When she is four, Weiss dreams of setting her bed on fire.
It's her bedroom, but it's not. The colors are different— red and black instead of white and blue, a different vanity and mirror. The flames come out from her hands but they don't hurt her. Blue fire. Her fire. The thought makes her giggle with a delighted pleasure and she watches as they lick the sheets and covers, turning from blue to orange and filling the air with acrid smoke.
Her brother rushes into her room, horrified. "..zu… you… doing?" his voice is distant. He puts hands on her shoulders, trying to pull her away. "..e.. zu... go!"
Mine.
It's mine!
Weiss wakes up and she can still smell the smoke. The image of blue flames dancing is burned into her eyes. The next night, possessed by the fading memory of that image, she sneaks into her grandfather's old study and lights the fireplace. Her mother finds her there a few hours later, crying quietly and cradling her burnt fingers.
"Oh, darling," her mother sighs, looking at Weiss's fingers. "You should know better than to play with fire by now."
What her mother doesn't understand is that Weiss isn't crying because of the pain.
She's crying because the fire won't listen to her.
When she is eight, Weiss is fairly sure she hates her brother.
She doesn't really know why. It's certainly not a logical feeling. Whitley is five and has large blue eyes, and though he still throws tantrums sometimes, she supposes he's cute enough. But Weiss just doesn't like him. Something about the idea of brother bothers her on a fundamental level. She doesn't trust him with anything.
(What's wrong, Zuzu? Why don't you run off and find mommy to cry to?)
Her mother has started drinking and begins to ignore her more days than not. For some reason, this doesn't surprise Weiss at all, and after a while, it doesn't even hurt anymore. Weiss feels like she's used to being ignored by her mother. She feels like this is the way things were originally supposed to be.
Maybe that's why Weiss dreams of her mother disappearing.
Didn't even bother to say goodbye to me, of course, thinks I'm a monster—
I don't care, don't need her anyways—
Father loves me—
In the waking world, Weiss knocks on the study of her father. She enters timidly, hands cradled behind her back.
"Father. I was wondering if… we could spend some time together?"
"Darling, I'm sorry," her father says, sounding not very apologetic at all. His eyes are firmly glued to the papers on his desk. "But I'm very busy right now."
"I understand," Weiss nods. "Some other time, maybe?"
"Of course," her father says.
Unlike in her dreams, though, her father never ends up making good on his word. Unlike in her dreams, it seems like even her father doesn't love her. After a while, Weiss's hatred for Whitley dulls into a sort of apathy. She begins to spend more time with Winter, because Winter is unknown, Winter is different, Winter is something she's never had and has nothing to compare to.
(Lu Ten?)
Weiss's grandfather dies that year, too.
When she is eleven, Weiss finally unlocks her Semblance.
It comes to her in the wake of a nightmarish, shuddering dream. Her father and her brother facing off each other in a chamber while she watches from a distance. Her brother falling to his knees like the pathetic weak boy he is, begging for mercy and forgiveness as her father strides up to him, demanding he fight.
Her father reaching down and lighting his palm with fire and burning her brother's handsome face. Her brother screaming, the crackle and smell of charred fat and flesh filling the air. And her looking on, smiling.
That's what you get. You're not worthy.
Winter begins to train Weiss on her Semblance. She seems surprised when Weiss gravitates towards Red Dust out of all the available options.
"Not White?" Winter says.
"I don't know," Weiss says, watching the chambers of her rapier spin. "I really can't explain it."
Later, like Winter predicted, Weiss picks up an affinity for White Dust as well. It's not that she grows tired of fire, it's just that it's frustrating when it continues to refuse to turn the proper color. Wielding fire makes her gut churn with equal parts joy, equal parts horror. It makes her head dizzy with a beautiful rush. Wielding ice is easy and soft and soothing.
At least some fire is better than none, she thinks.
When she is fourteen, Weiss decides she is going to be a Huntress.
At this point in time, Winter has already been disowned for joining the military. Weiss agonizes over her own decision for days, wondering if it's worth it. She saw the aftermath of Winter and her father's screaming match. She hates how much she still craves her father's attention, his approval, even now when she should know better.
Her father is disappointed when she tells him, but he doesn't yell or scream at her, so she supposes it could've gone worse. He says, "We will make a deal. You must pass a test of choosing before I'll allow you to go."
Weiss dreams of failure.
"...decree ...crown… Fire Lord…"
"Agni Kai!"
She fights with her brother. Her fire blazes blue and hot and beautiful, more powerful than it's ever been, enhanced by the comet in the sky. But something's wrong. She's losing. It's impossible, her? Losing to her brother, the weakling?
She reaches inside of her and finds the cold-blooded fire. It screams from her and strikes true.
You don't look so good, Zuzu!
Uncontrollable laughter.
She ends up locked in ice, frozen by that water tribe peasant. When the ice recedes she is gasping for breath, wet and chained up. No matter how much she thrashes, she can't break free. She's failed. She's failed. She's failed. Hot tears pour from her eyes. She breathes fire, shrieking and sobbing.
I failed…!
After that dream, Weiss inexplicably develops a fear of drowning.
When Weiss is seventeen, the dreams stop.
She doesn't notice at first. They never came that often in the first place. And with her life changing in a dramatic way, Weiss has frankly too many other things on her mind. She's accepted into Beacon. She passes initiation and officially joins a team of Huntresses in training. There's a lot of friction at first, and so she spends most of her mental energy stressing over that and smoothing things out.
A semester passes in relative mundanity. One morning, Weiss wakes up and staggers to her dresser, frowning at the knots and tangles she can feel practically built into her hair overnight. She rifles through the drawers for something to wear.
"Ty Lee," Weiss says, absentmindedly. "Be a dear and come do my hair."
"What?" Ruby says, sounding utterly puzzled.
"What?" Yang says, laughing.
Weiss freezes.
For a split second, she can't breathe. Ty Lee? Where did that name come from? She knows that name. The feelings that are associated with it are thick and miasmatic and impossible to parse.
Affection warmth loyalty anger hurt betrayal—
(Let them rot!)
Yang is still laughing in the background, saying something about servants and rich people's lifestyles. She stops laughing when Weiss rushes into the bathroom and begins to throw up her empty stomach.
"Weiss!" Ruby bounds in after her. "Weiss, are you okay? What's going on?"
(You have such a beautiful aura, Princess!)
Weiss wipes her mouth and prepares to tell Ruby she's fine. Instead, she says, "You remind me of her so much, you know? She had gray eyes, not silver, and she wore her hair long and in a braid, but sometimes, in the right light, I can see her face in yours. And it doesn't help that your personalities are so similar. Why do you have to be so fucking bubbly and cheerful all the time? Stop it. The worst part is that I really thought you were my friend."
"Weiss—"
"Traitor," Weiss hisses, before she can stop herself. "I hate you." And then she claps a hand over her mouth, horrified.
She doesn't trust herself to speak for several moments. In the light under the bathroom, Ruby's eyes are wide and hurt and confused.
"Ruby, I'm… I'm so sorry," Weiss swallows when she regains her voice. "I didn't mean to say any of that. I don't know what came over me. Please, I just… need to be alone for a moment. Please. Leave me alone."
Ruby looks like she wants to say more but instead she gives a muted nod. She stands up and leaves, the door closing behind her with a click. Weiss climbs to her feet and staggers over to the sink. She wants to rinse her mouth out.
Her gaze locks on her reflection across the mirror. For a moment, she swears her eyes flash gold.
That's when Weiss realizes the dreams have stopped.