Flicker [Azaleah]

It's irrational how calm I am, but that's just who I am.

This center overflows with weapons. Not unlike District One, I see flails at every corner and knives at every rack. However, unlike District One, every blade is perfectly balanced, not a single scratch ruins the steel and not a single splinter on the shafts of the spears. One moment I close my eyes, thinking I'm dreaming, and when I reopen them I'm weightless in the face of my own perfect demise. I do not shy away or flinch in the face of death; I am irrationally made after all.

I don't think twice about dragging myself to the weapons station, each weapon an individual path to power I would crave to hold but worry to drop. That's what they are, tools I dance with to give me my fix of power. I can't stop or stutter or hesitate when they face me down. Muscles twitch and turn of their own accord when I grip the blunted blade between my finger tips and rest it on the palm of my hand. I involuntarily cringe at the lack of error faced when I look down; I suppose that's what makes me irrational - perfection sickens me.

"Wish this wasn't so perfect," I mutter outloud. Because this is a representation of every challenge I could never dominate, a reminder that I will always be the broken child who is nothing. Scorning at those that play pretend for a crown of thorns, the irony is bitter when I realize I'm the biggest pretender of them all. Fuck this sword, it's a mockery and it leaves me oh-so bitter.

Lifting my gaze and spinning around, I spot a girl barely a few feet from the station. No time for a second guess or even a second thought, I call out to her. "Hey, how about we try these out eh?" It's a mad proposition; that's just what I am I suppose.