Wanda's POV
I was sitting on my bed in the huge dormitory I inhabited with 19 other girls. This had been my home for the last three years, and although it lacked the warmth of a real home, I had grown quite used to this place, this orphanage where my brother Pietro and I had found refuge after our parents had died.
Our parents. I still remember everything about them and I often dream about the terrible night when they died. Pietro and I were ten and we were eating supper with our parents, when the first shell hit our house, two floors below us. It tore a hole in the floor, which swallowed our parents. Pietro and I crawled under the bed, while the house started collapsing. Suddenly, another shell landed right in front of us. I closed my eyes and tightly held on to Pietro's hand, hoping that everything would soon be over. But nothing happened. After a while the bombing stopped and the ruins that had once been our house had stopped crumbling. My brother and I were lying under the bed, coughing from all the dust and freezing from the cold wind that now blew through the remains of our flat. We did not dare to move, though, with the shell lying right there, probably going off if there was the slightest movement, blowing us to pieces. It took two days for us to be saved. All this time I never let go of Pietro's hand. We had always been close, we were twins after all, but I feel that we grew even closer together during those two days of horror. But now we were to be separated.
Two weeks ago, one of the few rich families in Sokovia had visited the orphanage, because they wanted to adopt a girl as a companion to their 14-year-old daughter. I don't know why, but their choice was to adopt me. Only me. Pietro would have to stay behind, here, in the orphanage. When I told him everything, he went quiet at first, but then, to my astonishment, he started trying to make me believe that this was the best. I would be living in a good family after all, where I would receive better care than he or any orphanage could ever give me. He tried to act happy for my sake, but I could sense that the coming separation bothered him just as much as it bothered me. I really didn't want to go, but there was nothing I could do against it.
When the family's driver arrived in a beautiful black car, it was time for me and Pietro to say goodbye to each other. He gave me one last hug, told me he would write to me and to be good, and reminded me that this was for the better. I tried to stay strong, but I was unable to stop the tears that came when I had to let go of Pietro. Leaving him behind felt like leaving a piece of myself, a large piece. I looked back at Pietro and the orphanage until both went out of sight, then I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes, trying to keep Pietro and his last hug as fresh in my memory as possible. Not knowing when or even if I would ever see him again was giving me a feeling of desperation that was almost as strong as the one I had when we were waiting to be killed by that shell. At least we had each other back then. But that was over now.
The driver pulled up in front of a white house with two floors, a veranda and a huge garden. So this was to be my home from now on. The driver opened my door so I could step out. Now I would meet the people I would have to call Mama and Papa from now on, which felt wrong, because they were strangers. I didn't know anything about them and they didn't know anything about me. I had also heard that I would now have a sister. She was the only one I could not blame for my misery, but I did not want to stay with her, I wanted to stay with Pietro. I decided to try to befriend her, at least, and be nice to her, even though I was sure that I would never be able to accept her as a sister. When I made my way to the stairs, the front door was opened by a maid-servant who introduced herself as Greta and welcomed me with a smile. She also told me that my new family was not present at the moment, they would return during the late afternoon. I must mean a lot to them, when they are not even there on my arrival. The maid-servant ushers me up the stairs and into a bathroom. She tells me that my new mother had instructed her to bathe me and dress me for dinner, so I would look presentable. I looked at myself in one of the big mirrors in the bathroom that was almost as large as our old flat. In my eyes I looked quite presentable, even though I was quite skinny. I was wearing a grey dress that went down to my knees, white socks and black shoes. My long brown hair was braided in a braid down my back and I was wearing the bracelet with the red flower that Pietro gave me to our ninth birthday. Whatever those people would do, I was determined to never take it off. It was the only connection to Pietro I had here.
After I had been scrubbed and bathed so much that I thought I might dissolve, I was dressed in a light pink dress and sandals. My hair was rolled up and dried, so that it now fell in little ringlets that were then pinned up. When I took another look at myself, there was another girl standing there, one I had never seen before. I looked like a princess from a fairytale, but it did not feel right. The feeling that I did not belong here was growing.