Roxanne loves baking and kisses and smiles. So genuine and open! everyone says. Such a riot! Her aunts never stop pinching her cheeks or exclaiming over how cute she is. She bears it with good grace, likes she bears everything.
She hears the whispers, of course. She tries not to, but they follow her all the same. Fake. Stupid. No one can be that naïve. She doesn't want to hear it, but she doesn't get a choice. She hears only the most common comments, that she's too pretty to be so innocent, that her kindness must be shallow, that such a cheerful little girl could never understand the real world. Such a pity, they shake their heads, someday tragedy will strike and she'll have no idea how to deal. It's not like she's had any practice, right?
Her home is built around a dead man. Her father is only half a person, her mother the shadow of a ghost. Neither is really there. His imprint is etched into every part of her life, and she will drown in death unless she swims.
So she holds her head up high and plays in sunshine, bakes cupcakes and kisses cute girls and smiles at the world. She ignores the whispers and cracks jokes as easily as eggs. She chooses to love.