Noire, my twin brother, was different.
Even from birth it was obvious just how different he was.
The Schnee family possessed the dominant trait of hair as white as freshly fallen snow, and of eyes a vibrant icy blue.
He had hair as black as ebony wood, with single lock of pure white in front, and eyes a dark frigid blue.
When I was six, I had overheard from fussy servants just how night and day my brothers had been as babies and toddlers.
Noire didn't cry, not for food, not for cleaning, and not for comfort. He never cried out for anything, he just silently waited for the servants to do their duties.
Whitley never stopped crying, and even at the age of two he still cried because he didn't get his way.
I hadn't needed to be told that he was different, I already knew.
As twins, we were mostly raised together so I knew just how different he truly was.
I couldn't remember it any more, it had been more than a decade since then, but I recall that I used to think about it often.
About how he stood firmly and held my small arms as I learned to walk. And about how he taught me my first words, my own name.
From the womb to the age of four, I followed behind him without a thought, but at some point I became scared of him.
That reason had been also forgotten, the impetus behind my fear had been lost to time.
All I could recall was the shiver of my teeth and spine as he stared at me with his dead-looking eyes. I thought they contained a darkness darker than the inky black sky or the oppressive nighttime shadows.
I feared my mind and body somehow falling into his eyes and never seeing the light of day again.
I couldn't sleep at night, and not because of the faint light from the scroll he somehow attained, but simply because I feared sleeping in the same room as him.
I always fell asleep before him and woke up after him, I had never seen him sleep in my entire life.
After I turned five, I begged for my own room. Noire had somehow heard about it, and he agreed that we should have separate rooms. Not even in my own room could I feel safe to just fall asleep.
I couldn't see him anymore, I couldn't watch him anymore. I now longer had the assurance that he wasn't nearby, he could be anywhere, even beneath my bed.
It wasn't until the age of eight did my mind start to change once more.
My family was always shifting.
My father and mother were loving and caring parents when there were other people
My father was a cold man, ruthless and pragmatic. He stared down at me like I was a rat beneath his shoe.
My mother was a volatile woman, prone to shouting and glaring at me like I was filth.
Even my older sister, Winter, had two faces. In public she was graceful like a princess, but in private she was mechanical like a robot.
On rare occasions, she even dropped all pretenses and cried as she held me close. She didn't say anything, and hot tears ran down her face as she hugged me.
My grandfather, Nicholas, also had two faces. With me, he was all smiles and filled with cheer and life, but when he thought I wasn't nearby he would turn somber and seemed like a walking corpse.
One day, he was laughing and telling me about his life, and the next day, he coughed up blood and died.
The world didn't seem stable, reality would waver and people would shift. I didn't know what was real anymore, what wasn't a lie or a mask anymore.
Even the faces of the most gentlest and kindest servants seemed to be masks that hid their contempt for me. I used to see flashes of sneers and glares as they smiled at me, and I heard hushed whispers of mockery and revulsion.
The faces and words didn't stop even after I closed my eyes and covered my ears.
Overwhelmed, I sometimes collapsed in my room as I struggled to breathe, and I cried myself to sleep.
With my grandfather suddenly gone, I realized that there was no warmth in my home.
I felt my blood run cold as I was curled up on my bed.
With the only person who loved me gone, I realized that I was alone in my home.
A sense of isolation coiled around my heart, my brain felt separated from my body, I reveled in the feeling after I realized the further I felt, the less I cared.
The faces and voices faded away into the recesses of my mind.
Even though there had been a funeral a few days ago, servants suddenly informed me that my parents wanted me to attend a gala with them.
In public, with other people around, my parents turned warm and treated me with care and affection. I silently cried when the party was over.
The false, pretend, love I had felt had made me feel happy even if it was just a momentary illusion.
If this was the only way, if I could feel this love again, then this would be the life I lived.
I just needed to blend in, create my mask and hide my emotions and thoughts behind another face.
It was hard, I didn't know where to start so I mimicked my family.
Be cold like my father.
Glare like my mother.
Become mechanical like my sister.
Hold the mask steady when in the company of others like my grandfather.
Time ticked by, the overwhelming emotion melted away and my heart hardened, but alone at night I still cried. My father smiled at me when he was home and he saw my mask, he told me he was proud I was maturing so quickly.
When my younger brother turned four, and was brought with us to his first party, he seemed confused when he was being loved. Then he preened under the attention, a mask instantly formed around him.
At home he was a rude, insolent crybaby, but in public he was a polite and well mannered young boy.
This reinforced the idea in me that everyone had a mask, that everyone was concealing who they truly were.
The flashes and whispers returned, and even with my mask I couldn't stop crying. I skipped breakfast the next morning as I hid beneath my blankets, I couldn't muster the strength to put on my mask.
I was scared, scared that if my father saw my real face he would be disappointed in me, that he would hate me.
The door to my room opened, and I didn't hear the introduction of a servant afterwards, peeking out from my covers I saw my older brother.
