Mirage Rosyl -- District 4

They've always called me beautiful. Friends, relatives, lovers. They've always admired her milky skin, her auburn hair dyed redder than the sunset skies, and her body - oh, she was a delicate hourglass, they would say. Flawless to the bone. But wouldn't having possession of a flawless physique imply that she was perfect? I am no expert in perfection, but perfection isn't real. So they must be lies, right? Or perhaps exaggerated compliments? She knew her pale skin was as smooth as the next girl's, and never free of blemishes. That is not perfect. She knew her hair was admirable, for it was a shade more vibrant than any others' in district four. It was not, however, natural. It was the riches that blessed her with this ravishing color, and for that reason alone it was not perfect. And her body? Well, beauty had its weakness, and that was her dilemma - she was weak. With no career training and endless access to luxurious food, it was a strain to maintain a consistent and satisfying body shape. Sometimes, it was simply aggravating just to try, but if she couldn't attain at least a moderately pretty status, what would she have? They wouldn't appreciate me anymore. Because she was Mirage Rosyl; she was wealthy, she was starlight, she was meant to be envied, and she was meant to be beautiful.

What did Mirage see in her reflection? Just a girl. A girl with a delicately sculpted face complete with high cheek bones, full pink lips, thin eyebrows, a narrow set chin, and a somewhat pointed nose. Scanning the little details, she never understood why others considered her "attractive". She was nothing extraordinary - just a girl with dyed hair, expensive clothing, and a large house. Perhaps it is not my beauty they seek. Maybe her beauty was just an illusion, a mirage - something definite when seen from a distance, but something that turned out to be a deceptive lie in reality. Riches attracted many, after all, and when accompanied by a lady it was a rare and precious luxury to pursue, especially if the lady was beautiful (but am I?). Mirage, however, never considered herself a prize. It was her family's money they were after - not me. Not a mirage. Not an ordinary girl born into a lucky family. Lucky? Not a girl whose proudest physical possession was her sapphire eyes - the eyes that belonged to somebody she called "mother." Not a girl who abused chemicals to dye her pretty auburn locks red. Not a girl who tried to hide her flaws with masks. Why cover up a few blemishes with make-up? Mother says make-up enhances beauty. And yet, thinking sarcastically, she realized that beauty played such a crucial role in her life, as if meeting boys and stealing hearts would become her occupation. Is that my future? Hunting for rich bachelors and posing as a trophy wife for some dirty old man? If beauty was her life, then it was a life she might as well throw away, because it was a life that she did not want.

Silk, cotton, leather, wool, fur. There was not a material the Rosyls didn't own - not unless it was made exclusively for capitol residents. Her closet was far too large, and her selection too vast for the average adolescent girl. For that reason, others regarded her as spoiled. Spoiled rotten to the core. With so many dazzling outfits, they would say, she should be able to donate them to those in need - perhaps to children in district four who weren't so fortunate. But of course, as "average" civilians, they didn't understand her lifestyle. Owning an endless selection of dresses - from long to short, flowery to plain, glittery to glossy - was a social norm in her luxurious world. When trapped in a world where parents spoiled her and cackled in the face of the word "No," how was she supposed to know that her extravagant outfits of every color were too much? She was used to owning heels of different lengths, boots of different material, sandals of different colors. She was used to wearing pretty skirts and shiny jewelry and expensive tops. In fact, her parents would perhaps scold her if she chose to dress beneath their standards. What was a girl to do? Escape? Don't doubt her, she has considered it. But a little daisy like her, with her little outfits hugging her petite curves, running in the wild where the hungry snatchers were prepared to lash out? Preposterous. Laughable. She was not suited for anything outside of her comfort zone. She was a flawed girl destined to be flawless - to be beautiful in every way possible. To be perfect. Too bad I'm not.

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Who are you? was not the question to ask about Mirage Rosyl. Who I am and who I was are two different people. Oblivious was the simplest and easiest way to describe her past self. Absorbed in her own world of riches and happiness - a time when everything could happen with the snap of a finger. Education was supposed to be her main focus, but being the spoiled, careless little girl she was, while she remained diligent in some of her studies she dedicated a large amount of time to playing around with her social life. Friends, boyfriends, parties - that was her life. She was an innocent, carefree, and fun-loving little daisy blossoming under the influence of her prim, proper parents. They taught her manners, they taught her how to be polite, and most of all, they molded her into a kind-hearted girl who did not flaunt her riches or boast about her wealth. I was their perfect doll. She still was, except, there were cracks. The doll was withering, wearing away at the edge as the paint slowly melted off. She was still polite, still a girl with a golden heart and a warm touch of grace, still the reserved lady she was supposed to be; but she was also broken. Mirage no longer knew of joyful smiles and playful laughs. She was not the optimistic, naive girl she used to be, oblivious of anything outside of her world, outside of her delightful bubble. Now, she knew of only faint smiles and a bowed head. She did not look upon the future with confidence, because my confidence died with him. Her bubble had burst, and now a storm cloud forever loomed over her paleing form.

