The Character of Candace
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Candace was an exceptionally playful child- to the point of cruelty many times. A combination of undesirable looks and a passion for pushing people past their limits, mostly the latter, meant that any friends she could attain never ended up staying very long or very close.
Sometime between twelve and sixteen, she discovered that if she wanted to be someone else (and god did she ever want to be someone else) she could be. It was the highest and the lowest moment of her life.
She went through the initial stages; perky redhead cheerleader, the perfect boyfriend footballer, hell- even her chemistry teacher. They were all fun little experiments done in the privacy of her private home.
Quickly she moved on. She was like that, getting bored with things and coming up with new, more extreme versions. She was wild, moody and bitter and out of control. She liked it that way.
So she went home, focused in front of the mirror, and decided on a course of action. It wasn't that hard to convince the cheerleader to stay home for a day, who knew the perfect girl's mother beat her? There was a flash of something there, some emotion flitting by as Dana lay crying on her bed, but it was easily ignored as she left the house with a smirk and a plan.
School was a different world when you were Dana. Everyone talked to her, everyone smiled at her (everyone that mattered) and the teachers cut her slack without seeming to notice that they were doing it. She had a boyfriend who would sneak touches through math class and a best friend who visited her between periods at her locker chock-full of gossip and giggles. It was... nice.
So that's it, Candace thought, all I have to do is be beautiful. Easy enough.
So she terrorized Dana into staying home for a day, and then a week, and then...
It took a while to get used to the illusions at first, but Dana was her experiment. The redhead had no idea of the kinds of things Candace had to deal with on a daily basis. No fucking clue. And so she figured it was only natural that Dana understand how life was lived when one wasn't popular, wasn't perceived by the collective as beautiful.
She forced images of the things people had done to her, said to her, tried to do to her- a video reel of so many horrible images that caught fire and burned in Dana's consciousness. It made Dana go crazy, weeks of madness circulating through her brain, haunting her dreams and her waking life without fail.
Candace didn't care.
She would make her understand.
When Dana committed suicide, Candace thought that maybe she had pushed a little too hard. No matter, though. That was life. Dana was declared psychotic, her suicide note contained litanies on Candace. Lines of words switched tenses and moods from one extreme to another, hot to cold- from impassioned lectures on equality and fairness to angry tirades on Candace's character.
She hadn't known what she'd had.
Well, she knew it now.
However, Candace was back to being regular old Candace- something that she couldn't do anymore. She had tasted something so much greater and couldn't go back, wouldn't go back, not when she didn't have to.
So she crafted a character, tested out different physical attributes late at night as she walked around town, and picked the ones that fit best. She carefully considered all things- height, voice, hair and skin colour... weight. All the things people noticed most. She read magazines that made part of her scream in rage and part of her smile with excitement. She watched television shows and went online. She researched a perfect lie and then tried it on.
It didn't quite fit right. Not for a long time.
She went from weak and alienated to powerful and bitter; she was reformed. All those girls she'd known, those few friends who were never enough for society, all those who wished for something better... she was the culmination of all those wishes.
And she was perfect in the only way that mattered.