Rosalie Bellemore // D1 // FIN

. rosalie bellemore ♕ 17 ♕ district 1 .

Cat eyes.

Cat's eye.

"Cat's eye...?" I raise a brow at my younger sister, who nods with a big smile on her face as she opens the box in her hands and reveals to me an earthy necklace, with a big Cat's eye pendant dangling from the neck of the chain. "What do you think, Rose?!" I tilt my head slightly and the rays of the sun twinkle on the surface of the stone, as we stand to the side of glittering streets in front of a block of luxurious shops in broad daylight.

Cat's eye, huh?

I've never heard of such a name up until now.

It doesn't sound like it belongs in the line of jewelry.

It doesn't look as expensive, as flashy as what many of the people here wear.

It's no diamond, no red beryl, no Paraíba tourmaline.

But that's why "I love it."





I've heard the phrase a lot, and the frequency just kept growing with me. Narrow eyes above a plump nose, lips, and round jawline, coming together to make up a face of creamy, smooth skin accented with sharp cheekbones--

"What's the matter?"

"Are you mad?"

"You look pissed as hell right now."

Oh my God.

Leave me alone, man--it's not like that, really, I was just destined to be pouting forever. Annoying procedure that wormed its way into my daily routine, I can't get through the day without the question floating into my ears at least once; but the day Cori got me that necklace saw me start to be less irritated about it.

It's all I think about from now on, everytime I hear the phrase over and over again.

It was a cute and creative way for her to try and help me get the hell over the words, a little present she surprised me with and that's what makes it more valuable to me than it already is in comparison to the other gems everyone gawks over instead.

Well, not only that, but I've always been a sucker for things more different than what we see here. I can appreciate glitz and glam (I mean, that is what this District is all about, isn't it?) but only in moderation, and a lot of District 1 overuses sparkles and adornments to the point where it just exhausts my eyeballs now if I so much as even glance at something reflecting gold, shimmering white, covered in feathers, or lined with beads. It's painful. It's boring.

I prefer the more understated, more muted, more simple, when something just strays from the flaunting norm. The less gaudy stuff have always been more attractive to me and I'm not afraid for jewelers to shoot me judgmental stares and shocked gapes if I talk about how I think moss agates are prettier than galaxy opals--or if I tell seamstresses that I like wearing sweater dresses more often than frilly ones.

The more over-the-top stuff appeal to me only on special occasions, important social events and gatherings, just times whenever it's actually necessary at all to put them on, but as an everyday casual I'm just not that kinda girl.

Cori knowing how I'm like that flatters me.

I wish Mom and Dad cared about her more but it's all because she's the more vocal one out of us two when it comes to being a career. I'll be docile and keep my mouth shut (but usually just proceed to not practice behind their backs), while she doesn't hide that she doesn't want to be one at all.

She doesn't want to learn how to kill others our age and prepare for the day her name is drawn out of the ladies' glass ball because she is not that kinda girl, and there are far too many of us who enjoy training to be a career and having the label tied to their name for her liking anyhow.

She doesn't think she has anything to worry about, but mom insists she does just in case for her safety if anything. She and Dad see it as more of a necessity than entertainment and they had to hone their survival skills themselves when they were younger, but they were lucky to survive the process--so I don't understand why they can't just leave Cori alone?

She'll be fine.

We'll be fine.

They don't need to punish her for saying no by making her a shut-in, we'll be okay.

Let the Frays and the Lumieres and the Morenos and whoever the hell else there is with blood relations and a lust for drawing blood have their fun, they're the ones who actually want to do it. They got us covered, we'll be okay.

As for me, I just want to dance and be free from all the bullshit this world has to offer. I want to feel my blonde hair whip around as I spin and jump and fly through the air, become a cloud and a bird and the wind as I throw my limbs in all directions and just lose all control.

I want people, especially our parents, to see the green orbs on my face light up not because I landed a throwing knife on fire on a dummy with razor-sharp precision, but because I'm twirling and watching everyone and everything spin all around me as I move and turn and twist in rhythmic style to the sound of compositions that make you want to float and soar, melodies that make you wanna go crazy and just flail the night away.

I want to spread an aura of joy and carefree through the art of using just my body, and not through fucking sleeping around but through numbers and pieces and choreographies that make everyone feel good in spirit, not in physicality.

Performers at gatherings and slow-dancing in ballrooms are my inspiration, my source of creativity, the root of my ambitions to be like them, to become one of them. I've seen multiple presentations and read multiple books on the romantic, intimate steps and the innovative, fast-paced sequences, it's something I'm actually passionate about and instead of fighting for ownership of a blood-riddled cage I want to flutter around outside it.

I want them to just listen, understand, and let us follow our hearts.

We return home to the store our parents run, where mom makes jewelry and dad makes fitted clothes. Mom lifts her head up to us and smiles, putting a halt to what she's currently working on. "Hey girls. Did you get her the necklace, Coriander?"

"I sure did," she replies, moving to give me a hug as she returns her own string of pearls. I laugh lightly and place a hand on her back.

"Good. How did training go, Rosalie?"

Hesitance, a knowing look shared between my sister and I before I respond.

"It went great, mom."

But for now, I guess I'll just have to keep lying and sneaking before they catch on.

Before the time is right.

Before they finally let us be free.