Your Song

Hina's Backstory [Birthday Special]

Trigger Warning: Disease

Hina's  POV

The name my friends call me is Hina, but that wasn't always my nickname. My first one was Tsuri, like some sort of match or pair with Tsuru's name, who was about five years older than me. Tsuri sounds a bit like souris. Mouse. Small. Quiet. 

Like me, Tsuru is a model. 

"In this industry, there's a precious little that matters more than appearance." She told me. I think I joined the same industry out of spite, to show her that that wasn't true.

I went under a stage name of sorts. Hina.

I went to a private school, filled with the children of celebrities, models, lawyers, CEOs; I thought I'd blend in. But I wasn't able to.

Even amongst children of the rich, the daughter of the third richest couple in Japan and the richest couple in Okinawa can't just blend in.

I won't complain about the money. Everyone wants it, and I'm not free from this rule. But body guards at every turn isn't always pleasant.

"Miss Hinatsuri." One of my bodyguards approached me at the end of the school day once. "Your sister is residing on the estate. Do you wish for me to bring you to the library?"

I brought a finger to my lips and glanced at the leaving students around me, wondering if they had heard. A scandal was the last thing I needed.

"Yeah, sure."

While Tsuru was the one who introduced me to reading, I couldn't bring myself to part from it like I did with many other things involving her.

Reading was a nice escape from the way people treated me as if I was a whole other species. When I was reading, sometimes I felt insignificant compared to the characters I read of.

I am no demigod, goddess, queen, heiress, fairy, or otherwise. I cannot summon lightning to my hand or command oceans.

I can't even run through fields of grass and flowers without a care in the world. I was told to always care.

"You don't know who could be watching," My mother told me. "a fan, a servant, even your own family may spread whispers about you. You cannot let that happen, mon chaton."

The way I spoke was quickly changed. How I stood, sat, and even walked was trained as if it were a sport.

Like every child, I'm basically the image that my parents decided to paint.

Not a lot of parents want to admit this, but what their child is today is what they've sculpted. "Where did you get that attitude from?" is like asking a baby calf "where did you get your spots from?"

I recall about a year before entering into middle school, my parents informed me that we were moving.

"We're moving to Japan," My father stated. "your sister will be accompanying us."

I paused. "Why?"

"Why, because she's your sister, of course. It is beginning to be an inconvenience to be living in the same region as..." My father cleared his throat and said nothing more on that matter. "We will be leaving in three months time."

It isn't entirely common for those who are French to move to Japan with no true connection to it. But I can't simply say no.

Three months after, we moved to Japan.