Being Normal Is Not Necessarily a Virtue.
Growing up she had always been considered odd. Her (adoptive) parents never knew quite what to do with her, or her various interests. They loved her, of this she held no doubt, they just did not know what to do with her. So, they did what every desperate parent did when worried their child would not fit in, they asked her to lie. Or more aptly, they asked her to change.
It started small and was initially quite unnoticeable.
First, they pushed her wardrobe away from the rich jewel tones she usually picked and moved it toward more “normal” colours. Pastels were to be a new favourite in this identity they were carefully constructing for her. Next, they did away with her books of ancient secrets that had long since been forgotten. These were thick tomes which discussed civilisations great and vast. They were books which spoke of empires that had crumbled into dust with the passing of time, stories of the world as it had been. Her new library consisted of fanciful tales of good and kind princesses who did what they were told, waiting for a handsome prince and true love's kiss to save them. She went along with this too.
Finally, they changed her name. Daeira was too unnerving a title for a sweet little girl. It was a name that left trouble in its wake, and she was to become too good a child for the chaos that sort of name implied.
Eventually, as she grew older and learned to adapt to this new persona, she began to fit in.
No longer did the other girls run away from her or say her speech was too great or complex to understand.
No longer did teachers call home, their voices resigned, telling of yet another “incident” she had stumbled into.
No longer did her parents share whispered concerns when they thought she was out of earshot.
Darcy had finally learned to be normal.
Then she met God, and it all came crumbling down.