It's no secret, that my family makes dirty money.
Money is what makes a Schnee (or so my father thinks) and without it, we are nothing. But I refused to believe in such a thing. In something that could be stripped away as easily as it was given. The world is a cruel, unforgiving place, something I often forget when I spend too much time with my dorky team leader. The fear of everything I own being stripped away still stands, so I always keep myself on my toes. The white fang is the least of our problems; the company is still at the mercy of the common man, the choice between Schnee dust and another's is more important than one might think.
I always had a choice. But I chose none.
I came back with a scar instead.
Choosing a premeditated path is the same as dying, why bother going with the flow if you're going to be drowned?
Praise is difficult to earn but disappointment is easy to receive; such was the lesson I learned on the day I stumbled into the mansion with my bloody face and dress smudged with black. Stares from all sides, eyes filled with resentment, pity, and condescension. It didn't matter that I survived, because I was no longer perfect and that made me nothing.
But I digress.
As my sister walks through the company walls with clothes picked out for her, daintily sashaying to her office with arms full of paper work; I fight in my high heels, my white dress tight against my skin, rapier dancing through the air and puncturing black flesh or white masks of loathing.
Schnee may not be perfect.
But Weiss will be.