Disclaimer: I don't own BNHA.

i. first light

—

They say there are people who are born lucky.

Fate has a funny way of playing out. There are ups and downs and sometimes lefts and rights, but things always play out in the end. People who are blessed in such a way never have to worry about frivolous things like tomorrow, because whether or not they're aware of it, life will always turn out, in the most simplest of terms, okay.

It certainly came as a surprise to my parents when the child they thought my mother was carrying was, in fact, children. Two, luckily. Any more and the situation would have been much trickier. The doctor forced a lopsided smile onto her lips, cheeks reddened in embarrassment at the fact her flawless record in the field had, actually, been flawed. This wasn't something she was going to admit, though. She instead hoped that the shock of the revelation of twins would be enough for the young couple to forget about her supposedly impeccable career.

"Two?" my mother breathed out, squeezing my father's hand, her eyes widened in a mixture of shock and horror and perhaps, at the time, fear.

"Yes, two," the doctor repeated. "The other was hiding behind the first girl the entire time, it seems…"

"That can't be…" my father trailed off, adding to the stupefaction that, to the doctor, was now starting to seem exaggerated.

"It is." The doctor straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, her tone firm like a mother ready to scold her children. "It will be."

I don't think my mother enjoyed pregnancy after she found out she was having twins. The maternal glow that illuminated her face and somehow hid the dark circles underneath her eyes had all but disappeared. She glided through the empty halls of her home like a lost ghost. At times she could enter rooms by simply walking through the walls, but lucky for her, and maybe us, she was tangible most days.

Her days fell stagnant and her interactions with others— yes, even her dear husband— were limited. In the final months of her trimester, she hardly stepped outside her room, simply choosing to remain in her bed with her hand over her swollen belly, one much larger because it was carrying the burden of three rather than the two she had— and still did— hoped for.

The breaking of her water wasn't followed by a momentous roar or the histrionic shrieks that so often came with such an occasion. My mother was eerily calm. She lied still in her bed, the sheets now soaked between her thighs, and it wasn't until a maid came into her room to check on her that she finally lifted her head.

"You're going into labor!" the maid wailed. My mother, still a mere apparition to the world, ran her cold hands over her belly and nodded in solemn denial.

"I suppose I am," she said.

The drive to the hospital was just as tranquil. The sharp cramps rippling through her body, wreaking havoc in her abdomen, hardly did more than make her face contort. She would let out a quiet grunt every now and again, but she was silent as the night that enveloped that moment. The maid had to keep looking at her to make sure she hadn't faded into nothingness.

Doctors and nurses and staff alike were both ecstatic and honored to be in the presence of my mother, a world renowned actress and model known for playing the lead role in several hit films. To say they delivered the children of a cherub was a tale they were more than ready to tell their friends (I wouldn't be surprised if they had practiced the retelling of said tale).

The delivery happened like any other. My father came a bit late because he had been stuck in a business meeting, but he was there to comfort his wife, not that she needed any. My mother spent a mere seven hours in labor— perhaps because she was so desperate to get us out— and on the clear night of the twenty third of September, twins Momo and Ume Yaoyorozu were born. Momo screeched. She cried and howled and bawled, like, or more than any baby should. She flailed her tiny limbs as she began to make sense of this new world she was suddenly in. The warmth and cold, the light and darkness, the sounds and sensations that were all very new and very unwelcome.

Ironically or not, I was completely quiet. I made no sound, even after I was taken from my mother and lifted into a strange man's uncomfortable arms. I hardly moved aside from shifting around here and there, and whatever sounds I did make were undetected. Small whimpers and nascent snivels, perhaps? I wasn't sure— no one could hear or simply chose to not pay attention, therefore, it was unknown if I had truly remained muted that night.

When our mother held us close to her chest, as we breathed softly against her damp skin, her lips twitched ever so slightly. It was the first time in months she's smiled. I wish my eyes were opened so I could have witnessed it. Even if I was only a few minutes old at the time, to at least know that I witnessed her smile would have made things a bit less glum.

It was obvious from a young age the type of people Momo and I were. Our parents always preferred her— most likely because she was the one they saw at first, before they realized they would be caring for two— and they treated her as such. She displayed a genius level intellect from a young age that would put even the most prestigious scholars to shame, speaking at the same time she could walk, reading before she was even potty trained. She was well mannered and eloquent in everything she did, graceful and noble, and carried the pride of a princess.

