June Serpentine {District 1} [fin]

Age: 18
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 1

Appearance:
I am like a snake. My body is slender and long, with the ability to make minute movements unlike many of the hulking careers I know. Long locks of lanky blonde hair fall in inconsistent bunches around my face and I have to constantly push them away from my eyes. Coming to my eyes; they are a vivid green like some snake species, almost as bright as the leaves on trees. I take pride in them, they are my favorite thing about myself and I would not trade them for any offer of beauty. I enjoy watching how my eyebrows accent them as I speak, tracing a finger along their curved shape to understand just how they sit on my face. I was lucky with my eyebrows, I have been told I had escaped my father's eyebrows and that it was quite a feat. It is hard to say whether I loved my father, I never really knew him.

Friends have called me pretty, said I have a pretty face and a lustrous body but I don't believe they see me clearly. I have had far too many boys declare otherwise to me to be so foolish. In numerous circumstances they have reflected upon me as being weak, believing I was some pansy to be watered and carefully dealt with so I might not be crushed. Yet I am no pansy, no flower of any kind be it rose or lily. I am a bramble, I wrap around my victim until the life bleeds from them and they are ensnared in my vines. For ten years I have strained to overcome my slight stature, designing tricks to deceive many who hoped to step on my petals.

I devour many things, food most would avoid due to poor calories, taking pleasure in their jealousy as I remained thin despite my temptations. My mother claims to have given me the gift of a fast metabolism, allowing my indulgences to continue. Few understand my speed, its source astounding many as I barely scrape up to a height of five foot seven. I am sure some view me as tall, but those people are much too few in number to prove I am anything but barely average. Stretching smoothly over my bones, my organs and my entire being is skin I have spent precious time perfecting. Hours of laying in the suns rays have changed the shade of my skin from palest peach to a glorious sienna.

I dress in skin-tight clothes, stretchy fabric that allows for flexibility while not getting tangled in my movements. Tights and tank-tops suffice for most days, sometimes with a jacket over top in case of cold temperatures. I loathe the cold weather, if only I was able to force the warmth to stay for longer than spring and summer. Snow is an enemy of mine, I require many layers in order to suppress its chill.

Personality:

I am like a snake. I refuse to stand still as I am prodded with a stick. Those who take jabs at me must realize I strike in quick flashes, a snake-bite of an attack to leave them writhing. I shun those who give in with no fight, the ones who stand down when they are shown resistance. Instead I am stubborn, I brace against those who fight me and flex around their views so they see the truth of mine. They must know that I have the right views, they must believe I am always the one to listen to. For if they do not listen they might just find my fangs in their flesh. I do not bite lightly, each snap of my jaws leaves scars many wish to avoid. I do not let go easily either, clinging stiffly to the taste of pain they produce.

I know the ins and outs of the minds of others. I take careful sight of their actions and their movements, learning each way I might usurp their strength. I enjoy the wails of those lesser than me, the piercing screams they release sends shivers of pleasure down my spine. I have trained since I was eight, taking interest in the reactions others gave when I hit and stabbed them. I have been observing others' reception of pain even before then, searching for all of the ways I could bring them suffering so I might lavish in it. Now, despite all the time that I have put into those studies I still continue to learn and to seek more paths to take towards the end point of satisfaction.

Without training I surely would have turned to simple murder to ease my boredom, instead of discovering acts of torture to leave my victims shattered, and me in breathless ecstasy. Still I refine myself in such a way that I do not spoil what may yet come. Tasteful thoughts surface in wild patterns as I contemplate what each victim might supply me with through each course of the time they spend with me. I would not sacrifice my training for anything less than freedom to do with others as I pleased, no law above my head to say that I must bow and scrape to keep my secrets from the world. I do not want anyone to have the satisfaction of control, it is something I will never relinquish.

