where she could, even topics of potential interest to her, since she knew she would be setting herself up for failure. Marie threw herself into art and the restaurant, hung out with her friends more, and even picked up skateboarding.

Her father signed her up for art classes. Althea was not happy with it.

'She should be focusing on her reading and writing. Her grades are slipping to the point where she might need to be held back next year! Life's just going to keep getting harder for her, we need to help her develop now.'

'Making her read and write all day everyday isn't helping her, Althea. She's frustrated and burnt out and she needs some enjoyment in her life. Something to restore her confidence in herself. She needs a break.'

Marie listened from behind the door. Her parents were fighting because of her. And, predictably, her eyes started welling up.

'You know I'm just worried, Makoto. Her condition is very severe.'

'I know, Mahal. But just let her try it out. It could help her.'

And it did, a little bit. Marie didn't feel like her tears were on the verge of spilling every day, and her frustration dissipated when she was engrossed in bringing her imagination to life. All her extracurriculars let her breathe, a little less stifled from the family she loved.

And then, the world stopped making sense. Her family was cleaved apart and cleaved together, with mom moving out, Obaachan and grandpa moving across the world, and Lolo and Lola moving in. Marie had long talks with her father, reminiscing about the parents he missed, telling him that mom would be so proud of the way he was taking care of her parents. She watched Bridgette's anger at the world grow daily, and didn't know what to do to make it better. Marie tried putting on Bri's favourite rom-com's to watch together, tried painting her a picture of daffodils around the sun, and it got her to smile for a bit. But then her gaze would return to the window, her jaw would clench, and she'd get a faraway look that Marie just couldn't follow.

When the incident with Lola happened, Marie was the only one far enough from anger to insist she get Bridgette ice for her own wounds.

'Where were the police?! We should call them immediately, do you remember what they looked like?'

'You think they're going to help us right now dad? We look like the enemy, the police aren't going to go through all the trouble to find a bunch of white kids based on what I say! There's no law anymore, this country's going to shit!'

'Bridgette Rosamie! That's enough. Go take a walk and cool down, your Lola doesn't need to hear you speak like that right now.' Their father raised his voice, which meant that he was at his wits end too. The two of them would build off each other like a powder keg. So Bridgette stomped out of the room, and Marie followed with the ice packs.

The bombing happened. Marie doesn't remember much but a lot of fear and a lot of numbness. The trek to find the blue house, which was a sanctuary of sorts. Zach, who Marie wouldn't talk to after the first week of meeting him, but who she became fast friends with after. For months, routine had made things almost okay.

Then something dark and ugly started creeping into their sanctuary. Marie didn't know what it was, but she almost began tiptoeing around the house. It permeated the air when she was in a room with both Bridgette and Zach- it felt a lot like anger. And frustration. And something more oppressive that she couldn't name, that made her feel a little sick to her stomach. She thought she could see a bit of it in Zach's eyes when he looked at her sister.

The tension made her nervous and anxious, and she was carrying all of the conversations for awhile. She wanted to make this better, but her instincts told her she couldn't- that it was something her two companions had to figure out. Marie was almost relieved when Zach announced that he was moving out- except she wasn't, because right now he was her only friend other than Bridgette and 'do you really have to go?' She thought she'd never see him again. She wished she was right. Marie didn't even know she'd been kidnapped until she woke up on the side of the road with bound feet and wrists.

Marie doesn't want to think about her time with the cult. She doesn't want to think about how she woke up without her sister and a new Zach, who wouldn't talk to her or look at her and ignored her pleas for help. Was this the same Zach who had sang her to sleep when she was having nightmares? Who would smile and say that the dinner she made was delicious, even when they all knew it wasn't? It couldn't be. She was alone with a strange man and not-Zach, who wouldn't answer when she asked where Bridgette was. Who just ignored her when she cried. Who hit her hard on the back of the head when she tried to run.

It wasn't until a week into their travels that it occurred to her that her sister might be dead. Bridgette would never stop fighting, not ever, and she would never let anyone take Marie. Did she fight these men? Did they put a bullet between her eyes when they figured she was more trouble then she was worth? Marie cried even harder, and the man snapped that she was going to dehydrate herself. But it didn't matter- Marie had never had a gift for stopping her tears, and she wouldn't be stopping now.

She arrived, a mess, to the cult camp. Which she would rather not remember. Marie was there for three weeks when she escaped (she had to get out of there, there was no other choice because she told them she was a late bloomer, and had never had her period, but they would find out the truth soon).