I, on the other hand, did what I could. I liked to think I was keeping up with her, with the only thing that made me stand out being the fact I didn't utter any word until I was four. Before then our parents were relatively concerned over this and took me to a doctor, who tried asking me questions and listing off symptoms, but I would defiantly shake my head or firmly nod depending on what he asked me. Eventually we were sent home and asked to come back another day. On the car ride home, my father looked at me through the rear view mirror and furrowed his thick brows.

"What is wrong with you, Ume?" he questioned, but he spoke as though he were talking to himself rather than me. "Why won't you talk?"

I finally broke.

"Because you won't care if I do," I responded. Their jaws dropped open but the shock left as quickly as it came, like a hasty burglar who snuck into their minds and snatched away their astonishment. The only proof I had that they had in fact listened to me was when they called the doctor and said there was no need for paperwork or diagnoses. I was normal and that was all that was needed.

The only person other than Momo who treated me as my own being was a maid named Miss Lila. Miss Lila was a stern, aloof woman who immigrated to Japan from a faraway country and was hardened by its belligerence, stemmed from crime and corruption and repugnant men she referred to as tas de merde— a foreign word that certainly couldn't mean anything good. She came to our house one day with nothing but the clothes on her back, promising to provide excellent care to any children, cook, clean— she hardly finished her broken sentence before she was invited inside.

Despite her gruff exterior, I knew Miss Lila was a kind woman deep down. She was always gentle when handling my hair. She dressed me with the same delicacy one would have with a porcelain doll. She taught me the odd language of her land— French, she called it— that was harsh on the vowels but soft on the tongue, and when I became fluent enough we would have our own conversations in this language that I, for a long time, thought was made up, because we were the only two to understand it, but that made it all the more special to me.

She had dark skin and curly black hair that was always shaved down, but she wore it with pride. She was tall and strong and confident, and though my mother didn't like her very much, her Quirk allowed her to ease any negative feelings with just a touch, which my mother frequently requested. I'm thoroughly convinced this is the only reason why she was kept around.

Growing up in such an environment, with my sister being who she is, made me feel like I was the secondary character in my own motion picture life. It should be noted that Momo and I aren't identical twins. We have enough differences to separate us. She's far more full figured and curvaceous than I am, though I try to maintain a toned physique. While she keeps her hair tied into a ponytail, I prefer to let mine loose, and it reaches the middle of my back, with my bangs sweeping across my forehead to the right.

My eyes are a bit thinner than hers, and, as she describes it, are stuck in a perpetual glare (she attributes this to the amount of time I spend around Miss Lila— apparently, this results in me also adopting her default gaze, which is just short of a scowl). Additionally, my tongue is decorated with a piercing, one I got in secret rebellion.

I'm not angry at nor do I hate Momo. We don't have that sort of dynamic, we're actually quite close, but I'm fully aware that she's the golden child and I'm the black sheep. She's kind and regal. I'm quiet and withdrawn. She excels at playing piano. I'm decent at the violin. She's a beacon in the eyes of everyone and I'm the shadow her light casts.

Momo is everything I'm not— my better half, really. She is one of those who was born lucky. And I, who has to struggle to even be acknowledged, whether or not I wanted to admit it, was the one lucky to be born.

"Are you working on a new project?"

The sound of squeaky wheels in need of being oiled pierced my ears as they rolled against smooth tile, teacups made from expensive china clinking faintly against each other. I kept my gaze on the myriad of colors in front of me, my eyes scanning the surface of the canvas that contained splotches of differing hues here and there that, with the interference of a paintbrush, became muddled together to form an entirely different shade. I stared thoughtfully at the painting, only paying half attention to the presence that was now beside me.

"Ume?" the voice called again.

"Sorry," I muttered and forced myself to tear my eyes away. Momo smiled endearingly at me, only taking a moment to look away as she poured amber liquid into one of the teacups. She handed it to me with a saucer placed underneath it to prevent me from getting burned before repeating the action with a similar cup. I took note of the detail that lined the cup; the intricate art of pale blue orchids wrapping around the entirety of the cup, accented by gold sinuous lines that gave the porcelain its own sense of nobility.

