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Summary
There was once a time where Vi believed her identity stopped at her role as a sister, or as a daughter, or as a fighter. Everything she was, had been, wanted to be, was sewn into the fabric of the responsibilities she shouldered from the moment Powder had emerged screaming, and again when the circle of life had constricted like a deadly snake and Vi had seen her mother’s eyes without life, and then again when she became a leader, a role model for her siblings, a dependable daughter for Vander.
Somewhere, in the tangle of tragedy following the echoed footfalls of a certain prissy enforcer, Vi began to believe there was more to herself than being Powder’s sister. Vander’s daughter.
Vi couldn’t tell you how or when the shift occurred, but she could tell you the root of it.
Said root stood in the entrance of their closet, tall and lanky and beautiful.