As she did in all places, Marie made a friend at the camp. His name was Frank, he was older than her father was the day he died, and he worshipped the ground she walked on. She asked him what his life was like before the bombing, and learned that he had lived alone, scorned by his brother for his inability to ever get a girlfriend. Usually, Marie would want to make him feel better, to assure him that he didn't need a girlfriend to be whole and happy. But given that his lonely life, coupled with intense trauma had led him to the life of kidnapping girls, and that she was at the mercy of him and the rest of the cultists, any sympathy in her withered. He creeped her out, and hated his insistence to grab her hands and kiss them in greeting every time he saw her.

She told him some things too. 'I love flowers, you know. It makes me sad, though, to have not seen my favourites since I joined the commune.' Frank would eagerly ask what kind was her favourite, telling her that he would be honoured to bring some for her. 'Would you Frank? That would be so kind of you.' Marie would force herself to smile big. She wasn't used to faking emotion, but Frank was easy to convince. 

'Do you know a lot about flowers? I could tell you its name.' Frank frowned and shook his head, and Marie was relieved. 'Hmm.' She pretended to think. 'If you bring me a pencil and some paper, I could draw it for you.' Frank's eyes lit up, but before he ran off, he hesitated. 'I would be dedicating a lot of my time to this mission. It may even be dangerous. I of course want to make you happy, little goddess, but I would do my very best work knowing a reward waited for me back home.' 

His eyes slowly roved over her, and Marie felt sick. She couldn't make herself smile again. 'You are my closest companion here, Frank. I would be honoured to complete my first ritual with you.' Marie choked out. Then she knew that she really had to succeed.

Marie is very grateful that her sister loves flowers so much- and that she went through a phase a few years ago trying to learn all about those which could also be used as poisons. 'Purely for curiosity sake' she had assured her parents when they began to become concerned. Whenever Marie had gotten bored and didn't know what to draw, Bridgette would usually suggest flowers, taking the opportunity to talk her ear off on which ones held her fancy that month. She had a whole page in her sketchbook dedicated to the poisonous ones, which made the pink oleander easy to sketch.

'It's fragile, Frank, so please take care not to touch it. Wrap it in this.' Marie gave him a handkerchief before he left. Discovering that the plant itched to hold would ruin her plan before it even begin. In the days after he left, Marie told some of her other friends how much she missed cooking. Under their steady eyes, she proved that she knew what she was doing, that she could make canned beans taste like a delicacy. Soon enough, the entire camp wanted a taste.

Marie's panic mounted as the days went on and Frank was nowhere to be found. She'd be getting her period any day, which meant she would be intended to someone, and then she'd be off of cooking duties, waited on day and night by her intended until she was 'fertile.'

Frank returned with the right flowers, and Marie almost cried in happiness. Those watching her didn't even blink as she generously added the pink oleander to the camp's dinner 'for flavour.' They trusted her judgement at that point, and really, what could she do? She was a harmless little thing who cried for days after she arrived, too meek to protest as she was torn from her clothes and sown into new ones. Marie went around camp that day to offer her meal to those on watch as well, claiming that it was her best dish yet.

It started with one woman's dizzy spell, then snowballed until everyone was too busy vomiting, passing out, or getting diarrhea to watch her, so Marie ran. She had no supplies- those who watched her would have known something was up if she started hoarding food. All she had was her feet, and the clothes on her back that squeezed her lungs so hard that it made her light-headed. Marie got to the electric fence and picked up a sharp rock, one she had painted 'for decoration' before placing at the border. Her arm was sore and throbbing by the time she busted through the lock, and managed to squeeze through the exit. Her right arm and hand got caught on the warped metal on the way out, and tore pieces of skin from her as she frantically pulled herself, desperate to be free.

After that, she ran and ran, looking back over her shoulder every moment of every day and wondering how she was ever going to find Bridgette. If she was even still alive. But no, she couldn't think that way. She tried to think of those she left behind even less- like whether the poison had actually killed anyone, and if it had been one of the girls, captured and there against their will just like her. Some nights, the guilt eats her alive. 

WORD ON THE STREET

She just escaped a week ago, so those outside the camp likely wouldn't know who this wide-eyed, skittish girl is. Those who recovered from her poisoning are probably looking for her- to take her back. The damage she did likely made them bitter, and Marie is guessing that if they find her, they will have a lot less patience.

COMPANIONS

Currently none

INVENTORY

She used the fabric from her skirt to make a sack, and carried a water bottle and some cans of food that she's managed to salvage in it.

THEME SONGS

Paradise - Coldplay

Lamb's Wool - Foster the People

Wild Roses - Of Monsters and Men

Cry Baby - Melanie Martinez

"I'm not used to being alone. I miss my family."

*

*

*