"Earl gray," she said, once again smiling as she lifted the cup to her lips, small breaths escaping her lungs as she blew on the liquid to cool it.

"Mm," I sounded and turned back to the canvas. "I wanted to try painting people this time."

"Oh? Who?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted and took a moment to sip the bitter, yet slightly sweet tea. "Someone I saw one day."

Momo stepped closer to me and leaned forward, her chin resting marginally on my shoulder, our cheeks making contact. I felt the muscles in her face contort and then rise— she was smiling— and she lifted herself to her full height, firmly nodding.

"What will you name him?" she asked. I lifted my shoulders into a half hearted shrug.

"I'm not sure," I repeated. "Something cool, maybe."

I whirled around in my stool to face her.

"What are your favorite male names?" she asked. Momo clicked her tongue, onyx irises traveling to the ceiling as she began to deeply consider the question. She clicked her tongue once more and tapped her finger against her teacup.

"I like… Takumi."

"Takumi," I parroted.

"Or Yuuki."

"Yuuki."

"Daisuke, as well."

"Daisuke."

Her lips curled up in amusement. "You're being fickle today, Ume."

It was enough to make me chuckle.

"I'm in a good mood."

I took another sip of the tea and set it back onto the cart she wheeled in, which, I realized, was also decorated with various confectioneries; slices of powdery tiramisu and cheesecake drizzled with strawberry syrup; cups containing colorful macarons and enticing pieces of chocolate; the familiar golden brown layer of crème brûlée and the sickeningly sweet custard sandwiched between a choux à la crème. My sister was a bit of a glutton, and this presented itself best when she was presented with sweets.

I lifted my head towards her at the same time she turned away, pale cheeks now stained pink in hot embarrassment. I smiled, partly out of reassurance and partly out of guilt; I didn't quite share her fondness for sugary foods, but I still enjoyed them with her from time to time. This, however, was not one of those times.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Later. I promise."

The uplift in Momo's lips was forgiving, but carried a trace of dejection. I was going to say something further, but was promptly interrupted by another figure joining us, calloused hands brushing against her apron as she walked towards us in fast, heavy steps. Miss Lila cleared her throat and folded her hands behind her back, keeping her nose in the air as she spoke to us, a silent quip at the way my father carried himself. I chuckled quietly under my breath, having to keep my mouth concealed by my hand.

"Your parents ask to see you," she said in her accented voice, deep and husky, a personal remnant of her homeland.

"Oh!" Momo chirped. "Thank you, Lila-san."

She followed behind us as we strode down the massive halls of our home, decorated with exquisite paintings sold to the highest bidder, works of art delineated by famous artists, now either deceased or too aged to ever achieve that same level of precision. It was no secret Momo and I lived a life of luxury. The Yaoyorozu family are aristocratic socialites. All enjoyed lavish lives of expensive jewelry, cars, and clothing. Momo and I made conscious decisions to remain humble and economical in spite of the vast wealth our family boasted.

We entered the dining hall, which featured an oblong table, perfect for an entire family to sit at, decorated with a white silk cloth. A grand chandelier hung over it, twinkling every now and again with its silver sparkles gleaming in the light that filtered in through the large windows. Sitting at the table across from each other were our parents; our mother, dressed in a elegant red gown, the same color as her cherry red lipstick, black hair tied into a neat bun; and our father, adjusting the tie to his neatly pressed suit, dark hair slicked back and glasses perched thoughtfully on his nose.

"Girls," our mother called, her sharp voice echoing in the empty spaces of the massive hall. Momo and I bowed to our parents out of politeness and moved to sit beside them, I beside mother, and her beside father.

"Lila, fetch us some tea. Harney and Sons, Mutan White," Father said.

"Of course, Takahiro-sama," Lila responded, bowing at her waist. "Is there anything you would you like, Haruka-sama?"

"No," Mother replied in a curt tone. Her lips tightened and the wavering glance she sent to Lila and then father didn't go unnoticed by me. Lila bowed once more and hurried away. I twisted my head over my shoulder to get a quick glimpse of the window behind me. The sun was setting and painted the sky a vibrant mixture of orange, yellow, and black. I etched that view into my head to be used as inspiration for my next art piece.

"We received your acceptance letters," Mother spoke. Momo gasped and clapped her hands together, eyes shimmering in delight. "Congratulations to the both of you."

