"No that isn't what it takes but it certainly doesn't help my chances at a decent conversation. Shy and dumb are two different things, Victor," Beatrice snapped, stalking after Victor for once rather than letting him leave and win the conversation with the upper hand just like every other time.

She was angry. Boiling. Why had she been dealt this hand? A brother who saw her as nothing but a burden. Not a single positive feature. Nothing but her cripling social anxiety. She hadn't asked for this! She hadn't wanted to be so bad at what just came easily to everyone else. But that didn't discount the rest of her! For goodness sake, she wasn't just a single thing. And she was clever. She was intelligent. She loved to read. She could hold discussions about books and authors. She liked art. But no one - her own brother included - could ever bother to make more than a passing glance at her. Could never try to meet her in the middle. It was always her who had to give. It was always her who had to be the failure. Always her who had to be the dimwitted sister who Victor was just waiting for the first man gracious enough to take off his hands so she could be moved from sitting pretty in this house to sitting pretty in another house.

"I'm so tired of you Victor. So tired of this endless routine where you berate me and act like I'm inferior to you. Like something is wrong with me. Like I'm broken beyond repair. Well, breaking news, brother dearest, nothing is wrong with me. Maybe just maybe, the one with something wrong is you."