yara hailsham || district four || cb || fin

Your destiny may be inevitable, Yara of Hailsham, but you've never been the type to succumb to the tides of fate alone.

You've heard the story a hundred times - you were a poor little orphan girl, carefully plucked from the arms of your deceased mother and into the nest of the Hailsham institute, where good old-fashioned wealth and care gave you the life of comfort that you had never deserved. You always rolled your eyes at that last bit - if you had never deserved it, then clearly you wouldn't be here, enjoying the fruits of someone else's labor. And though you were coerced into becoming the model child, a face that would supposedly hasten your adoption into a loving, wealthy family, you never felt that moved to uphold to such standards. After all, if someone was going to be your brand new loving forever family, wouldn't it be better for them to choose you based on who you were instead of what you could do?

That was logic you held before the truth came out, at any rate, before all the puzzle pieces had fallen into place. In retrospect, it makes sense why you were pushed so hard towards some fucked up ideal of perfection, if only to mold you into an ideal lamb for the slaughter.

And that simply would not do.

You'd always been the deadpan snarker of your age group, and after the initial shock of being told that you had been saved only to be killed had worn off, you made it as much a protective suit of armor as simply a personality type. Strong willed and most certainly not stupid, it would act as a cover for the mind scrambling at a million miles a minute to figure out a method to survive.

One way or another, you'd find it out. Because noble saviors and condemned fate be damned, the only person that got to control your destiny would be you.

And you'd claim it back from the jaws of death itself if it'd be the last thing you ever did.