.// isabella camelia contessa

Oh, Italy
With lands and valleys of green
And the lady that smiles like the sun
Oh, Italy

.// details

NAME -- [ Isabella Camelia Contessa ]
NICKNAME -- [ Sabi/Sab ; Bella ]
AGE -- [ Seventeen ]
GENDER -- [ Female ]
DISTRICT/AREA -- [ District Thirteen ]

.// appearance

[justify]Rich, dark features were often a rarity in District Thirteen. In an isolated underground community where no sunlight reached and warmed the thriving human flesh, pale skin dominated below ground. It was under the fertile topsoil, and among the bones of decaying organisms that once graced the Earth, where catacombs act as homes to pale-skinned citizens. How Isabella remained her luminous olive skin wasn't much of a ground-shaking question, simply a nam vitae, she says. According to her, facts of life―befuddling ones, in particular―were something that people (specifically her) never bothered to question and left to let be. Oh, but we should never question life! Isabella constantly preaches this, complete with widened hazy eyes and standing on her tippy toes. Then she would continue breathing the sweet scent of the camilla flower she brings everyday, blabbering words and phrases of ancient languages she loves and learns through olden books. "Love feeds her," others say.[/justify]

[justify]Not entirely true, though it would be a lovely thought. Love was warmth, in an overgeneralized point of view, and she most certainly looked like the human version of it. Her oval-shaped face was more rounded than angular, from her forehead to her slight cleft chin. It wasn't exactly her best feature, since she tends to frown at it, but doesn't bother her to a great extent. She had rosy cheeks that grew prominent whenever her equally rose-colored lips, with its lower lip in its full pouted glory, is curved to a sweet, sweet smile. Her short, and rather wide, nose is rounded at the tip, a bit unusual among the slender noses surrounding her. Eyes are the windows to one's soul, and Isabella's are just as warm―she despised to think that it was boring in comparison―as the rare luxury they get in the form of a cup of hot chocolate in the morning. They were creamy and rich, filled with flavor to the tiniest drop. Like the smoke rising up from the hot, creamy beverage, her chocolate-like almond eyes are hazy, framed with thick, dark eyebrows.[/justify]

[justify]Isabella didn't bother much for her hair. They were almost similar to the color of her eyes, only a bit darker. It wasn't sleek and straight, unlike her mother's. Instead, it was wavy, with some pieces slightly curled, the kind you get after a day of swimming at the ocean. Not like I would know, since I have never been outside in the real world. But wouldn't it be wonderful? Imagine! The fresh ocean breeze, the warm sunshine! It used to be straight, but Isabella has the tendency to braid it everyday, even when wet. Her hands had a life of their own. They always jumped in whenever she tries to talk. They twist and move, the fingers alive in action, patterns to give more life into words. "Sab, will you stop braiding your wet hair?", her mom chastised her. "It's bound to become brittle and ugly later on." It became a lot more Isabella always listens to her mother, just like she has always admired her. But that doesn't mean she would stop decorating her hair. She does care for it, by smothering oil made by crushed flowers that she made herself. It left her hair silky, and hopefully healthy, and smelling like the beautiful flowers she carries every. single. day. Her dark waves cascades down, passing her chest and barely stopping at her waist. Considering since this ragazzina didn't possess a domineering height―barely scraping an inch over five feet―her waist-length mane doesn't seem that long at all.
[/justify]

[justify]Carefully calculated meal plans according to one's BMI doesn't really leave one looking sickly and malnourished, even well-nourished, but District Thirteen citizens tend to look skinny. All in the exception of Isabella, of course, who managed to look like she retained whatever flesh there was in between her skin and bones, with her stubby limbs as proof. Perhaps it might be the flowers she has been mindlessly eating? "Have you tasted the flowers yet?", Isabella asks, with great curiosity in her eyes and amusing tone lingering within her words. In case you're wondering, she isn't kidding. At all. They knit their eyebrows in confusion. If they hadn't known Isabella, they would've been creeped out by her advancing. Was she crazy? Probably. But they know her oh-too-well already, something that only gladdens Isabella. But of course that is only something to be proud of! Who wouldn't want a family? We're all family here! There is a strong connection―a bond, rather―that passes in between all of us, that connects each and every one of us that despite our heartbreaking differences―"Tasted the what, Sab?" A smile creeps up into Isabella's lips. "Why, the flowers of course!" Others say I'm absolutely demented that I resort to eating flowers. But honestly, the only exciting thing that we ever got to eat were salted curry, and that was as far back when I was six. Or ten. But never eat petals off the ground. They're actually trails, footpaths of destined lovers bound to see one another and fall in love and get married and have kids named--but never eat them. The petals, I mean. Not the lovers. Because there's a great chance you'll taste the sour bitterness of feet instead of the sweet honey your tongue fantasizes once touching the silky petal.[/justify]

[justify]Flowers don't only appear in between her lips. The bare, gray uniforms doesn't project any creativity, but leaves a blank, open space for possible imaginary fabric artistry. In her head, she is wearing a colorful and meticulously-done uniform, far from the boring gray that her companions don. Artistic endeavors were limited in here, and she knows that very well. Though she can't go around traipsing all over the corridors draped in silk garments, she does go around with her three-inch heels and her long nails painted pink, like the camellia. Once you go inside her own room (the officials had assigned her her own room, assuming she had reached the age of independence), you will see the drastic difference between the denuded, blank, white walls and her personally-made murals of hand-written colorful scribbles, courtesy of multicolored markers. Quotes were all over on the four sides of her room, accompanied by child-like figures of the outside world. I have never been one to be blessed with such artistic hands.[/justify]

