Though the identity of a character reveals itself over the course of a story, there are often a few key moments where the character, whether through their behaviour or by verbal declaration, decides what kind of person they are. These moments should be indications that not only define their self-image, but track their progression (or regression); after all, the whole premise of telling stories is to outline a change that occurred, why it occurred, and how it occurred, so make the development clear.
Example:
Athena the Untouchable
We settled in our chairs, feeding the bonfire as many logs as we could until it threatened to engulf the night itself.
I could feel his eyes on me, so I brought mine to meet them. Wild flames danced inside; the heat of their desire radiated against my skin.
"Why're you looking at me like that?" I asked.
"Sorry, I just think you're really pretty," he answered, moving a cautious inch closer.
For some reason his compliment didn’t sit right with me. Usually I appreciated this kind of praise, especially when I'd put some effort into my appearance. But now? I'd grown to hate the celebration of inconsistency; at the end of the day, the makeup just gets washed off. What would I be then? Besides, when people decided that flowers were beautiful, the first thing they did was pluck them from the ground and stick them in a vase, or cram them between the pages of a book so that they couldn’t see the light, or suffocate them in a pool of resin. People said the moon was beautiful so they planted a flag on it.
I didn’t want to be that kind of beautiful.
I wanted to be the kind of beautiful that was permanently out of reach for as long as I wanted, the kind where the only way my name could be said was in respect by those who appreciated it with their hands clasped behind their backs and in fear by those who refused to accept that I wasn’t something to be poked or picked or pried at or claimed as some trophy to add to a collection. I wasn't named after the goddess of civilization, wisdom, and strategic war for someone to tell me how pretty they think I am. I was untouchable.
So I fed my own fire, and stared him down until the fire in his eyes shrivelled to splinters.
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