Work Text:
You are Yana.
You should know better than this.
You're meant to know better than this. You are composed. You are refined. You are a stunning image. You are a picture perfect daughter unlike your disgraceful sister who never wore a dress after turning twelve.
You put down the scissors.
You are Yana.
You know better then to have such frivolous, foolish, faulty thoughts.
You don't want to end up like her, do you?
No, you want to end up like them.
It will never happen, but you want to end up like them. Like Yura. Like Tsar. Like Arthur. Like Ivan.
It's a shame, then, that to be like them, you have to look like her.
You are Yana.
You put on your makeup and put on your scarf and pull on your skirt and leave. Leave the scissors. Leave the mirror. Leave the thought.
Just don't.
It's that easy.
You never have to end up like her if you don't humor it, whatever it is. Rot, maybe? Masculinity is rot, is it not? It is punished. You would be punished. Wouldn't it be awful?
You don't want to be punished.
You don't want to end up like her.