.// personality

[justify]But Isabella is never one to give up, although she is more than likely to fail than succeed. At least I tried. She doesn't care how long it will take, or how many sleepless nights she will encounter, as long as it's worth it in the end. Sometimes it was a good thing, sometimes it wasn't. It was a good thing when it came to school projects, but a bad idea when it's going to get her into trouble. If there will be one thing to be clarified about Isabella, it's that she is most certainly not a troublemaker, despite the fact that painted nails nor elevated shoes weren't exactly part of the proper dress code. But quarrels and feuds were never her thing and even tries to act as a middleman to quench the tension between acquaintances. She hated conflict. It meant that she has to choose sides and she simply can't do that.[/justify]

[justify]But is she loyal? That is something even she can't figure out herself. Friendly is the word, but loyal receives some doubtful stares. She is quite fickle, jumping from one side to another. While she isn't diagnosed or showing any symptoms of a patience-trying disorder, one is never enough for her and simply must try everything! Well, life isn't giving you all these diverse choices to do in your existence and you're doing nothing![/justify]

[justify]Because of this, she tends to be too friendly towards everyone she meets which is basically almost everyone in District Thirteen. Even if she doesn't know you, she'll smile and wave at your way if you acknowledge her. Close friends are most likely to be greeted by now-expected hugs and a string of compliments―may it be that you have freshly-shaven or your newly-cut hair―that aren't fake at all. There is always something good about a person. She allows quotes to express whatever's in her mind, and isn't physically difficult for her, either. But sometimes, it can get too easy. Holding your hand or leaning her head against your shoulder was something she was used to, something natural for her to do. Rumors will stir around in your mind, but she's all with good no intentions at all.[/justify]

[justify]But there were a lot more ways to spread the love around in her home. Aside from speaking of words that have been passed around for ages, even before the Dark Days, was the singing of beautiful melodies. The fragile pieces of papers with musical notes and lyrics were quite easy to scourge on Thirteen's vast libraries. Time and time she would teach herself the perfect tune, the perfect pitch. It was exhilarating, an addiction for her to achieve what she had desired. It was beautiful to her ears, so did her neighbors agree.[/justify]


.// history

[justify]The Contessas were a native of District Thirteen. Their ancestors had their roots trace back from the very beginning, long before The Capitol had decided to drop bombs that led to the isolated ruins of what remained to District Thirteen to the unknowing Panem citizens. It's amusing to think that they think we don't exist, but here I am! Isabella's father was a quiet man. Never one to meddle in anyone's affairs, he always keeps to himself and was friendly when needed. His family wasn't of any special office distinction, just regular citizens that woke up and slept to the same beat. Life in District Thirteen was admittedly uneventful. Uneventful, that is, until a lone Wanderer showed up at the heavy doors of Thirteen. Have you heard of symbolism? Well, now you are going to. The doors opening was a way of saying to my dearest father that his soul mate has arrived. After days and days of wandering in the treacherous forests, forever wary of Peacekeepers and their batons; of carnivorous beasts and their sharp-toothed sabers; of questionable plants and their life-threatening aims, she had arrived safe and sound―except for a few scratches and a wound or two―for them to unite their souls as one and rejoice in love.

Alessandra was an exact replica of Isabella; or Isabella was an exact replica of Alessandra. Her dark, straight hair was unruly at places after days of sleeping on branches; olive skin scratched by pointed twigs; dark brown eyes lined by dark circles but still remained that certain warmth to it. She was admitted in the infirmary, where all roughed-up Wanderers receive their long-seeked refuge. When the nurses weren't there to attend the patients, she wandered around the halls and rooms of District Thirteen barefoot, despite the coldness of the clean floor. They met and the rest you can guess. I wonder if I'm going to meet the one for me and only for me. I want to break free of these walls and roam free on the forests and the lands where my mother's steps once graced. I want to feel the dirt in between my toes and fresh air flying through my hair and the rain touching my skin and I want everything my mother tried. And maybe I will meet him underneath that blanket of darkness, with the sun and moon.

Isabella was one curious child. She would lead her playmates into places restricted, somewhere they weren't supposed to be. Maybe it be the closed-off offices or the back of the kitchen, she's always there. She was eight when she was first introduced to the District library. Why do they always go here? What was in those things they call as books? She found the run-of-the-mill textbooks bland and boring. They were all about the history of Panem and mathematical calculations and scientific theories. Although she wanted to know more, it was impossible to stay focused when her mind wandered father and father until she had to close the book in a failed attempt. It all stayed that way until she discovered that silent, unassuming door that was at the very back, and let's just say curiosity trapped the cat. She found books that was of even before the Dark Ages. They were bound in old leather covers and had intricate designs. "The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet," Isabella whispered to herself. She stayed in that little room filled with golden treasures for a whole afternoon, and came back again and again. She started discovering more classical books and found a set of poems that told stories of daring sword fights, a prince in disguise![/justify]


.// others

We Go Around The World Plot -- [ Italy ]
Glee Plot -- [ Mercedes Jones ]

FACECLAIM -- [ Vanessa Hudgens ]

NARRATION -- [ 387452 ]
EMPHASIS -- [ 7C8B56 ]
THOUGHTS -- [ B49B71 ]
SPEAKING -- [ F7D69E ]
OTHERS SPEAKING -- [ 93423A ]