arletta casterly {d3 - fin}

arletta ;

She noticed their lowered gazes at the age of five. Rust red hair framing pale cheeks, she would present a proud drawing and her parents would present silence.

"Mommy, look!"

Her mother refused to tear her eyes away from the Capitol magazine. "That's nice honey," And a child was not clueless enough to miss it. Mommy didn't care about her art, so she stopped drawing.

At the District Square they would never hold her hand. In her little yellow polka-dot dress, she skipped across haunted concrete while her parents' attention were glued to shops and strangers. She muttered a mousy "excuse me" to every person she bumped. They grumbled and grunted the way her father did when she asked him for a favor. "Can I play outside?" she asked, and one grunt later she was out the door. She often didn't return until after sunset. They didn't care.

She wandered halfway across the distrct - eight years old - until she could hold her hands near the electric fence and feel the hairs on her arms stand up. It would've been stupid to trip and and blacken her skin to a crisp. It would've been stupid for a Peacekeeper to find her and drag her home by one tiny arm. She was a child without supervision; stupid things were bound to happen, yet she was resourceful. Her parents were too buried in money and inflated egos to teach her anything beyond basic life skills. How to brush her teeth, how to feed herself, how to lock the doors behind her. Environment and experience taught her the rest.

She didn't really need them, but she wanted them.

The first flyer she saw was plastered against a column in the Square. In cute curly letters the words academy for little girls was scrawled across the top, Below it was a pretty drawing of a house, and the name of the woman who owned it: Ms. Meryl. "Mom, look!" She said, pointing, but mother was too busy. The next time she found the flyer, she ripped it off the column and brought it home. Arletta didn't want to attend her normal school anymore. This was an academy for special little girls, and she desperately wanted to be special.

She deliberately placed it on top of her mother's calendar. It was the first thing she picked up every morning, and she was certain to scoot it beside her father's favorite mug. She wanted them to see the opportunity and take her there. The house was pretty - even bigger than hers - and the writing made it look so sophisticated, like she would become a princess from a fairy tale. That morning she crawled out of bed and sat in the hallway, awaiting their reactions. She heard her mother ask, "What's this?"

A few days later, they told her to pack her things. It was the happiest moment of her life.

Ms. Meryl welcomed her with open arms. Promises of good fortune and a golden future were lain upon her delicate hands. The truth she had sought was finally confirmed: "You're special, Arletta." And Ms. Meryl would help her reach her full potential. At the time, she hadn't known what that meant.

She never signed her soul to the devil with blood magic, but that's what it felt like. Ms. Meryl had an entire library dedicated to the practice of ancient witchcraft. The books were all tattered and torn at the seams, tape and strings binding what little bone structure they had left. They were her pride, her foundation. It was everything this academy was about. Sewing was the only practical skill she learned. Everything else felt...taboo.

Every murmured incantation crept beneath her flesh like a spider. She didn't know if she believed in fortune telling and dream interpretation, but she could grasp potions and poisons. Ms. Meryl had a collection of plants to teach the girls which ones were killers, and which ones were saints. Arletta picked the prettiest of the harmless and set them by her window in a vase. There was a lot of pressure between the girls to be the best. Always strive for success, always beat your competitors. Why was there a competition in the first place? She only wanted to be special.

It wasn't enough, apparently.

Ms. Meryl claimed she was special. "It's those doe eyes and pink lips of yours," she'd fawn, "You're a very pretty girl. Use that."

"What do you mean?" Because she was a naive little girl.

"You could control minds with a face like that. Manipulate them. It's all about getting what you want."

And so she mastered the art of trickery. Of lying, of pretending, of using a sweet voice and batting eyelashes to sway the world in her favor. The goal changed in time; it wasn't about learning anymore, it was about climbing the hierarchy. Ms. Meryl would select the worthiest girl to replace her. The best "witch" of them all. Arletta loved the idea of becoming a teacher. Ms. Meryl raised them, and Arletta wanted to carry the torch and accept all of the lost little girls who deserved a better family.

My parents will never come back for me.

It didn't hurt her. A new Arletta had risen from the ashes of an old, sad life - a girl with knowledge and control. A girl who wished she didn't have to rely on manipulation to achieve everything she wanted, yet that was how their world was designed. Peacekeepers used fear, The Capitol used glamour, and she would use everything else.

But with every lie uttered, another piece of her broke away.

[ i do not want power. ]