"Do you hear that, Ume? We're going to be Yūei students!"

The corners of my mouth lifted. Momo and I had both taken the entrance exam to one of the most prestigious academies the world has to offer, known as Yūei High. We did well— of course, she did better— but knowing we had made it in was more than enough to please me. I could only hope it made our parents feel the same.

"Students in the hero course are required to submit costume designs," Father stated, once again readjusting his tie, even though it was fine just the way it was. Something was making him nervous. His eyes were flickering and his jaw was clenched. My brow twitched, but I made sure not to look too intently so that he wouldn't catch on to the fact I was observing him.

"Oh, hero costumes!" Momo cried. "Ume, I'd be honored if you could design mine. You're the one with the eye for art and fashion, after all!"

"You flatter me," I muttered in chagrin, dismissively waving my hand. "I-I couldn't—"

"You could request the help of your aunt," Mother said, raising one of her perfectly arched brows. "I'm sure she would be more than happy to help."

"I suppose, but…" Momo's brows creased together. "I want to wear what Ume designs."

It was only out of pity that mother didn't release the sigh she was holding in her throat. She looked away from us— more from me than from Momo— and gestured to a pair of servants who came in with large trays filled with steaming plates of food balanced carefully on their shoulders.

"Tonight, we present to you seafood cuisine, lobster tail and crab caught fresh off the coast of Portland, Maine, in the United States," one announced as he placed a plate of food in front of mother and father. Wisps of smoke rose into the air, indicating the freshness of the meal. "Soaked in butter and garlic sauce and broiled to perfection, seasoned with paprika, salt, and black pepper, and topped off with a lemon slice garnish. Enjoy."

"Very nice," Mother purred. At the same time, Miss Lila and another maid entered the dining hall pushing a cart much like the one Momo rolled into my room earlier. They stopped before us and began pouring our tea, careful to not let a single drop splash out of the cup.

"For you, Madame," Miss Lila uttered quietly, setting the teacup carefully beside mother's plate. "And you as well, Monsieur."

Mother's gaze faltered again.

"When you girls are finished," she began. "Return to your rooms."

Her eyes dimmed in subdued anger. Momo exchanged a knowing look with me. She was in one of her moods again, whether because of Miss Lila or father's apathy or something else entirely different. She was a capricious woman and the constant shifting of her mood and behavior could only be tolerated because of years of practice.

"It would probably be best if we eat in our rooms," Momo suggested, already rising to her feet. I followed in suit, the plate sweltering underneath my fingertips. Mother bobbed her head and father simply continued eating as if he were the only one in the room. The last thing I heard before we exited the space was a bitter voice asking— no, pleading— for a glass of Domaine Leroy Musigny Grand Cru.

"I would need something that could maximize the efficiency of my Quirk so that I won't be hindered when making objects."

Momo sat on the edge of my bed with one leg crossed over the other, her teacup resting idly in her lap. A sketchbook dominated mine. I tapped the empty page with the sharpened point of my pencil, tongue stuck out absentmindedly, a habit I developed over my art career that indicated deep focus.

"Well… when you say that, something similar to what Midnight wears comes to mind," I uttered, the image of the R-Rated Hero appearing in the back of my head. Perhaps nothing as coquettish as her outfit, but something that was considerate of the fact Momo's skin needed to be exposed in order for her Quirk to work.

"A leotard," I muttered, quickly beginning to sketch a rough outline of her body. "It can be accented with something so that your outfit doesn't look so empty— an utility belt, maybe."

"That's an excellent idea!" Momo chirped. "What color? Perhaps blue? I've read that it has a calming effect on people."

I clicked my tongue.

"Blue doesn't quite suit you," I admitted. Her cheeks quickly turned pink. "I'm thinking crimson or vermillion. Red is a color that symbolizes passion, strength, and power, but also femininity. It's also a symbol of good luck in some cultures." I smiled. "It'll make you look reliable, but genial."

"Oh! That's wonderful, Ume!"

It didn't take long for me to sketch a prototype. I handed the book to Momo when I finished, and she furrowed her brows as her eyes scanned the detailing.

"Would it be possible to add an opening in the front? Most fat cells are located in the breasts—"

I snatched the book from her as quickly as I could, a low chuckle emitting from my throat.

"Aren't you worried about boys looking at you?"

