hear me roar ✧ eurydice le roux [speech]
Jan 17, 2024 14:16:09 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jan 17, 2024 14:16:09 GMT -5
A figure carved from pure gold, Eurydice stands resplendent behind one of the many parapets of the justice building with her chin held high, her shoulders squared strong, and a crown resting atop her honey curls.
She stares, for a brief moment, at the object in front of her.
Placed at the heart of an inert brazier and covered by cloth, the outline it holds is strange, but the weight of what it hides underneath ... that is even stranger. Of course she knows what it is, but the rest of the district does not. And now they look at her, and it, expectantly, awaiting her first words.
“Greetings,” she begins. Poised and elegant, dressed in a corset of pure and unrefined gold, Eurydice takes audience with the empire, or her empire. And from the rise of the parapet, the view is all but akin to overlooking hundreds and thousands of sunflower stalks.
She smiles at each one.
“We all must go back to campaigning trends and excelling very soon, so let us make this quick I pose you a singular question, District One: who were we before? Goldsmiths and lapidaries, jewelers and artisans. Humble craftspeople, yes, but we wrought crowns for others to wear. We were tasked to make the things that shine.”
A pregnant pause.
“And now we are those very things that shine. We have been refined under a lion leadership to reflect our own brilliance. We make the crowns to wear ourselves, we make our own treasures. The other districts, they call us proud, a flock of fanciful birds, but time and time again, haven’t we shown them that we are the apex predator?”
Silence.
Then she projects her words, a lion’s roar:
“Haven’t we shown them?”
A spark catches. She clutches her ivory-white on the bronze railing of the dais with her feet planted to the ground and she suddenly feels fire building from her soles, traveling up, up, up through incendiary veins. Ankles, thighs, and torso. Her fury rages a pyre in her belly. She draws in a surge of air and feels every bone under her skin smolder at once.
“Not nearly enough.”
Eurydice whirls around. A maelstrom of gold, her dress splinters the light into a thousand shimmering shards. There. She holds up the oil-soaked torch in a swift, graceful movement. It feels like a sword to hold, her own bloody blade of vengeance.
“From today onwards, as your mayor for the past five years and more, I swear to do everything in my power to claw for the glory we rightfully deserve.
We shall strike fear in the hearts of every district, every tribute. We shall make them quiver at the sound of One. Our children and the children of our children shall grow up knowing only the taste of victory on their tongues and nothing else.
Glory, power, success.
That is what District One embodies.”
She lights the torch and tips it downward to the brazier in front of her. The flames burst instantaneously, an explosion of brilliance, a release of bright-gold embers, and the glow washes over a thousand expectant faces. The air is sharp, singed, rippling with the scent of burnt cloth and scorched earth. A scent of empires burnt and reborn from the ashes of themselves. The fire, strong and becoming stronger, reduces the cloth in front of her to cinders.
Revealed is a sigil the fire licks at but does not burn: the symbol of a lion ascendant, wrought by pure Le Roux gold.
“I give you:
Nemea, The Le Roux academy of Careercraft for the young women of District One, equipped with state of the art facilities, highly trained combat masters, and the best curriculum to ever grace our district. Here, young girls can make their dreams come true. Here, they will be given everything including specialized training, glamour and etiquette classes, survival exercises, and tests of skill and strategy.
Here, they will come from every corner of District One and train to become victors."
Her eyes capture the flames. They are so bright, so warm.
“Here, they forge their own crowns."
