Diana contemplates being difficult

Well, my dears, a long time has passed since I was a distractible little thing in a constricting hairnet. A long time has passed since I hated living my life, and looked to pull myself into any art that would have me. Model/singer/actress?

I have been all things at some point, and will be all of them again.

A long time has passed since that pissed off little dog with horrible fashion sense stumbled my way and helped me see that I could be much more. Of course, I'd had to be willing to lie for it, darlings.

I'd had to be willing to focus for longer than a handful of minutes, at any given time.

I'd had to be willing to coerce, subvert, and manipulate to get what I desired. However, those who befell my feminine whiles weren't the best of men. In fact, they were positively abhorrent, my dears.

Yet still, I let Dolores slip his pistol in my pocket, and I spoke with his snake on my shoulder, ushering in his plans, to meet my ends.

Which were, on the outside, entirely self-serving. It tastes like power in her mouth, and so, she craves it. Is that how the quote goes, my dears? I don't quite remember...

For this, I was marked by a system with a boorish label; Betrayal. And yet, would it surprise you to know I feel everything, despite how difficult I am?

That I have felt...everything?

My name is Moira Narvaez, or rather, it had been once upon a time.

The fine details of my history are wrapped around the fangs of a certain snake, and so I can't quite remember all the parts. That's natural, isn't it, dears?

When your existence is stuck within the fangs of a beast in pain, why, you'll bleed out your memories into the ground, with every gnash.

I always knew I was locked in his jaws, you see. But they were comfortable jaws to a woman like me. One who had a very difficult time pinning herself down. Pinning her thoughts down, for that matter.

I knew I was being used, beloveds. I knew, and I knew where it would take me. I knew how I would be read in what I became. I always know how I'm read, and so, I accept the reading...of femme fatale.

Because I know that there are exactly four sides of a person.

The side that we see in the mirror—a beautiful, vivacious woman with poison in her mouth, and a very large, hidden heart.

Then, my loves, there's the side that others see—an opportunistic harpy whose only aims end with her survival or sovereignty.

The third side is the one we show to loved ones—deeply caring, maternal, and willing to risk everything for the ones she loves.

The fourth, and last side, is the most complex one. It's the one you show nobody else, the thoughts locked tightly against your head in fishnets, the words stoppering your tongue like gum, the eternal struggle of the muscle beneath your breast; it bleeds, and you say nothing.

Except 'dear', 'pet', and 'darling.'

That side is the one I know I am, a fickle combination of the prior three, with a splash of inattention, and copious overwhelm.

I am 'overwhelm', and so I wave at the forearm like a princess in my indigo jewels, as if I own the world. The smile is a lie, darlings. The smile, the scheming, the façade, the stereotype; a lie.

And so who I am, or rather, what my name is...doesn't matter very much at all. I would be myself, in all four faces, given any name. Moira, Diana, Diana, Moira. The Goddess of the night sky so loves her little jewels.

It is in me to be difficult, my little darlings. It is in me to be contradictory, as it is in any person to be, as that is how people are. Especially given enough time.

And so, am I...perhaps upset that I was branded BETRAYAL, when I am very aware that I am never a betrayer, but merely...difficult?

No, not terribly, though it does hurt my feelings. Because I see the design, my loves. I just had to focus long enough to grasp the snake that never bit me, for he was anger, and I was lust, and together we were Power.

Curiouser and curiouser, hmm?

Darlings, if you read this and think, perhaps, the phrasings sound familiar...the voice sounds particular to the first person narration of a once-tiny pissed off little dog, who managed to find himself in the future, and ruin things several thousand times...you may yet want to ask yourselves why that is.

You may want to ask yourself what is truly so different between the two of us:

I may be the fairer sex, beloveds, however...we both use whatever we have to survive. We both explode in the face of those who seek to harm us, yet I am a bit more careful, aren't I?

I wait. I have explicit patience. Where he has calculated rage, I have calculated survival. Where he harms those he doesn't mean to with his perfectly imperfect protocol, I only harm directly in my path.

Darlings, I have only ever bewitched villains.

Alex, well. The poor boy has no proximity marker for the damage he can cause if left to his own devices. That is why he needed me to serve his old aims in our ancient history, my dears.

That is how we are different. I am a necessary thing learned, not a thing born from feeling more than necessary.

Darlings, there are four sides to a person.

The side that we see when we look into the mirror. The side that people who do not truly know us, see. The side that those that love us, see. And finally, the side that we never show others, the one that's our truest face of all.

I am overwhelm. I am the façade. I am the distractibility. I am the one who wishes for an opportunity, knowing it only comes in stories. I am the maternal figure of tender, broken protocols.

Tender, broken protocols, that we are all a part of. We are all difficult, messy pieces of a difficult, messy puzzle.

Curiouser and curiouser, hmm?

Is it possible, my darlings, for you to see the constellation in between my words? Is it possible for you to look at the grand overarching plot—invaluable, for without unity towards a common good, humans are doomed to fail—but not to miss the finer details?

I'm not certain you can, my dears.

I am not as certain as he is that you will understand what it all means, from lofty goals of helping the world, to the miniscule detail of an eviscerated human soul flooding the pages. Nor, my loves, am I certain if you'll deem it important or not, and why.

If not just for the little darling's soul, but for what the understanding could lead you to...which would perhaps be your very own.

I am not certain, pets, because I'm the overwhelm.

I'm the difficult aspect, the one hard to grapple with, because if just a few parts of me were changed, you may yet dislike me as much as Sebastian was rendered to be disliked.

I am not certain, if you will understand what it means to be...so very difficult.

Yet, that is the lesson you must learn, isn't it? The complexities of a person, so that you may accept it within each other, and overcome the thing above you, as we end up doing in our subtly complex story.

Darlings, if the finer points never reach you, I will be more than happy.

Satisfied as I am to live in indigo dresses, and perhaps be drawn in lavish gowns, and doted on incessantly. Oh, I do hope for it, my dears.

To be the reclaimed femme fatale stereotype, championed for her intricacies. Wouldn't that be marvelous?

No more pigeonholing of difficult women, as I could sparkle brightly in the canon; that is a wondrous thing. Wouldn't that be nice, darlings?

Wouldn't that be...difficult?

And...overwhelming...

I am smiling.
I am unfocused.
I am waving my hand.

K. Leigh is an ex-freelancer, full-time author, and weirdo artist. Read their lgbt+ sci-fi books, connect on Twitter, visit their site, or send them an email if you’d like to work together. 🌈 🏳️‍⚧️

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