Cosette Kensington [D1]

My name is Cosette...derived from the bright pink flower's my mother adored. In a world she believed was full of illusion...of lies...that was the one concession she would allow herself...that nature is beautiful. My mother Sophia Kensington, led a rather offbeat life...she lived a part of the glitz and glamour and yet, saw the underside all too well. Albeit coming from a upper class background she was disowned early on for dating a man believed to be the social inferior of her family status. Having little choice in the matter she later fell into the life of a courtesan...one that dealt in giving the customer what they wanted, no matter the cost. My mother believes that I am the product of a customer encounter...one with a Peacekeeper which was kept quiet. When money walks as they say....

She later became an icon to the Capitol by managing to save herself by marrying the owner of a large jewelry producer. One of the top of his game I might add...she managed to seduce him in enough time to make it appear like I was in fact his child. Though I suspect he is all to well aware of the truth. Let's face it...I have none of his features with my deep set brown eyes, light blonde hair, and porcelain skin, I look extremely far from the dark features of my father. I have long wavy hair and what has been called the "cherub"face with small dainty features. However, I often bear the look of one that is easily breakable, my wrist alone many can wrap their whole fingers around. I was lucky to have the features of my well bred mother however, it seemed to come with a price.

Later, as one sister and a brother came into the family mix, it started to cause more of a stir from those on the outside. Speculation...something my father could have none of ran rampant, and in my tender age I was quite upset by the reactions of those in the district. I was soon a child that scared others away by the mere thought of what she was, something that I felt most keenly. My parents soon began to get into arguments, my father demanded to know the truth, something my mother would not easily provide. Provoked into a frenzy over the possibility of anyone questioning the family worth he would take to yelling at times. This later changed when I decided, in order to prevent future problems, to request to attend the special school for tributes.

Understand, I had and certainly have no desire to die. But, from the looks and the treatment of others towards the careers, I realized it may be a way to gain some kind of upper hand. I remember sitting in bed crying the night before I was to reveal the idea to my parents...I knew that I should be happy to have such a strong chance of becoming part of the games...yet, I was not doing it because I wanted to do it. I was doing it only to save and protect those around me...namely, my mother who in all likelihood would be divorced swiftly if the truth was really known. The morning of my proposed action I woke with a scratchy throat, red eyes, and a firm resolve. I walked down to speak to my parents and found my father to be in full agreement, my mother to begin her daily struggle to accept my choice...after a few years of fighting my father over it.

The day of my entrance into the tribute academy was also that of my first tattoo. Etched into my right wrist, a stark black contrast against my snow white skin, the infinity symbol reminds me of the choices I have made, and the ones I can't soon get out of. My father became rather proud of me, showing off his daughter's talents for his friends. I excelled largely at throwing knives and bows. I also picked up a knack for less invasive killing techniques such as poisons. However, I was never too fond of swords and heavy handed equipment preferring items I could grab and move quickly with. After successfully excelling in an early exam, I was approached by one of the pack of careers that run the academy and more or less adopted. Initiation into the group was steep however...it went against my conscious but, in order to fit in I knew it had to be done.

One late winter morning the group gathered inside of one of the gym's. Two of those in the pack were sent to watch as lookouts as a boy was thrust into the room. He looked intimidating, being age 15 to my 12 years. However, I was provided with a pair of throwing knives...and he had hardly suspected he would be confronted. The last I remembered was his face as he hit the ground, and the gaping wound spouting blood. I was not punished for what I had done...he was seen as a coward for not attempting to volunteer these past few years. Yet, this marked a major transition towards becoming a blood thirsty girl who followed in every sense group psychology, at least in appearances.

Codeword: odair