Her name means outcast. Somebody who is despised and avoided, synonymous to an exile, an outsider, an untouchable. She likes the last one best. Untouchable. It makes her feel strong, supreme. It makes her feel invincible.
For a woman afraid of mediocrity, she dresses pretty plainly: faded jeans and a button-down white shirt, a pair of worn black Chuck Taylors and thick square-framed glasses, her wavy jet-black hair ponytailed sloppily on top of her round face. For a woman against the world, she seems harmless, cute even: cherub cheeks, doe eyes, kissable lips, a swanlike neck, and porcelain white skin. For a woman who has been through a lot, she seems frail and weak: elfin for someone who is 20, she looks too young for her age, what with her childish features and petite frame. Other than a birthmark on the inside of her left palm, and her habit of rubbing the back of her ear, she seems part of the norm, ordinary. For someone with a scheme of rebellion, her ideals are disproportional to her appearance.
But looks can sometimes be deceiving. Born into a wealthy political family, whose source of wealth was their thriving winery dating decades back, she was raised by eccentric parents with a passion for music (which she took after, being skilled in playing the violin) who loved her dearly and provided for her well. Educated in the finest institutions their wealth could afford, cultured to be part of the elite, and brought up to love and appreciate the arts, her life seemed fit to be a fairytale. But tragedy struck.
Her parents were killed the day of her 8th birthday, that fateful day she saw her parents dead, murdered in their car. Random robbery, she was told, something that did not make sense to her at that time. Police deduced her parents struggled against the robber (or robbers, nobody was sure) and were shot. Nobody was apprehended, no one was punished, not a soul was held responsible for her parents’ deaths. Their deaths were pointless. She was angry.
Orphaned and without any siblings, she was due to inherit the vast fortune of her family the moment she turns 21, and was now the last living direct descendant of the line of Gotti. She was now all alone, not to mention scarred for life.
And so she was taken care of by her spinster aunt, her mother’s sister, and was heavily guarded, almost ostracized from the world for fear that her life may be in danger, paranoid that she may end up like her parents: dead. The older she got, the more convinced she was that her safekeeping was more for the preservation of the Gotti bloodline that for her own safety. This has sparked her wanton rebellion, her want for freedom from the prying eyes of those who are supposedly looking after her well-being and safety.
Her she is now, contemplating her break from her prison of a life. Days from now, she will turn 21, and will acquire her inheritance. And then she will flee, away from her guardian, away from the life she has been leading, away from her horrifying past. She wants justice for her parents’ deaths. Even if it means she has to get it her way.
Untouchable. She still is. But now, in her own right.
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