I merely was born as a doll.
The tool of the Lovecraft family.
Used for their own political authority and prowess to engage with peasants.
My value could hardly be defined by mere achievements or appreciation.
Also, the fact I belonged to them—as part of their possession. Fully.
"Azalea. You really do great when you're stunning during class and score perfectly in every subject. Keep doing that and you'll be better than your sister in no time."
"We'll trust you, and always love you… when you are perfect."
A perfect tool.
That was their intention when they raised me.
These words didn't exist to encourage me.
Instead, they were a push. And a pull, too.
I had come to realize this long before those words were ever spoken, noticeable from the way they compared me to her—always her—from the very beginning.
