Silence Blackmore, D2 {done}

Meghan Capitol Resident 1,217 POSTS Pronouns: she/they last seen Nov 26, 2023 2:53:00 GMT -5	Silence Blackmore, D2 {done} Jun 14, 2014 17:51:59 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Meghan on Jun 14, 2014 17:51:59 GMT -5 Name: Unknown, but if you really would like to call her something she registered as Silence for the reaping. Age: Unknown. She assumes she is about 16. Appearance: Personality: History: Codeword: oDair
	Last Edit: Jun 16, 2014 14:30:12 GMT -5 by Meghan

Meghan
Capitol Resident

1,217 POSTS

Pronouns: she/they
last seen Nov 26, 2023 2:53:00 GMT -5

Silence Blackmore, D2 {done} Jun 16, 2014 13:15:35 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Meghan on Jun 16, 2014 13:15:35 GMT -5

your silence will not protect you
some secrets are better left untold
~~- s i l e n c e - b l a c k m o r e -~~

I do not have a history. Nor do I have a name. All I know is that my existence simply is and that is all anyone has ever bothered to tell me.

Ever since I could remember, I have lived in the Blackmore manor. No, I am not a member of the family (though for legal purposes my "parents" have christened me Silence Blackmore, but I would never respond to it if anyone but the family dared to use it), nor am I a friend. I just live here. Nobody knows why, or at least, if they did, they have never told me.

I suppose it all happened when I was a child. I cannot remember much. Just a lot of screaming, a flash of pain, and now this. The first time I stood in the front hall and looked at the photos of the many family members that so lovingly adorns the walls is a mystery to me. I just remember seeing the yellow teeth of Tuff, and the sadistic glint in the eye of Camille that existed even then, and feeling very much afraid.

They often treat me like a servant, and in a way, I am. I burn the bodies they carve up in the basement, and destroy all evidence of their destruction. I clean their wounds and kiss their sores away. ~~I give them pleasure when they are most desperate.~~ I make their beds, wash their dishes, and whisper stories to them at night.

Around strangers, I am silent. That's how I got my nickname. Silence. That is what their friends ~~and victims~~ started calling me and it stuck. I have never known my real name, if it even exists. I asked them once. I got a knife across my face in response. Since then I have learned never to ask questions.

I am less than them. I learned that early on. I think the reason they do not kill me is because in a weird twisted way, they like me. Perhaps they think I am pretty, or maybe my cleverness with their weapons has won them over.

Am I pretty? I would not describe myself in such a way (it is forbidden for me to compliment myself. I must always turn praise towards them. I am lesser. I am nothing).

I have always been tall and lanky for my age. Nobody is sure the precise date of my birth, but there have been many estimates. I would say I am about sixteen but it is hard to tell because there is absolutely no record of my existence before they forced me to register for my first reaping. Maybe my mother had abandoned me at birth without the Capitol knowing. Perhaps I am simply registered under a different name and nobody knows it. For all we know, I could be called on reaping day. The name that would echo across the square would be just as strange to me as it is to all the others.

As far as I am aware, I never existed. Now I do. They made sure of that.

They want me in the games, I can tell. I do not tower above every head, but my height is considerable compared to some of my shorter "brethren". If beauty was measured in inches I would be considered a swan. My height is about six feet. I think I look like a twig, as I only weigh about 105 pounds and wear the smallest size the store carries.

My height is thrown off balance by my tiny feet. Barely larger than five and a half inches, they are pointed and rough. I rarely wear shoes, even if they can afford them. As a result, callouses have developed all over the soles of my pale feet. I keep the toes painted a dark purple, in case I ever am around company. They may not be my best feature, but my "parents" have told me I must always impress my superiors. I risk punishment if I break this rule.

My hair is as lean as I am. It has thinned out over the years, yet I keep it well-groomed. The color is dark, a mix between a putrid shade of auburn and an unidentified black. It is as if it tried to express two colors at once and could not make up its mind which one to choose. It looks different in every light. I never tire of my fascination of it. Generally I keep it down, to hide the stretch-marks on my back.

My skin is a patchwork quilt of discoloration, ugly scars (nobody knows how they got there), bruises, and tattoos. I insisted on getting a tattoo early on in life, and have not stopped since. It's my addiction. It's the only thing that keeps me sane. If I am nothing then at the very least I can express an identity through the artwork on my back, legs, chest and arms. I am the work of many artists. It is only fitting to be the showcase of others in all aspects of my life.

Some would say that my face is my best feature, and that I should let it out more. I disagree with them, politely of course. Most of the time I keep it covered, if only to hide the badly healed gash on the right side of my temple. I have no idea how I got it, or when. Perhaps it is the result of the pain I felt as a child. Perhaps I was just born ugly. It is purple and gruesome and ricochets across my brow and underneath my hair. I never reveal it. It would be too much of a shame. How can one impress if they carry such a burden? It is my biggest disgrace.

Yet it frames straight brows that are darker than my hair. They sit above two dark, oval eyes. Eyes that peer into people. Eyes that I keep towards the floor, afraid of their intimidating factor. It is like I carry two daggers around with me at all times. I only release them if I am required. Otherwise I avoid even the most confident of gazes. Besides, beneath the heated stare I carry the weight of fear.

I am always afraid here. Every single moment. It is not safe, never safe, in the Blackmore house. I have had too many close calls growing up.