"That's hardly a concern!" she huffed. "Heroes don't have time to consider how anyone looks at them! Saving lives takes priority!"

In all fairness, she certainly had a point. The hero world was too chaotic and fast paced to worry about superficial things like clothing, and considering it was for the sake of functionality, I doubt it mattered any.

"Very well," I conceded.

"What will your outfit be like, Ume?" Momo asked, blinking in genuine curiosity. I sighed quietly and lifted my shoulders to my ears.

"I'll think of something," I told her. It wasn't something I was going to worry about right away. My Quirk didn't need my costume to be as revealing as hers, therefore, I could be much more conservative with it. All I had to do was come up with a quick design and mail it back to the company. Momo exhaled quietly, and her eyes lowered to the tawny liquid that remained still in her lap. I glanced at her solemn expression, but before I could ask what was wrong, she spoke.

"Dinner was tense, wasn't it?" she whispered.

"Mm." I sounded and returned my attention back to the sketch. "It wasn't dinner. It was mother."

"She looked upset."

"She was."

"Do you think there was anything we could have done?"

"That isn't the right question, Momo," I said. I closed my eyes for a moment before reopening them. "It's a matter of if she would care."

"Right…"

Momo pursed her lips. Onyx eyes fluttered in deep concern but I couldn't find myself sympathizing. My mind roared in a frustrating bout of pity that stemmed from my examining of her and knowing that there were a million and one things coursing through her mind right now.

Momo was such a tender person. It wasn't obvious most times. She often hid it behind a veil of professionalism and sagacity that could make her seem unapproachable and distant, but anyone who held a conversation with her could see the sincere compassion that buried itself within her, and reared its head back during times like this. It was her strength so much as it was her weakness.

Momo had too much love to give.

She would find a way to make the world stop spinning if it meant her loved ones were safe and happy. She went out of her way to make others the center of her universe and she would orbit around them in an endless eclipse, a holy body that she kept within her gravity. But I suppose this only made her will to become a hero stronger. The boundless love of hers made her perfect for such a career. Her love was something only being a hero could prove.

"You'll be a great hero, Momo…" I mumbled under my breath, so quietly the words had to struggle to part my lips.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"No, nothing." Softly, I smiled. "Nothing at all."

The days leading up to the first day of school were exhausting, confusing, and not in any way dissimilar to a whirlwind. I spent the time as I always did, simply existing, but this was between preparing myself for having to interact with others again, and the increasing erraticness of my mother's behavior. I'm not sure if Momo didn't notice, or if she chose to not pay it any mind— or maybe I was just a bit more sensitive when it came to our mother— but whatever it was made me wish I could so easily ignore things like that.

My heart was pounding. It beat in my ears like a heavy drum, almost subduing any other sound that dared tried to pervade my hearing. If I hadn't known any better I would've thought I was going into cardiac arrest. Waves of trepidation seeped into the recesses of my mind and cracks of my bones, setting off a series of alarms and warnings that echoed in my head, pulling me back into myself, uprooting the urge to crawl into a deep hole and never come out.

Am I dying?

"Ume, it's time to go!"

I swallowed the lump that nestled itself behind my tongue and somehow gather the courage to turn my head. Momo stood in the doorway of my room, taking a moment to tug her blazer to rid of any wrinkles that have formed. She pressed her hands against her skirt and tilted her head upwards, her eyes sparkling in enthusiasm, accented by the wide smile she struggled to contain.

"Right," I muttered. I followed her out into the hallway, trailing behind her in hopes that maybe seeing her in such a delighted state of mind would make me feel the same. I often read that twins are supposed to have a special, almost telepathic connection— one that transcends what we understand about science and Quirks and everything in between. In theory, Momo and I are supposed to understand each other on a spiritual level; understand what the other is feeling with just a glance, know what we're thinking, feel deeply— but she felt too much and I, too little. Maybe we— or I— was doing something wrong.

As we made our way to the front door, several maids and servants we passed along away shared their congratulations' and good lucks, marvelling at our uniforms and telling us empty words of reassurance. I had mostly tuned them out until we reached the front door, and then—

My world froze.

I didn't quite mind my mother often anymore. I had gotten used to her by now, used to her mannerisms and behavior, everything that made up who she is. But this, for one reason or another, was different. She was dressed in a baby blue dress, a glass of whiskey in her hand, with the bitter, pungent smell of said alcohol nearly making me gag. Momo's smile faltered. Her entire aura seemed to dim and all our mother did was glare at us.

