Cistella Marina Arva -- District Four

But to where does water flow, freely
From her beating heart and to her veins
Down her eyes, silence the cracks
And to the ocean, or back again?

“ o f f w e s k i p l i k e t h e m o s t h e a r t l e s s t h i n g s i n t h e w o r l d ”

w h a t 's y o u r n a m e ? | cistella marina arva
w h o a n d w h a t a r t t h o u ? | cissy no really tho
s h e w a s o n e o f t h e k i n d t h a t l i k e s t o g r o w u p | sixteen
w h y , s h e i s o n l y a g i r l ! | female
s e c o n d s t a r t o t h e r i g h t a n d s t r a i g h t o n ' t i l l m o r n i n g¹ | district four

“ w h i c h i s w h a t c h i l d r e n a r e , b u t s o a t t r a c t i v e ; ”

She doesn't belong in her own body. Her pale, pale skin ― almost eerily iridescent under the glowing moonlight ― isn't luminous. It is papery, rough to the touch. The times spent submerged underwater were evident in her dry skin, wrinkled in tiny dry patches and sunburned in some areas. But it doesn't matter once it is caressed by the waters. Unlike the graceful waves, her body ― although lithe and fit and alike of that of a dancer's ― moves with no absolute grace at all. Her bones creak and move as if olden by a thousand years, and covered in rust and dust. It's no smooth silhouette, with knobby knees resting on thin-twig legs and arms dangling with no use. Her tiny feet ― lotus feet, they say ―

[/color] are weak, except for her minuscule attempts of leaps, weak and horribly childish in comparison to the trained ballerinas ― with their strong, toned calves and moving around as solid and liquid at once ―[/color] in the dance studio with mirrors for walls. The earth is no place for her.[/color] She wanders around, receiving no more than a single careless fleeting look. Her lifeless feet only enough to make a temporary dent on the ground, not even enough to withstand the powerful and cruel power of Time and Change.

But I am a queen underwater.[/color] Light, pale brittle hair that's only enough to be pulled down by gravity slightly beneath her shoulder blades, in distant waves that looks limp and dry. Submerged, it turns into a cloak, a mysterious cape of light against the deep blue colors. It takes life on its own, flowing freely and with life around her, caressing her bare skin ― finally a satisfying sight for once.

But not everyone bothers to open their eyes underwater. Because they're scared. But then you can't see the beauty underneath.[/color] She's accustomed to it, her large, round light blue eyes fully open despite the salty waves. Together with her flaxen hair, they shine bright and reflects light from the Dry World Above and unto the dark depths of the ocean.[/color][/justify]



[/color] The waters were unpredictable, and so she formed herself to be. Or at least she wanted to be. She was damned selfish, the typical mindset of a teenager, driven by sudden impulses to do what she wants. Many times had she tried to run away from the suffocating four walls of her class, and just plunge into the sea. But unfortunately, a single disapproving glare from her parents could only do so much and mean so much.

But these actions of stupidity only ever see the light of day once she walks upon land. There's nothing interesting to do here, anyway.[/color] If her eyes deem it as boring and uninteresting, she'll do two things: she either walks away from it, never casting it a second glance (for all she cares, there could be something better waiting in the ocean)[/color], or she tries and 'liven it up', but all with the worst intentions in mind. Doing something good doesn't mean it's better, and everyone else says I'm no better, so why should it be any better?[/color] She'll start something with gusto, only to leave it in a state not even halfway finished. Suck them out of the life they had ― because, darling, won't you join me?[/color]

But one dive into her realm, and it's a completely different story. Recklessness receives no welcoming open arms. Every pore is injected with the life-giving water, and all of a sudden, she's a completely different person. She's calm, relaxed, and takes in every single thing in mind. It's all about the details.[/color] Every limb has a life of its own, and before she even knew it ―she's dancing. It wasn't quite different once translated over from dry to a wet habitat. It's just like swimming, only much more beautiful.[/color] The whispering winds are her orchestra, telling stories of dropping sky-tears and grumbling air-cottons and the warm beams of light. It's a graceful delight. Every jagged shape turns mellow and soft, every rough surface turns smooth, whatever stick-straight rod that was bends into a serene smile. She's finally a swan, and the most beautiful one there is.

Insignificant she may be once looked upon through the eye, but a goddess once in the domain of Poseidon. The water is beautiful, so why can't they see it?[/color] She knows it herself, so why won't they agree? Why don't they join her in the bliss she's receiving? She's never been good with understanding other's own separate perspectives, and she's not even trying to comprehend them either.[/color][/justify]



[/color] It didn't help that her elder sister, Nerissa, can't even swim to save her life. She was in a completely different world, and she's just too spaced out.[/color] Cistella despised and underestimated her sister for her every ounce of worth ― or lack thereof. Every sneer showed full disdain and the selfish gratefulness that she didn't end up with schizophrenia. Although she knows well of her elder sister's mental disability, it irked her that the littlest of things could pass right by Nerissa.

Nerissa, naturally, got most of the attention. That didn't bother Cistella, since she could use less eyes trained on her, watching each heavy, limp limb move. It gave her more time to escape, and more time with the water.

She was a young child with a slight build, and Ripred knows what must've gotten in their heads, but the Arva couple decided to enroll their youngest daughter in a ballet class. They knew better than to include in their eldest, who would probably slow down the class. Despite her desperate acts to avoid the dreaded unknown ― who knew what would await her there? ―[/color] everything was ready and they were all set to go.

It was hard. It was difficult. It was torture. The other girls moved with ease and grace. I couldn't.[/color] Gravity was weighing her down, pressing against her body to just fall back and stay. It was an excruciating task to raise an arm, and keep it still for the whole hour ― let alone a slight minute. It was tempting, to just let her shoulders fall forward and hunch her spine, but with every attempt comes a hard backhand slap ― thrice.[/color] She tried complaining her situation with Mariana, but she had put it blunt and simple that she was 'too much of a whiner'[/color] and 'you've got to suck it to fix that bad posture of yours.'[/color] If only she knew how much less I cared about whether I'd just drag myself the whole time.[/color] But she pursed her lips, and vowed to never give up.

Until came the time she did. It was as if her own body has this switch, that turned drained all of her energy whenever she stepped foot on the hardwood floors of the studio. There were more slaps, more scoldings, more muscle stretches, until it was too much. Her only refuge was the sea, which was was particularly convenient with her home overlooking the ocean. She jumped off, until she floated back unto the surface, gasping for dear glorious air. Then an idea came to her. She never had time to fully ponder over the random idea, but her arms and legs were faster, they started moving into the music in her head. It was relaxing, yet thrilling at the same time. She loved it.[/color] She quit the ballet class. It was the best decision I have made.[/color] She ventured on to more difficult moves, such as tumbling underwater. It was a difficult feat at first, causing in a terrible headache that lasted for a day, but it was the strange sense of pride and glad: she was dancing. Finally dancing.[/color][/color][/justify]



c o d e w o r d | odair
b u t w e w e r e o n l y | gemma ward
t r y i n g t o | mermaid in the peter pan plot;
d r o w n h e r ! | ^{1 & 2} - peter pan by j. m. barrie

i f w e l i s t e n | narration; 74A18E
w o u l d w e h e a r | speaking; E5D193
h e r c r i e s | others; AFC689
t h a t b u r y t h e m s e l v e s | emphasis; 98B285
i n h e r m i n d ? | thoughts; F5E3C6

a n a u t h o r ' s n o t e | january 3, 2012 - edited the template <3[/blockquote][/size][/blockquote]