Ever Arcus {district two} DONE

(Wake up, Ever Arcus) My eyes fly open, revealing two gems set in an alabaster background.(Tell them who you are). Oh, right, well, the name's Ever  Arcus, but if those words dare leave your lips, you die. Most people refer to me as  Arcus. My first name is something intimate, only shared with a lucky few. (And where do you live?) A smile spreads across my lips, as I tell you this. I love my home. The pure action, excitement that settles over the district games time is invigorating. While not a career myself, I can almost feel the anticipation building, bound to explode like the cork off champagne. The intoxication that spreads across those young and old, the pure ecstasy that is held within this place is  a drug. And I'm addicted.  (How old are you?) Seventeen, almost eighteen. Hard to believe, as my face is that of a child's. But truthfully, my heart beats seventeen summers worth. I'm five years free of the arena, with one to go. And I am so glad. (Male or Female?) Female, next question. (Finally, who is that who finnicks?) ODAIR

Roots, dark as pine wood stick to my scalp. As it falls, in loose waves lapping at the very top of my shoulders, its hue lightens. Like white foam that adorns the shore, strands of honey attach to the waves, drastically different from the dark mop upon my head. A face seems to have captured the youth of one much younger than I. My eyes take on a rectangular shape, as if pushed into a straight line by the brow bone that looms above it. The carefully kept arch that rises just above them match that of the hair just peeking out of my scalp. My eyes contain two stones, resembling the color of moss agate. A hole is drilled through the middle, two dark paths that could lead to my very consciousness, if you looked deep enough. 

Skin, like a creamed milk protects the bones and muscles that lay beneath. It covers my button nose and the ears pinned back against my skull. It turns a dark pink when touching my lips. The bottom curves like a deep valley, the top a thin line.  A face, smokey powder brushed carelessly onto the lids of her eyes, is nearly hypnotic in it's carefully made up fashion. A clever ruse to combat the constant flaws that appear in the form of angry red dots across her face. 

A medium frame sends a single curve through my body, cinching in at my waist and failing to bloom again at my hips, instead doing so when reaching my thighs. My chest is of ample size, though something that I have always held in apprehension. Perhaps they were too large, or possibly too small. But never, when judged by my agate eyes, just right. Two metal studs rest above my hip bones. A drunken dare turned reality, I had let a man pierce my skin, sticking the silver within my body. Black, tight jeans often lay just below my them. Shirts, clumsily cropped by dull scissors, exposes my navel, not like that of the careers, but smooth and cream like the rest of her body. Little to no muscle rests on my body, instead all lipid and bone. By no means, does this make me large, as I hold my body in great regard. I simply lack motivation to train my body to accent such things.

Arrogance is laced through every word I speak. Often beginning as confidence, it morphs and evolves, turning to arrogance and then hubris. I live by the philosophy that one can do anything, if you possess the motivation to do so. And boy, do I. I simply cannot refuse a challenge. When given to me, I will do my damndest to prove you wrong. I, however, am never such imperfection. Everything I do, everything I say is perfect. Chances are, I know more than you ever will. Chances are I'm right. 

Perhaps this is the reason my friends are few and far in between. Not many are willing to put up with my ego, even fewer can handle it for long periods of time. How I despise being alone. The only thing coming second to my own opinion of myself is my need for other's approval. Never a hair out of place, my weight carefully contained. Skin never too pale, never too dark, eyes perfectly made up. Black lines traced carefully upon the tops of my eyes, becoming thicker as it reaches the outside of my eyes. Hues of gray and black trace the outskirts of my eyes. bringing out the little green that lay deep within. 

Yet, I acknowledge this. Do you notice that I know what I do wrong? That I understand every part of me is perfect. Yet I accept this, for doing so is what makes me perfect. Quite an oxymoron isn't it? 

Ah yes, I am intelligent, thank you for noticing. I achieve some of the highest grades. Possibly. I haven't been bothered to check but I'm sure they are far above average. And yet, perhaps they are not. Perhaps I cannot bring myself to check them for fear I am wrong. For fear that perhaps I am not as great as I believe that I am. 

But that's impossible... right?

Birth - One year of age ~ I don't remember any of this time. Though I am sure that I was the perfect child. Born into the wealthy Duchess family, for an unknown reason I possess a different name than they. They refuse to tell me why they have not branded me with the name Duchess, perhaps because "Ever Duchess" is far too stupid of a name. My brother, only three months older than I, tells me that I am adopted. That it is impossible to have a child while pregnant with another. That he remembers the day I arrived, like a cattle bought for slaughter and was probably born to some teen whore and a married man. I know he's joking, siblings tease each other. My story makes much more sense anyways. It must. 

Two - Four years of age~ My memories of this time are like an uncompleted puzzle. Pieces have fallen from place, leaving my memory dull and incomplete. Even then, I recall, I was confident. A bully. My younger siblings feared my chubby fist, the elder ones adored me. The whole world wrapped around my finger. And I love it. 

Five - Seven years of age~ And this is where things began to fall apart. Crumbling beneath me like the scaffolding of an old building. My mother, a woman of thirty four years, became ill. She soon lost all of her hair and all of her weight. She became nothing more than bones, that lay still in a bed for days upon end. Her abdomen rising and falling slowly as the only reassurance that she was still alive. I rarely left her side at this time. I would write her stories, and make her things during school projects. I would feed her meals through a tube and give her a hug and a kiss before bed. And I never forgot to tell you I love you. 

Eight - Ten years of age~ She died. And my life became something of a living nightmare. An aunt took her place. Cousins became siblings. And the children in school became cruel. They poked an prodded at my exposed soul. They ripped the heart off my sleeve and shoved it down my throat. They stripped me of whatever worth I had left after my mother left me. 

Eleven - Thirteen years of age ~ And I became sad. The world turned to a dark place. Once so bright and beautiful it was filled with death and fear. I spent hours in my room, hiding away. Yet, slowly beginning to recover from the hands which had torn my innocence away. 

Fourteen - Fifteen years of age~ If you can't beat em' join em'. I began to turn hatred towards others. Praying on those weaker than I. And the self confidence that had disappeared so many years ago began to reappear. It felt good making people smaller than me. I felt good to be beautiful.

Sixteen - Seventeen years of age~ And here I am. A girl without a care in the world. I have pushed my past far from my mind, so as to not ruin the perfect facade I have created. I love who I am, I love making others fear me. I have won. 

WC: 1442
Tags: Lovable Bitch
Status: Complete