(no subject)
Murget was born with three arms and small legs, through no fault of her own. People, in their way, still blamed her for it. Her childhood was difficult, but she would argue that childhood is difficult; a handful of aimless, simple days that slip toward something heavier, like warm shadows slowly gathering into a span of cool night. And that's to say nothing of actually dealing with other children. The hungry little creatures turn everything over and inside-out, and they push each other down and pick themselves up in the hope of discovering something they enjoy, a calling of some kind, a purpose that will take their aimlessness away. Children, Murget has found, are hardly worth the hassle until they realize what they're all about.
Take her own experience: she likes puzzles. From the moment she was capable of manipulating objects with her fingers, she was taking complex things apart with the intention of putting them back together, occasionally succeeding, always enjoying the process. Disassembly, reassembly. At first she thought it meant she wanted to be an inventor, but quickly she found that it wasn't ever the finished product itself that pleased her. No, it was the experience of having many, varied parts, knowing that they could be aligned to create something beautifully elaborate, or startlingly plain. This is her great indulgence and natural talent, the personal gift that has been shaping her life since she was indeed a little, supposedly handicapped child making Soma cubes out of the gum blocks her teacher had told her to stack as a test of dexterity.
The other students in the warren tormented her about it. What are you doing? Why do you do that? Not that the nature of her ability was shameful. making and solving puzzles is a fairly noble pursuit. It was only that she seemed so content, she supposes, and they had always been taught that she should be unhappy. So she did not blame them for the things they said. The words hurt at the time, and she vaguely envied her classmates' talents in climbing, throwing, rolling elbow-to-elbow down an empty hall at speed - but it was the same way she envied the birds their flight, the sky its quick and immeasurable volumes. Those were lovely things which she herself was not meant to possess.
Murget does not have four arms or strong legs, and she does not wish she had them. If that makes her a puzzle to others, it pleases her to be one that is not so easily solved.