For a cis girl, Natasha gave quite a bit of thought to her gender throughout her life. Not because anyone ever asked her if she was okay with the labels assigned to her mind you, but being friends with Nash just had that effect she guessed.
While it was rarely treated as such in daily life, technically biological sex was considered private medical information, meaning that the Rising Feather couldn’t, by the letter of the law, just give it to the school. And since Nash managed to pull an androgynous enough look, from time to time, teachers and students had to ask them how to address them, to which each time they answered the same. They weren’t a boy nor a girl, and their correct pronouns were they/them. You could disregard that at your own peril, but they had their ways to get back at assholes – and somehow, they never got caught. Teachers were annoyed, so were bullies, but after a while they all felt like it was just easier to play along.
But that was Nash.
There was a lot of things Natasha didn’t like about being a girl, but at the end of the day, all those grudges weren’t connected to anything about herself, but to the way others treated her. She had no problem being seen as a girl, or thinking herself as one, and exchanging everyday misogyny for everyday transphobia just didn’t seem as much of an improvement to make the hassle worth it. She had no idea if that logic made any sense to anyone else and she wasn’t about to be yet another person telling others how to label themselves. But it was about her identity, and for her, it worked.
The question of femininity felt like a much more confusing subject, with how much harder it was to separate it from societal expectations. Yes, she was a girl, that was easy. But was she a “girly girl”? Most of the time she felt like she most definitely wasn’t. But was it just her natural preferences, or was it because how the world associated femininity (and everything it arbitrarily deemed feminine) with weakness and vulnerability – traits she knew she hated in herself and would do anything to get rid of? Was she just playing the same game in a roundabout way by trying to not play it? Time travel felt easier to figure out than this bullshit.
She remembered that for a while, when she was much younger, she did dream about having flashy dresses and expensive jewelry. At the time she thought that when she’ll grow up, she’d earn lots of money, so she could buy a big house with a giant swimming pool, and with a whole ballroom where she’d throw big parties. Everyone would dress up nicely, but they would all agree that she’s the prettiest (not because the others were ugly or anything, but she’s the host so she gets to be the most beautiful, right?). She also thought she’d have a flying car and a friendly pet shark in the swimming pool, and she’d be an archeologist or maybe astronaut. None of that seemed to be at odds with each other, or that it would have anything to do with being a boy or a girl at the time.
Then soon she learned that nice, beautiful and expensive things belonged to a different world than she did. As a response, she developed a kind of pragmatical mindset. If something couldn’t be eaten, or it didn’t keep her warm, there was no point wanting it for herself. It’s not like she started to condemn nice things. She knew that making them gave a living to many people and they could make others a bit happier. But the world she lived in wasn’t pretty, so why would she want to be? It just wasn’t meant to be.
Still, there were things she couldn’t explain away with simply trying to survive. Like her hair.
Richard loved to pick on her for her orange-red locks. He would call her a giant carrot and pull her hair until nothing but sheer willpower kept Natasha from crying. It’s not like he couldn’t find another excuse (or he really needed one) to hurt her, but having long hair was a weak point he could easily exploit. At least on two occasions she couldn’t get away from him only because he grabbed her hair and pulled her back at the last moment. She could just tie it up, but why half-ass it when she could just rid herself from that weakness altogether? So, one evening she snuck into one of the smelly bathrooms in the group home with a stollen pair of scissors. She might get yelled at the next day, but it’s not like they can glue her hair back, right?
But after snipping the first lock, her hand just froze with the scissors, and she couldn’t continue. She just continued to stare at her own face in the mirror in several minutes, trying to imagine it without the thickish orange frame she had her whole life. It was stupid. Hair was just a useless extension of her skin, it did nothing for her. Then why did this feel like giving up part of her to a bully?
Was it because she actually liked having long hair? Or was it just a part of her that enjoyed being defiant, even though she knew it wasn’t bringing her anything good? Pretending that Richard couldn’t hurt her enough to make her change something about herself made her feel stronger, even though she clearly wasn’t? Or was it just pettiness? She knew very well how much power Richard had over her, but she was too stubborn to admit it in such an obvious gesture?
She’d probably die before she could answer those questions to herself. All she knew that she left that bathroom with long hair. But, for some reason, even years later she always made sure to keep that single lock a bit shorter.
