maryse mortuus ; district twelve ; fin

Born from burning pages of the Holy Book - ripped out from bent backs, they'd caught a glimpse and taste of the flourishing flame. Only way to be controlled was to be stomped out by the ends of sternums fixed to canes, though even then a wildfire couldn't be subdued.

I'd followed in the same footsteps that'd left a burnt path trodden to an open flame, a pyre of corpses. Left to set black smoke fume through the open air of Twelve, the smell caught in my lungs and I swear I drowned beneath the thick smog of an unorthodox paradox within a senseless world in which we dwell.

( "You'll get used to it kid. One day you might be out here yourself." )

This'd been twelve years prior, and the mechanical smoke that industrialized the star speckled sky formed an acidic temperament. It'd been strict business, one without prayers, instead I'd rip pages from an ancient Holy Book releasing them to the harsh wind that fed an even more ferocious fire. They'd burned and formed a new life as pyre's of the dead were left as nothing more than ashes and dust.


Kept as a devourment that pushed us further in life than receiving rebukes and reprimands of lashings upon concrete and wood perched in the middle of the Square. A capital punishment only sought for public misconception of what'd the Mortuus had stood for- so, we whipped our own backs resting on our blood drenched, scrapped knee caps until dominion had taken in. Though, I soaked my body in bleach instead, throwing my head back until my hair crisped white and my body burned with ache. I breathed the toxins through my nostrils and I swear I died, but the devil hadn't noticed yet for I've been in a makeshift Heaven far too long.

"Celia's dead."



"Maryse will be taking over."

A false communion held in place for the returning body of a girl who couldn't escape the grip of all she owed no longer. Handcuffed to death himself, she'd always been caught in his palm, though she read it as being his lover- his one and only- Celia's smart and she knew he was never faithful. She managed to kill numbers within the arena, and no remorse had even sparked when she slid a blade into the heart of a girl Panem thought she felt for, and perhaps she had, but not enough to keep her alive.


Celia was a false Goddess of worship, claiming herself as the 'Grim Goddess of Death', but struck herself down in the end with taking a blade to the face. She became a new person in the arena, taking the bones and flesh and skin off of those who had fallen, and wearing them with an immense pride she couldn't seem to swallow.

"Congrats, Maryse."



Body shipped back in a splintered, wooden coffin with what remained of a preserved body. They were all savages, digging it up and cutting in for nothing else but the organs; Hyacinth with the hyoid bone, one grabbed the uterus, another the kidney. Vital organs were for glass jars, kept as precious possessions. I waited until they were done, ripping the sternum from its place ( one that'd make a beautiful cane for the collection. ) Scalped, skinned, hand from bone, teeth from mouth. She'd once been considered picture perfect -

"If it's what you desire ..."

mortuus . seventeen . credit:arx . tags:Python