iridian.

1

Fiosa Byrne didn't feel. At least, not in the way she wished she did.

Those who greet her usually scowl in unfiltered repulse once her eyes meet theirs. It wasn't just her gruff disposition, but what her irises told. A deep, eerie violet, backdropping the black spiral that winded over the expanse of her eyeball. How did she see? Did she even have a pupil? Did the spiral obscure that too? All questions bystanders asked among themselves.

Fiosa had never met another sociopath.

She was born into life with one sombrous piece of irrefutable, preliminary knowledge, and it was that people like her grew up to be dangerous. How on earth could they have expected a child to feel secure in the world when all who share their disability become notorious killers, manipulators, and ultimately, criminals?

With the loquacity of an actively hunted fawn and the iniquitous tendencies of her predecessors, Fiosa comfortably faded into the background, instead choosing the high-functioning route. She felt no need to turn to hostility or violence.

And with that, both a sociopath and a pragmatist were born. Two sides of the same coin - one with a constant urge to deviate from the moral path she was assigned, the other sagacious and restraining the compulsions she tackled.

The latter was the lifestyle she chose for herself. Not out of moral superiority, but out of force, to comply to society's nature to worship the wise and demean those who resisted the christening of education. After all, it'd be ridiculous to drift into a whirlwind of impulse and destruction.

She found the mentality of most killers to be repugnant, almost petulant. Giving into your desires in such a brutish, outwardly manner that entails both world recognition and universal distaste - it irked her. What an intricate, audacious plan to receive nothing in return but a life sentence.

Therefore, Fiosa was a silent misanthrope. She walked the London streets at night and slept through the afternoon. The night carried the stars in its blanket of indigo, and with it, came the time where she could think for herself. She considered it sacred, even if she refused to face the moon.

In the eyes of her friends, she was living lie after lie, and doing so unapologetically. For years, she jumped from school to school a multitude of times. A brand new, comprehensive backstory, along with a new name and accent, followed suit. It exercised her eloquence and knowledge of culture, though not quite her empathy. She would leave after each grade, prepared for another game, another chance to start over as a new character she was able to create and warp to her liking.

Even in Britain, 5 years after graduation, she remained vagrant. 

Until she decided to buy her first ever condominium.

"Evanell? Uh... a little help?"

She whipped her head around, facing her newest friend, Erick Carter, whose face was obscured by the hefty stack of boxes he was balancing. She snickered, picking one off, revealing his flustered visage.

Erick had stopped by to pay her a welcoming visit as her new neighbor. She couldn't possibly deny his gracious offer to help her unload the truck, however, truth be told, Fiosa didn't have much to adorn the condo with at all.

"Relax. you can take multiple trips, you know," she smiled, making her way upstairs. "Wouldn't want you tripping over yourself and breaking all my shit. I've got you."

She winked before heading towards her room with careful steps. Erick's brunette irises followed her silhouette, before he sighed. She's awfully nice...

"Erick? You comin', or am I gonna have to furnish this condo all by myself?"

By the mention of his name, he flinched, straightening immediately. "Coming!" He exclaimed, scurrying upstairs with all the grace of a housepet.

Fiosa was kneeled in her soon-to-be bedroom, rummaging through the box she had taken off Erick's hands. She hadn't planned to alter the interior all that much - the stark, opaque white walls spoke to her. She never believed in the feng shui nonsense her mother used give a harangue about. 

As she was adjusting a grandiose, antique mirror that hung above her desk, she turned at the sound of Erick's footsteps.

...who was standing at the doorframe, chest heaving.

Her eyes flicked up to his. 

"...Pretty bleak," he chided - though it came out shakily - setting the stack of boxes on the carpeted floor.

She smiled warmly, feigning fulfillment. 

"isn't it?"