Most girls grew up with bows, tutus, crowns and the ultimate wish to find a fairy tale romance, most girls aside from Penelope.
Penelope had always been fairly pretty. She's always worn glasses. Neither of those could account for how she grew up, how she created herself.
She was a daddy's girl, wanting to be just like him. From the way he held his shotgun and rifles to how he would buy her a ten cent comic book every Saturday, she wanted to be like that. She grew up wanting to shoot, wanting to fight, wanting to be a boy. So she did.
Little Penelope held onto those comics like they were gold. She shot her first gun at eight. She took martial arts instead of dance. She became everything she wanted to be and more.
When her father died, Penelope was fourteen. She was starting to look more like a girl finally. Her mother wanted her to be a bit more demure, less outstanding and more withstanding. Her sister, Gertrude, was a perfect little girl, teaching her how to be a bit more quiet, a bit less boyish.
It didn't work as well as they'd hoped. It made her nervous, constantly worrying that she wasn't girly enough. Habits become worse over time, and she developed a problem conveying herself properly. The words get out, but she closes up quickly and babbles when she gets too nervous.
Still, even with a new habit, old ones die hard. She still collects comics. She has a closet of guns that she can use. She practices tae kwon do when she can. She spends her time being a tomboy when there's no one else nearby, and she loves it.
[[Mun, Muse and PB all over eighteen. Not affiliated with Amanda Seyfried. Penelope is mine. No copyright infringement intended.]]