Fear gripped me even in my turmoil, I calmed my breathing and pretended to be sleeping. Hoping he would leave, because I wasn't in the mood to confront him.
Ever since I began using my mask, I had glared at him when we crossed paths. The fact that servants had been around us had made me feel safe to hide my fear behind hatred.
I was alone with him now, and I couldn't mask my fear.
Fear was weakness, and I couldn't conceal mine.
He didn't come for revenge, he just felt my forehead before leaving.
His hand had felt warm.
His actions confused me, and after that I began to notice more of his confusing actions.
A few months ago, when we had just turned eight, Noire suddenly began to spend most of his time training in a small ballroom.
From breakfast to dinner, he trained with a small sword, and I hadn't seen him much since he started, but the day after I slept in, his schedule relaxed and he started to visit me more.
He spent more and more time with me, he was still scary and he didn't talk much, but his actions and dedication had allowed me to see what he was truly about.
Warmth.
Beneath his dark exterior and his few words, his actions carried a warmth I thought I'd forgotten about.
Love, honest and genuine.
His dark eyes looked at me and gauged my feelings. His voice spoke about topics I would find interesting. He listened intently to every word I spoke.
His touch was warm.
Every time our skin brushed against one another, he left behind a lingering warmth.
More and more time we spent together, and the false love I had desired didn't matter to me anymore.
Every time Noire smiled and laughed, the world seemed brighter and warmer.
He didn't have a mask, another face, he was just bad at expressing himself.
In a wavering reality of shifting people, he was a pillar of stability.
Three years passed, and we turned ten.
I knew he wanted to train, but he spent his time with me. I decided to train with him instead of wasting his time.
One year passed, and we turned eleven.
Something was happening, something I didn't understand.
My heart ached. My brain itched.
The warmth I felt, the love I felt, everything seemed confusing and I couldn't look him in the eyes again,
It was fear, I wasn't afraid, but my heart pounded rapidly when our eyes met.
His touch was warm and it sent my nerves buzzing with energy.
I… didn't understand what the cause was, but I understood I was being weird. I tried to distance myself from him until I understood what I was feeling, and in my free time, I read some books.
My feelings slowly unraveled in my mind.
When we were thirteen, my father had suggested I become a singer. Certain events were happening in the world that gave the Schnee Dust Company a bad reputation, and we could use some good publicity.
I hadn't really cared and was planning on refusing, but Noire had told me he was excited to hear me singing on stage.
He only ever left the house to attend school, and he was never invited to any parties that didn't require the entire family's presence.
I practiced and practiced singing. I devoted myself to creating a song.
A few months after that, I was set to debut.
A grand concert hall could probably fill thousands of people, but I was only singing for one person among the crowd. Regardless, my debut had been considered a success.
During the after party of one of my concerts, a Faunus with retractable claws hid among the serving staff.
Noire had been talking with me, and then a fountain of red sprayed forth from his neck.
My father, my mother, my sister, my younger brother and I, all had bodyguards. People watching us and ensuring our safety.
Before I could react to the blood, before a single drop of it met the ground, I was pulled away by my bodyguard.
The Faunus had screamed something about the White Fang before being restrained and knocked unconscious.
Noire barely survived, his training with Aura had allowed him to keep the bleeding from his artery to a minimum before he could get help
For the next few years, I heard about multiple murders of people associated with the SDC by the White Fang.
The sight of my brother's neck torn open never left my mind. It created a desire to get stronger so I could protect him, but even after I pushed myself to my limits, I could tell that he didn't need my protection.
Noire was strong, skilled, and he had an unshakable spirit.
Ah, the event had also propelled my odd feelings for him a bit. Nearly losing him made me realize just how much I cared for him, just how much I loved him.
The White Fang was still out there, they were still a risk to my brother, and I wouldn't ever rest easy until they were all gone.
On our eighteenth birthday, my mind was busy trying to prepare for Beacon, and the date slipped away from me.
Noire discovered his Semblance, and gave form to an Ice Fairy that he then gave to me.
Noelle, we named her.
He had sat down to read the first book I loved, and then I felt a brief moment of déjà vu as I watched him.
Suddenly, he told me we were about to be attacked, so I grabbed my weapon.
I understand what he meant. I, too, could feel a faint sense of danger approaching.
We split up and I ran to the cockpit, where two White Fang members were attacking the pilot.
After a fierce battle, my eye was slashed apart, but I had successfully won and restrained the man.
As he yelled at me, I recognized the contents of his screams. I had heard them after Noire had his neck torn open.
The pilot was dead, and the imagery of a corpse against a wall gave me another moment of déjà vu. If my brother hadn't informed me of the danger, it would've been his corpse propped up like that.
It felt so real, as if I had been startled awake by a gunshot and saw my dying brother.
With a slight migraine, my rage and fury intensified and I couldn't restrain myself any longer.
If they were after my brother's life, they needed to die.
As blood splashed on me, my actions registered. I had killed somebody.
Noire held my face and his dark eyes looked at me, and then…
And then…
He loved me!?
He really loved me!? What!?