katlynn crown [ d7 | pk ] wip

At times, she believes she is nothing like her brother.

He was born with wolf blood coursing through his veins, while she was given her own set of fangs, serrated and deadly ever since she was little. He had a birthright, she had the rights of illegitimacy. He was rooted in a world of Peacekeepers from the moment he took his first breath.

All Katlynn remembers is lungfuls of frosty air, her toes gone numb in the places where her dog-eared shoes weren't sufficient to keep her warm. She remembers snow on her eyelashes and in her hair, and she remembers imagining herself turning into a snowman. They were used to the cold, right?

She remembers playing games with Jack Frost, pressing her chilled palms against his pretty creations so she could see through the windowpane. There would be fires inside those homes, lighting up the entire room and illuminating little yellow squares on the snow-covered street. She would convince herself she'd be warmer if she stood under that light. But she was always disappointed, the yellow glow proving itself no better than the frigid air filling up the shadows.

(Could you spare some food?)

Her own words, childlike and frightened, rattle around inside of her to this day. It shakes her to the core when she remembers how pathetic she appeared—threadbare clothes and a mop of black hair, her entire body shaking in the cold. She's written across her stone-cold heart that she'll never feel that way again.

(There's nothing here for you, girlie.)

She can't remember what most people said to her, but she remembers this one very clearly. An old man, withered like a leaf near the end of autumn. His fingers were twisted and Katlynn thought that maybe if she pulled on one, it'd snap in two. But she didn't. What she remembers is staring up into his thin, grizzled face, her hope shriveling up beneath his beady black eyes and rat-toothed sneer. She hated him then, and she hates him now.

The little girl had faded almost to nothing when the shiny black glove of a Peacekeeper had wrapped around her bony wrist. She can remember looking up defiantly, awaiting another pair of disapproving eyes, but all that met her was a black void. They were faceless, made from nothing but tinted visors and immaculate white uniforms.

For a moment, Katlynn's desperate fingers gripped the apple in her left hand even tighter. She'd never been caught before. But then her eyes wandered to the Peacekeeper's side, where a long rod hung idly from his belt. Her hand loosened and the apple was returned to the merchant's cart.

Within District 7's Justice Building, she remembers Miriam's dark eyes soaking her up like a piece of meat. The woman circled her as if she were hunting, poking at her, lifting her chin, touching her hair. Katlynn stood still as a statue and glared for what seemed like hours.

(My new princess.)

She sounded like a snake, but when Katlynn pictures her now, all she can see is a wolf, yellow eyes glaring at her in the dark.

(Let's call you Crown.)

Crown. Katlynn Crown.

It was the first thing Mother said to her that she remembers liking.

Sometimes, her belief is correct. She is nothing like her brother. Where Lucius's skin was softened by Mother's sharp words and the tip of her belt, Katlynn's grew calloused and rough. Her fangs were sharp from the moment she was born, but her body had yet to be molded into one of the wolves that belonged to Mother's pack.