Iliana Adelaide Sacco : D1 : Finished

For my 15th birthday, my aunt gave me a sword. "It's for you to use in training," she said. The sword has a special place in my heart, and in a mounted stand above my dresser. The handle is gleaming silver, while the blade is sturdy iron. If you look close enough at the blade, you can see flecks of gold. "This sword is both beautiful and deadly," explained my aunt, as I unsheathed it with excitement. "Just like you, Iliana."

I didn't doubt her for a second. Despite all my insecurities in my early teenage years, I always knew I was a sight to behold. A pale face with bright hazel eyes and high cheekbones, framed by choppy brown hair. My nose, a rather large nose in fact, sits right above a pair of peach lips. A few faint smile lines have stretched themselves at the sides of my mouth, and the corner of my eyes. My weight isn't the healthiest, in fact, I'm much too skinny to handle weapons. The sword my aunt gave me hasn't actually been used yet. It's too heavy. I focus more on agility- dodging the swords instead of handling them.

While I'm training, my clothes have to be tight fitting. So the fabric can't catch on anything, or trip me. In my mind, I compare my body to the remains of a burned tree- skinny, brittle. I don't look like the type of woman who could tear your throat out. Mostly because I'm not, as much as I'd like to think I am. My thin body is perfect, however, for agility. Anytime I'm not training, I tend to bundle up. No matter what the weather, you can find me in heavy sweaters and scarves. It's a bitch during summer, honestly, but I'm dedicated. Winter is much more manageable with my wardrobe.

I have a twin brother. He has a long name too- Nathaniel Zebulan. We're both Career tributes. As in, we train our asses off for a chance we may not even get. Well, I train my ass off, while he whines on the sidelines. He doesn't want to do this, but I do. I have more determination than he has in his little finger. When he couldn't quite get the hang of combat, he gave up. I couldn't get it either, but instead of giving up, I tried a new approach. I dodged every sword and ducked under every punch while he stood on the sides, watching. It's all fine, though. I'm the one who's gonna look sweet as hell when I slaughter everyone in the Arena, and he'll just be sitting at home watching. What a baby.

Perhaps you could say I'm more than a bit impatient. I don't have the time to deal with people who don't take their training seriously. I'm not here to goof off, I'm here to win. It's time that everyone clowning around learned that lesson as well. Unfortunately, the people who goof off tend to be good with actual weapons, not just dodging them. At least I bother to take things seriously. And I try, unlike some people. Some people that happen to be my brother.

Despite my seriousness, I love a good conversation whenever I can get my hands on it. I may be dedicated while training, but that doesn't mean I can't make time for friends outside of that. I'm not sure I could live without a bit of socialization. Isolation isn't just a discomfort for me, it's more of a fear. I feed off the approval of others. If I'm not useful in some aspects, then what am I?

I wasn't very useful to my mother or father, apparently. No, they didn't just dump my brother and I on the doorstep of my aunt's house. They worked out a sort of agreement. We still visit them every other weekend, although now that I'm older, I'm not sure I'm required to anymore. I love them, I really do. But the birth of me and my brother got in the way of their socialite party lifestyle, so off we went to Aunt Demi's house. She spoiled us rotten from day one. Even as a young child, however, I still felt a sort of burden. A burden of not being good enough for my mother and father to keep. Every time I visited them, I asked them why I lived with Aunt Demi and not them. They wouldn't answer. It was my Aunt who broke it to me, in the end.

At first, my Aunt didn't want us to go into Career training. My parents insisted. I think it's quite funny that they wanted nothing to do with us, until it came to the chance for glory. How selfish they are. My brother and I resisted at first, and he still does, but I began to enjoy training. My parents praised me for being 'so brave' and 'so strong' every time I saw them, so I tried harder and harder. As an insecure 12 year old, my parent's praise meant everything. Later, of course I learned they really had no clue how my training was going, and only praised me because they felt obligated to. But by then, I wasn't training for them anymore. I was doing it for myself.

My brother and I are distant now. As children, we weren't. We were practically attached at the hip, in fact. But as I began to take training more and more seriously, he was still hanging around the sidelines. It split us apart. I say he's lazy, he says I'm a workaholic. Sure, maybe I do work a little hard. But I don't plan on stopping until I manage to pick a sword up on my own, and kick ass with it.

codeword: odair
faceclaim: elena tonra