talia wayland, district four | finished [cb]

Talia Wayland is the girl in the window;
she's the girl who wears white to the funeral.

Her skin is glass — such a delicate cage. She stares out of herself when the skies are clear, when the streets are safe and she can walk free into the night. There's a ribbon in her hair, a dress caught in the wind; but it's just old fabric, and there's dirt on her cheeks. Some call her a ghost, most call her 'daughter.' She is the girl raised by filth, shared among the poor and loved by the forgotten. Do not mistake her for something beautiful and treasured. Without a home and without blame, she is innocence come to life. There is nothing more sacred than a doe lying dead in the forest, no blood on her fur.

But she craves that carnage, in a dark way — in the way her hunger howls against her, in the way she has grown tired of being the angel in the distance. Just a girl, in the background, in the sunlight, broken and lost and abandoned; and never allowed to be more. She is tired of pity. She has wrapped that ribbon around her knuckles, torn the skirt of that dress from around her waist. Her wings have been sawed from her back. And a girl that is nothing, who feels the burden of everything, is more than capable of becoming something. She is the wolf growling in the woods.

She is all of these things and more,
within herself.

For herself.