History:

I am like a snake. I hatched from my mother years ago to see two parents gazing at me with what some call love. So my mother told it to me, the same day she told me why I do not recognize pictures of a man scattered around our house. I was six when he died, and even though twelve years have past my mother still doesn't dare speak of it. Had it been solely my mother and myself it might have been easy, she sighed to me many times and I felt as though she was pressuring me to be more than I was. But my father had left us with two more to care for, sisters three - Diana - and seven - Rose - years younger than me.

Two years after his death, my mother stopped clinging to his money and spent some on training for me. I was taken to the career center and shown how to hold knives. Knives were wonderful from the start, but soon I was drawn to other weapons. Father had been rich, something my mother never explained about - simply stating he had worked hard for his money. Ever since the death of my father I had struck out at those around me. Perhaps my fathers death caused me to feel that showing pain was a sign of love, so I wished to feel the love of others through their pain.

As I learned about weapons, how to wield them and use them well, I learned about pain. I longed to understand how others reacted to pain, but despised feeling it myself. Training to overthrow those who tried to cause me pain, I caused them to feel suffering in my stead. My blows were adjusted to soft areas, my attacks shifting from ways to kill to ways to deal agony as long as possible before finishing with a slow-killing wound. Death was too quick, so I learned to draw out pain like a child with chalk on a street. I had a large canvas, and I was going to paint it scarlet.

My father's money ran out as my mother paid for Diana's training. Little Rose hasn't had a chance to learn how to cause misery yet - at least not the kind dealt with a blade. She and Diana have scrounged for jobs, hoping to amass enough coins to pay for Rose's training. My mother refused to work for much longer than she should have. My soft encouragements, subtle manipulations I had practiced for years, eventually suppled her into the search as well. I never lowered myself to the task, knowing I was above such medial things. I am to be the victor of the Hunger Games, no one such as myself should have to work to pay for another - sister or no.

To distract myself I used pain. Not my own pain - loathed the sensation - but that of others. My instructors at the training center relished in my enjoyment of causing others suffering. The feel of a blade's hilt in my hand left me standing tall over the scared faces of my opponents. When a weapon's touch on cloth pads wasn't enough, I turned to animals. I became an expert as catching rats, traps designed to detain them safely until I got my hands on them. Mice too, were toys of mine. I would make them squeal by pressing knife blades into their skin, bask in their pain at my hands because it meant they loved me. They were my pets, though many died from wounds I inflicted too vigorously or from the shock my love for them caused.

There was only one pet I didn't touch with a blade. He is green and small, thin as my fingers and long as my forearm. I feed him spiders and insects, snickering as he eats the flies I have torn wings from. I am a snake, and I have a snake. I've named him Sahir, and he comes with me everywhere. He watches as I play with my pets, though I have not seen him eat any of the mice. Perhaps he is too small, but he keeps the bugs at bay and that is more than enough. He shows his love as he slithers up my arms to laze on my shoulders. We are never apart.

He was there when I hurt my first person, real blows that landed not on cloth pads but on flesh. I had been shunned by this boy for so long, my eyes were drawn to him and he simply ignored me. There was one way I knew people showed love, and way I had developed for so long that it rose in me naturally. I beat him, I slid the edge of my knife over his skin. I streaked his blood on his chest in the shape of a heart and traced scarlet drops on my tongue. He saw me differently then, he was scared of me then. I told him he was mine and he said yes. We spent two years together, reaching the ages of sixteen and seventeen together. Celebrating with his pain and my love. I showed him I cared with each slash in his flesh, and he showed his by showing me it hurt. We learned about more intimate love together. We experimented with pain and pleasure and I created more techniques to show him love.

That was until I found him with someone else. Through these years he had been searching for a means of escape and I was too involved in his pain to see it. I left them bleeding and crying. I used tricks of manipulation and love to make them hurt each other. As I have saidd, I loathed the feeling of pain. This boy had cause me so much, and I only wished to pay him back. I showed him my love for the last time that night. I tortured the slut he was with too, but I left them living. In death there is no pain, and with no pain I take no please. For true love only comes from suffering.

Other:
Only Dis Adage Is Right
Palette