Mirage was no longer happy. No longer peaceful, content, optimistic, or confident in her own abilities. In fact, she loathed herself because it was my fault I couldn't save him I should've known and I never helped and he's gone, he's gone because of me. She once thought her life was perfect, back when the harmonious ribbons of melodies streamed their way through their perfect mansion as her brother's nimble fingers worked magic upon their grand piano. She once had everything; the riches, the respect, the admiration, the happiness, the promises for a bright and tranquil future - and now that it had vanished in a matter of one sunset (you took the light with you, why did you take my light?) she was miserable. The riches were no longer important to her, another object that failed to bring true happiness back into her life. The respect was nothing, just foolish admirers pitying her as she descended into pessimism and reserved anguish. The admiration was diminishing, for she preferred to spend every moment alone away from home, far away from the reminders and puppeteers that tried to control her life. She was choked into silence, her voice seemingly stolen and cast away into the shadows to fade away. She spokw very rarely, and only ever when spoken to. There was just nothing to say anymore, nothing to talk about. Nothing to look forward to. And she hated it, but there was just no way of changing it.

They called her a coward for hiding, for running away when she didn't want to deal with problems. Yet what they didn't understand was that for someone so cowardly the girl was rather immune to fear. Not entirely, no, one can never avoid fear completely, especially living within her sheltered home. But in her eyes, there was nothing else to fear. She had lost something too important already, what could she possibly mourn over next? What was there to fear? The games? Death? Death was a mystery, but she did not fear it - or so she thought. Pain was something she thought she could handle, judging by the self-inflicted X-shaped scars found on her wrists (I did it for you, not for me. Not for an end. Just for you, always you.) She was selfish, oh so selfish, and she knew it, and she wanted to change it. However, her social skills plummeted as the months passed, her refusal to speak or spend time with anyone catching up with her. She was too reserved, to quiet, too timid. "How she's changed so fast," they have said, and they're right. For a girl to switch from a glistening star to a crumpled flower petal in a matter of months was unbelievable, and yet it happened. It was real. And this was who Mirage was. She didn't care whether people approved of it or not - she was done being selfish, she was done caring about her image. Now, she was just Mirage Rosyl, the girl who mourned, and the girl who could no longer find herself in the ocean of sanity.

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When she looked into her brother's hazelnut irises by the fireplace while sharing a toasty mug of hot chocolate and telling tales about the unknown, she never knew he'd be the boy to take his own life. Being only two years younger, he would share anything with her; songs, promises, secrets, laughter, tears. At least, that's what it felt like, because when she stared at her brother and his beaming smiles she never noticed the contrast in his eyes, the pain that was swelling somewhere inside of him. She didn't know the unrevealed secrets lurking inside. She was too absorbed in her own perfect world to notice any of the signs. The bullying, the crying, the misery - they were secrets he never shared with her, but each one had an accompanying sign, a physical manifestation that he perhaps wanted somebody to detect. Whether the signs were not strong enough or his loved ones not observant enough, it did not matter - his story ended regardless, and it ended as quickly as it had started. A bathtub filled with blood and drowned sorrows was an image burned into her mind with hot iron. It was the day her family split into two unstable fragments of sharp glass, and the day Mirage found the dark side of the moon. Her family was never the same after that; father grew stern and cold, mother grew frantic, obsessed, and anxious, and Mirage's glow began to fade. She was all alone with two newly-formed dictators trying to rule her life. And now, there was nobody to share the secrets and promises and tears with anymore.

Mirage wasn't the type to merely "bounce back" after such a traumatizing event. They all mourned, but years passed and although her parents still missed him dearly they did not blame themselves for the unfortunate encounters with bullies that drove him into wasting his life away. Mirage, meanwhile, thought it was her fault. She blamed herself for not paying attention or noticing the way bullying had taken a toll on him. She knew it was ultimately the bullies faults for his tragic demise, but she played a role, a major one, because she had been his sister and she had not taken the time to watch him carefully and help before the knife fell into his hands. She withdrew into a protective shell that seemed to crack and splinter as the days passed, and no matter how hard she tried to mend it the vulnerability and instability remained. For awhile she remained unpredictable and unsteady, one day even drawing four distinct scars into her wrists claiming that it would be her reminder of him and what he had done. Sometimes her parents wondered if she had gone insane from the devastating event and became concerned for her safety, however she insisted she would never stoop to such a level. I am stronger than he was, but only just a little. Instead, she merely changed her own ways and habits to avoid the pressures of family life and the portion of school life that turned her into an oblivious princess. Now, she just spent time on her own, enjoying every part of the district while she could and savoring a free life before she grew old or ended up dead in the Hunger Games.

As the only child remaining, Mirage became the Rosyl's focal point. Believing that she was perhaps suffering from insanity or depression, they wanted to improve her lifestyle and do what was "in her best interest" to ensure she lived a happy life. They promised her a future with the perfect husband, living in a mansion similar to theirs and having children of her own to pass on the inheritance and the Rosyl's sacred genes. This, however, was their dream, not her own. Mirage did not want them to find her a suitor and be forced into marriage just to live a dull and boring life as a trophy wife. Children? Her children would have nothing to live for, no goals to pursue if they already had everything. No, they were trying to control her, and she would not have any of it. Whenever they brought up a subject she disliked, she would flee to the woods or to the beaches where there was only the distant voice of her singing brother calling to her as the breeze touched her curls and soothed her spirit. Nature was her home now, and sometimes she would spend nights outside in caves or in meadows. Very rarely had she considered ever running away, but now the petty thought had become a strong desire and delicious temptation. She didn't want to leave four - no, she could not live without the waves and the sand between her toes, but she wanted to start over. To find new parents, reverse her life, and become a regular person, not some fake princess doll in a big fancy house. I want to be normal.