One, particularly nasty scar on my stomach is from Tuff. When I was "fifteen" he had forced me into his room and onto his bed. Muttered something about "that Milo bitch" and his "stupid little brother". A knife wound hung open on his back, and he forced me to dress it. I did as I told, not daring to look at him as he continued to spit his anger. When I had finished, he grabbed my tiny wrists and thrown me against the bed-frame. Said that he would do to me as he couldn't do to Milo.

At first I struggled, but that only left me with a gash across my stomach. Then, still bleeding, he did things to me that I could never share.... The memory is too brutal for me to continue. I just wish... I just wish I could forget it like I forget the important things.

My memory is horrid. I forget orders and names and events more often than not. It seems that only the most tragic occasions stay in my head. All the rest fade away to become blurs. I don't know why it's like this. It simply is.

Yet I never forgot that moment, and it still rings with me everyday.

That was not all. I lost the tip of my left pinkie at the age of ten. My "cousin" Ida (though we are all convinced that she is more than a cousin to the family) had lured me into one of her traps with promise of some ludicrous reward.

I should never have believed her. I knew the moment the lights went off that I had fallen victim to her devilish schemes. I thought I was going to die as knife after knife swung from what seemed like nowhere. I managed to dodge most of them (I had gotten quick in my haste to do what I was told), but one swung right at my face. In my attempt to jump out of the way my fingers flew into the air, and quick as fire the blade barreled through my fingertip.

My screaming brought my rescuers to me. More members of the family. They were pissed off that Ida had dared to hurt their precious prize. For once, she had been punished and I had been let free. I would hardly call losing part of my finger to be of no consequence, but it was not my place to complain. I simply had to learn to adjust without it.

My knees are wobbly but sturdy enough to hold me, and my legs could not be any longer. I have grown enough to please my masters. Sometimes they even dare to lend me out to their friends. The ones they want to win over. I am their most prized possession, and my services have become known all around the district.

Sometimes I wish to escape this place. To make a life of my own, apart from the Blackmore name.

But alas, such a fate is not possible. They made sure of that. As soon as I was old enough they forced me into training, just like the rest of the kids. And then the hauntings came. Once every month or so they pushed me towards the streets, ordering me to bring back a body or so help them, they might kill me themselves. I had been taught to slaughter in the most gruesome ways. Beheading, disembowelment, severed limbs (they find it funny for me to cut off fingertips, I guess my own misfortunes amuse them), shallow cuts, and even once in a while, suffocation. I try not to think about the bodies they don't have me burn. They disappear into the kitchens or into the bedrooms of some of the more twisted souls. We do not speak of it, if we can help ourselves.

Occasionally they will have their fun with me and force me to do some nasty thing with a victim before I have to kill them. Tuff especially enjoys this. I guess in a way I am a display for them to enjoy. I have simply learned to obey, even if the thought of it later has me puking in their expensive toilets and clawing at my hair with anguish. The only time I am not their "precious little silence" is when I'm screaming, awake or not. The thoughts of what I have done has plagued me with nightmares and raw terror. Most of the time these dreams are of the deeds I have seen or even committed, but sometimes, in the darkest of nights, I see other visions. Abandoned alleyways, bodies I don't know, and a pair of dark eyes, just like my own. Whispering something I will never know. Darling.

I forget about those dreams as soon as they happen.

I could never leave the manor. I know that. It would mean my death-sentence: they would simply hunt me down.

I suppose if I had been given another life I would had been the light-hearted kind. Unable to hurt a fly, and oh-s0-loving. In a way I love them. I cannot admit such a disastrous word but it's true. They are all I have ever known. I whisper this only to my most trusted, and only when they are asleep. "I love you, I need you, you are everything to me." I do not think they have ever heard me.

I think, in that hypothetical life, I would have been known to laugh. I like my laugh, it's warm and open. I cannot laugh it here. The only time I ever have in front of them, they locked me in the basement until I learned how to not to waste their time. They do not care about my happiness, and because of that, my laughter is merely an inconvenience.. They only care that I obey their order to the letter.

And so I do. Again and again. I obey. I obey everything.

The Blackmores are my everything. The Blackmores are my life. The Blackmores are all I know.

The Blackmore family is my identity. And it always would be.

Yet I cannot help but wonder who I truly am. Where I came from. Why I am what I am.

But in their words lies the answer to that question.

some secrets are better left untold.

and so my secrets would remain, in silence.

words: 2146

Last Edit: Jun 16, 2014 14:28:35 GMT -5 by Meghan

Meghan Capitol Resident 1,217 POSTS Pronouns: she/they last seen Nov 26, 2023 2:53:00 GMT -5	Silence Blackmore, D2 {done} Jun 16, 2014 14:30:55 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Meghan on Jun 16, 2014 14:30:55 GMT -5 um hi I'm done wow this is sadistic I am sorry have funnnn!

garnet beauford d8 [earthling] Administrator 9,452 POSTS Pronouns: She/Her last seen Apr 15, 2024 12:58:10 GMT -5 cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3	Silence Blackmore, D2 {done} Jun 18, 2014 16:02:25 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by garnet beauford d8 [earthling] on Jun 18, 2014 16:02:25 GMT -5 Hello, darkness. ACCEPTED!
	credit gamemaker 💀 hades lochlan credit ✨ - chars -