"Don't bring ignominy to the Yaoyorozu name, girls," she spoke. She took a sip of the whiskey, leaving a stain of her plum lipstick on the edge of the glass. "Momo, keep your head up high. Step over anyone who dare tries to bring you down. And you, Ume—"

She gave me the same look I gave my paintings when I was going to give up on them.

"Don't get in your sister's way."

I dipped my head. My skin crawling, I hurried to the porch as quickly as I could and raced down the stairs, to our front gate, where a black limousine was waiting.

"Ume—"

I didn't respond to Momo's voice. I slid into the back seat and looked out into the window because I knew if I so much as even caught a glimpse of her, I would burst into tears. I didn't want to embarrass myself. And I didn't want to embarrass my family, but knowing I was the embarrassment to my family, I felt like the only thing I could do was hide away forever.

"Ume, please don't listen to her."

Momo's hand brushed over mine. My skin burned at her contact but I couldn't find it in myself to pull away. I felt like my stomach had swallowed my heart whole and it now sat at the base of my abdomen like a ball of lead.

"The day will get better. I promise."

Desperate to feel okay, I believed her.

Yūei was a massive glass building arranged in two H shapes, standing tall above any other building, and reflecting the rising sun like a giant mirror. Momo tightly clutched my hand and turned to me. She grinned, and the most I could do was lift the corners of my lips, but she was happy and in spite of what happened, I could force myself to be, too.

"We're here!" she gasped. As soon as the limousine came to a step, Momo stepped out, not even giving the driver the chance to open the door for us, and she dragged me out with her. I stumbled in my footing and lurched forward, nearly crashing into someone else if Momo hadn't pulled me back and steadied me.

"I'm so sorry—!" I groaned. I looked up at to see who it was I almost collided with, and found myself staring into two different pools of turquoise and silver. Impassive eyes blinked at me and he shrugged his shoulders, flickering between Momo and I before ultimately settling upon me.

"It's fine," he said. I recognized this boy, but Momo speak before I did, stepping forward and politely bowing her head.

"Good morning," she greeted, teeth peeking out slightly from the part in her lips as she smiled. "I recognize you from the entrance exams. Remind me of your name again?"

"Todoroki Shoto," he said. He shifted his body as if he was ready to walk away, but remembered that leaving now would be considered rude.

"Ah, right!" Momo chirped. She grabbed my arm and jerked me forward. "This is my sister, Yaoyorozu Ume. And my name is Momo!"

"You look alike."

"We're twins."

"I see."

Momo smiled again, wider this time, and began walking with Todoroki and I beside her. I vaguely remember her mentioning how this boy was both handsome and prodigal, and it now made sense why she was so willing to strike a conversation with him, despite him not appearing to be the talkative type. His responses were short and straightforward and reminded me of myself in social situations. But Momo refused to give up in spite of this.

"You have an incredible Quirk," she said. "Your mastery over it is very impressive! I can tell you're already on the same level as many Pro Heroes."

"Thanks," Todoroki responded, seemingly unfazed by the compliment. "I've had a lot of time to practice with it."

"Yes, of course! Elemental Quirks are typically difficult to master, but you were…" She paused. "You were amazing, Todoroki-san."

"Your Quirk isn't bad either, Yaoyorozu."

I tuned out their conversation, if it could be called that, and drifted my eyes away to look everywhere but at them. It hadn't fully dawned on me until now that I was officially a Yūei student. This wasn't my dream so much as it was my parents', their last ditch effort to try to mold me to become something more than my sister's shadow. And while I did want to become a hero— truly, genuinely— I had my doubts if I ever could. Because what am I compared to her? Momo is a star shining brightest in the darkest sky and I struggle to even flicker.

I had become complacent in life knowing I would always be overshadowed, so wherever I end up while attending Yūei will hardly affect me. Because that's the life I live as the one lucky to be born—

Because that's the life I live as Yaoyorozu Ume.

A/N: So this story was actually requested by someone named Dark flame mana, who asked me to write a story with an OC that's Momo's sister, and the idea was so compelling I decided to try it out. We'll see how far this will go uvu thank you for reading and please don't hesitate to drop a review, fave, or follow!