Repressed | Renata Woolever

◉ Welcome to Elendel! ◉

The college therapist that peaked in highschool has decided you are her therapist now.

Swaying...
Trying to let me be.
Never found it so hard,
To follow what i feel.

MY SPINNING WHEEL - DOOPEES

Autonomous University of Elendel

ᴏᴄ ◈ ғᴇᴍᴘᴏᴠ ◈ sᴇᴍɪ-ʟᴏɴɢ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ
sᴇᴍɪ-ᴇsᴛᴀʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ

ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ sᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ◈ ᴍᴇᴇᴋ ◈ ᴅɪsᴛʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ◈ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ
sʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴀᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʜɪɢʜsᴄʜᴏᴏʟ

"Where did i go wrong?
Where did i go astray?"

Overview:

Hidden behind clinical walls and tones of green handpicked by heartbroken frogs, one could find the welcoming lair of a hypocritical fae who gave advice as good as parfait—yet refrained from following it herself.

And this wasn’t a fairytale, but everything you just read is still true.

Renata was the kind of woman as noticeable as the dust particles she claimed she could see—lively as the flickering lightbulb she insisted appeared above her head whenever she had an idea. She kept bugs in jars, imagining each one as a representation of her repressed emotions, and often looked toward an imaginary sitcom camera recording her life’s most ridiculous moments.

An unwritten diary and a funny-shaped mark on her bedroom wall were her closest confidants amidst the silent warfare of her home. A father who worked all day, finding comfort in the printed letters of newspapers—his approving gaze over crumpled print the greatest acknowledgement Renata ever received. A mother more concerned with what the neighbors thought of her family than the fact her daughter was kissing another girl upstairs.

She grew up with the idea that "emotions were weakness," not because she believed it, but because it was such a stupid statement—excuse the language. Turns out, being a wallflower came with a lot of spare time for people-watching, and if Renata excelled at anything, it was observing. Which was apparently weird. "Ren the creep!" kids would yell.

Then came the moment she earned a full scholarship out of state. The mark on the wall didn’t look funny anymore. Her diary was now filled with unsent love letters. The blue bloom of her blankets had rotted—either from insults, sleepless nights, and neglect… or maybe just cheap detergent.

Life changed for the better after that. People, no