Of course, being adopted by Agatha Alexton made everything that much more complicated. Suddenly, Natasha was a public figure, presented to the press and the high elite in the most dream-like attires to support the narrative of her life being a real-life fairy tale, with her adoptive mother in the role of the good fairy. Beyond her extra classes, music classes and dance classes she also got a teacher for the sole purpose to teach her how to properly use makeup. She never used makeup before – it felt weird, alien on her face and even gave her rash the first few times. They assured her that her skin would quickly get used to it, but nobody bothered to explain why she needed the damn thing to begin with. These parties definitely weren’t the ones from her childhood daydreams. The dresses, necklaces, rings, and bows they put on her felt like the cheap toys and paper decorations people hung on Springtime Trees. When she looked into the mirror, she saw someone beautiful, but she couldn’t see herself.
After a while she learned to find solace in that. After all, what good could come from if these people could see her for her real self? They were rich and powerful, ready to judge her, and if she didn’t pass their judgement, they could easily crush her under their heels. So she painted her face and covered herself in fashionable clothes and expensive jewels, like she’d cover herself in mud and leaves in the jungle to avoid predators sniffing her smell. And for a while, it worked out nicely. Before she learned what happened to Nash, before she snuck out one night on an impulse and got dragged back, before Mrs. Alexton decided she needed to hide her from the public until she learned her lesson, Natasha thought this charade wasn’t a big price for the life she was offered. It’s not like freedom, or “being herself” was really on the plate for the likes of her, but she thought she could settle for safety.
But again, what “being herself” would even mean to her? She liked plain clothes because that was what she got used to in the group home and it helped her to avoid unwanted attention. And flashy clothes worked like a protective shell when she was put into the spotlight against her will. Those were both different ways to hide, but what she was hiding to begin with? At the end of the day, it was all just textile – it shouldn’t be defining her, right?
The Enchants gave her a long coat, a derby hat, and high-soled boots to hide behind. The online arguments about her and Ruthen’s gender started to die down as they appeared more and more publicly, and people talked to them but there were still a few people hell-bent that she was actually a guy. She liked her outfit as Nocturknight and if she wanted to be honest, part of her really enjoyed that people couldn’t tell what was beneath.
But was that all to it? At the end, did she just wanted people to treat her like a guy, even though she didn’t feel like one, so the magic turned that true? It didn’t feel right.
No, you’re right, that sounds stupid.
“Huh? Who’s talking?”
I’m sorry, I was just going through some old stuff here. There’s a bit of a mess in your head and I need to find my way around I’m going to live here.
“No, seriously. What’s happening? Why was I even thinking about all this stuff?”
Listen, do you think that the girl who wanted to be a princess and an archeologist and an astronaut with a rocket car and a pet shark wants to be “just a guy”? That’s some reductive bullshit. You probably picked it up online, you should be careful what you absorb without noticing.
“Okay, then if you can apparently read my mind tell me. What do I really want?”
That’s easy. That’s like, the easiest question ever. You people make it so complicated because you’re afraid to be honest to yourself. But deep down you all want the exact same thing.
“What?”
Everything!
You want Everything, girl.
Power. Peace. Bloodshed. Love. Hate. Being together. Being alone. Being the hero and the villain and being saved and being the savior. Everything all at once.
Humans were made to be able to experience Everything, but you were put in a world where you must choose.
Isn’t that cruel? Isn’t that the greatest tragedy?
But with my help, you can fix it. Together we can tear it all down and throw all those silly rules right out of the window!
So enjoy it, girl! Enjoy the Fireworks.
Because they’re coming. And they will be beautiful.
“Natasha, do you hear me?”
“Huh?”
She blinked and tore her glance away from her own reflection on the window. She looked at Flow, sitting on the seat right across her.
“What did you say?”
“Sorry, I saw you were kinda lost in your thoughts,” they stroke their hair. “But soon we have to get off from the tram.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“No worries. Hey, I know this day was a lot, that’s why I didn’t want to disturb you, but… the last moment, before I talked to you, your expression turned almost scared. Like you saw something outside the window, or… I don’t know. Are you sure that you’re okay?”
Natasha turned back to the window, inspecting her reflection again, like she did for the past several minutes. For Flow it must looked like she was staring outside, lost in thought. She shook her head.
“It was nothing. Just my imagination playing with me.”
