D10 // HESTIA PENELOPE DARE [DONE]

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
I was looking for a breath of life
A little touch of heavenly light
But all the choirs in my head sang,
No oh oh

name Hestia Penelope Dare
age Seventeen
district Ten
gender Female
occupation Perfecting everything in life.

To get a dream of life again
A little vision of the start at the end
But all the choirs in my head sang,
No oh oh
But I needed one more touch

( B I O G R A P H Y )

Another taste of heavenly rush
And I believe, I believe it
So oh oh oh
And I needed one more touch
Another taste of divine rush

Today the sun rose. It rose just as it has every single day since the beginning of time. The colours that lingered in its presence were different, just like they are every single morning. And even though there is a routine to it all, and even though it is as predictable as the alphabet -the sun will always rise, and yet I fear the variety and the way in which it does so. There is no pattern, there is no sequence and set in stone routine to the colours that blaze in its honour. There is no proper arrangement to which the colours go. I hate it. I hate the way that it is so random, so indistinct, so unreliable. I can't know it, I can't predict what will happen and because of that it scares me. Being unable to know, and having no control agitates me.

I fear for the day when it will all change. The day when the sun will no longer rise. The day when we will not be kissed by the rays of light and instead we will all drown in the darkness and coldness that threatens to kill us all each and every night. Maybe one day it just won't rose, but I don't fear death, I just fear not knowing when it will happen. I don't fear it being painful, it soul destroying, I just fear not knowing when and why it will happen. There is nothing relaxing in the unexpected, there is nothing good about a surprise. Not knowing means the death of me, unexpected events mean worry and uncertainty, and uncertainty is tainted by darkness.

My mother use to call me a piece of art, delicate and fine, crafted from the hand of god, so that my features fit perfectly in between my mothers and fathers. She called me gods gift, precious and fragile, but there was no hint of strength in each of her words. I was always confused with the way she could spin those words so easily. I'm not sure if she has ever actually looked in the mirror, but I sure as hell had not the slightest similarity to her or even my father. I tried telling her this once, before, but she did not believe me. She shook me roughly -something I despised greatly- before telling me to take that nonsense and never speak of it again.

A blonde curtain of hair falls around my delicate face, it slips past my shoulders, long golden locks that I take a lot of care of. Every day I sit in front of the tattered little mirror in my room and gently I sweep out my hair, fanning it around my shoulders until it shines in the dull light of the morning. There is nothing more then that beauty that I love. The only thing I hate about it is the fact that beside my parents, who both of black hair I look odd. I don't look like their daughter, just like the hair my eyes are a brilliant ocean blue, whereas my mother's are emerald green and my dads are brown. I'm always struck by the oddity of my situation, how I seemed to inherit none of their looks.

It was as though I didn't really belong there. Mother hated that idea. She hated me ever whispering a word of it. I'm not stupid. She thinks I am, but I'm not. She believed I was weak. My mind was so, it slowly spun in the forever turning circle that left me locked and trapped in a world that did not satisfy me, there was nothing for me to see except for the same old same old. My mind needs more than just the simple things in life. I need it to prove I'm not weak to my mummy, I need it to keep me sane. I knew she did it to manipulate me, to twist my behaviour and for her I tried to be perfect. I wouldn't let anyone make me think otherwise, she shaped me and prodded me to think that I was perfect.

Everything I did became that very idea of perfection. I never let myself slip from that image because it was everything I had become, I couldn't not be the best, I couldn't not be anything but perfect. The few times someone tried to say that it wasn't perfect that my work, that I wasn't perfect I broke down. I couldn't handle it.I'm a follower, I'm a worker, I am not a leader, leaders have so much problem, they struggle so much and they fail so much. I can't bare the idea of failing, I can't bare the idea of people hating me and not seeing me as I see myself.

Mother said that my teachers and everyone around me should just give me more then what I deserve, she has seen how it effects me when it doesn't happen. Sometimes I snort and tell her to stop being stupid and other times I nod along, eager for her words to reach the ears of others, eager for others to hear and now what she does. Because I can't do with anything less then perfect, I can't survive without it and I know it is so bad, and I know it isn't possible, but my body craves it and I can't stop it.

It helps being one of the richest families in the entire district. My parents have privileges and those privileges in turn help me. People know who I am in district ten and the teachers are awfully lenient. But I've never had to see them act upon those ideas. I'm a girl that can't even think of the idea of breaking the rules. The idea of not finishing homework, or not handing in an assignment makes me nervous. My parents work beside the mayor, they call themselves advisers or something? They expect a lot of me, but I know that hey do not expect as much of me as I expect of myself. I'm a perfectionist and like crazy I will always try to do my best. No one will beat me, I will always make sure of it.

And I believe, I believe it
So oh oh oh
Whose side am I on?
Whose side am I?
And the fever began to spread

( C O M M E N T / O T H E R )

Face Claim is Daphne Groeneveld
Breath of Life by Florence and the Machine
Template ripped from the perfect Lalia

From my heart down to my legs
But the room is so quiet,
And although I wasn't losing my mind
It was a chorus so sublime
But the room was too quiet,

( T H O U G H T S ) 933756
( M A I N ) 885F71
( O T H E R ) A299A9
( S P E A K I N G ) CBC6D0
( H E A R I N G ) 94A395

Oh oh oh
I was looking for a breath of life
A little touch of heavenly light
But all the choirs in my head sang,
No oh oh

( C O D E W O R D )

<img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">

To get a dream of life again
A little vision of the start at the end
But all the choirs in my head sang,
No oh oh
I was looking for a breath of life