Torren Jaroux {District One}
May 15, 2019 20:37:26 GMT -5
Post by Arrows on May 15, 2019 20:37:26 GMT -5
Child of a lonely Castle
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The rain was little more than a soft drizzle scattered over silent streets. The grey clouds were mirrors to the fixed eyes of an eight year old boy attached by hand to his Aunt's side. Their walk was long and loitered with following gazes appearing in doorways and the slits of blinds. The common image of tragedy known to arrive in the wake of a coffin. Yet, it was far from the first journey down the street of stones gowned in black for this family.
The boy with brown hair wet from the sky's embrace, was the little prince of the Jaroux family. For years they lived in the estate cresting the avenue of winding manors and black embroidered lampposts. It was as though they were the royal family of the road, ruling from beyond their iron gates and across their gardens of radiant flora. Even within their world of wealth, paths of their land were littered with memoirs of their eternal glory encapsulated in stone statues of every member's essence. They were the apex of ascension outside of the Capitol city, a family forged from diamonds and bonds running deep with the white serpent king. Yet although vastly vibrant in life, such a stunning spectacle cannot be sustained long before wilting.
It is a plague, an unstoppable thing. It breathes in their blood and blossoms in their growth. A silent serial killer counting the second hand of his killing clock. A true blooded Jaroux does not live past the age of forty. Tied to the chains of their DNA, an aggressive cancer takes hold of their hearts. They go from rose to broken petals in only months. It is a cruel fight, an unwinnable battle with no cure for reprieve. Torren was meant to have his Father, someone close to walk hand in hand with him as they followed the trail of his Mother's coffin. But from an unknown illness, he left behind his son only just surpassing the age of five. He left behind a boy who would in that very moment become destined to be an orphan.
And that day came when Torren was just past eight. Hand in hand instead with his Aunt, he walked the same street he walked for his Father and the same street his ancestors had walked before him. Accustom to the black color of his family's fate, he moved forward with empty eyes and endless questions. Why would they continue to have children only to condemn them to an inevitable death? And on that day he found one answer which would root itself in the core of his identity forever: they do it because it's the same thing all parents do.
Torren's life has been one of uniqueness following his crowning as an orphan. Alone in the castle-like manor, he has watched the distant world from behind windows. Different relatives have rotated through watching him at the estate, but since turning fourteen they've allowed him mostly to live alone. In his childhood, he believed he was the prince of the castle as he witnessed the world from the safety of his secluded walls. A young boy with a grand imagination, but a dangerous insecurity.
Insecurity has become hidden under a layer of false confidence and obvious recklessness. A frail timid boy bound by the shackles of his fear has altered into one of soft smiles, long hair, and sculpted muscles. The King of a Castle of Parties. Countless nights the music of youth echoes down the avenue emerging from the center of the once quaint estate. Endless dancing bodies invited eternally to mask the fear he encounters when the morning comes, and again he is alone in his true castle of silence.
In addition, the young seventeen year old finds no grace in the small branches of his family that remain. A pressure of great amount weighs heavy upon him as though he is the diamonds on which they all rely. Frequent reminders for decisions and choices attack him at every gathering. Signatures required, supplies to be counted, people to be paid. A never ending list of necessities thrown onto the boy with an advanced coronation to head of the main branch. A constant flow of demands for the boy who had no time to take in the lessons he was supposed to learn before leading his family.
However, away from the parties and his pre-mature evolution from heir to familial head, the orphaned prince finds safety in one place: the training centers of the games. There is something seductively sweet to the thought of dying swiftly on a blade instead slowly merging with a machine. A chance to exist to the world as something more than another death-destined Jaroux. To be a tribute, a person with a definition other than that of doomed. Now there are some who would argue that both are fates tied to the same end, but he rebukes such thinking.
There were no tears on their cheeks, only unwavering acceptance in their stares.
The boy with brown hair wet from the sky's embrace, was the little prince of the Jaroux family. For years they lived in the estate cresting the avenue of winding manors and black embroidered lampposts. It was as though they were the royal family of the road, ruling from beyond their iron gates and across their gardens of radiant flora. Even within their world of wealth, paths of their land were littered with memoirs of their eternal glory encapsulated in stone statues of every member's essence. They were the apex of ascension outside of the Capitol city, a family forged from diamonds and bonds running deep with the white serpent king. Yet although vastly vibrant in life, such a stunning spectacle cannot be sustained long before wilting.
This remains the curse of the family of diamonds.
A boy with an inescapable destiny.
And that day came when Torren was just past eight. Hand in hand instead with his Aunt, he walked the same street he walked for his Father and the same street his ancestors had walked before him. Accustom to the black color of his family's fate, he moved forward with empty eyes and endless questions. Why would they continue to have children only to condemn them to an inevitable death? And on that day he found one answer which would root itself in the core of his identity forever: they do it because it's the same thing all parents do.
No one lives forever.
Torren's life has been one of uniqueness following his crowning as an orphan. Alone in the castle-like manor, he has watched the distant world from behind windows. Different relatives have rotated through watching him at the estate, but since turning fourteen they've allowed him mostly to live alone. In his childhood, he believed he was the prince of the castle as he witnessed the world from the safety of his secluded walls. A young boy with a grand imagination, but a dangerous insecurity.
Yet as he has grown and his petals have colored, the vibrancy of his family has begun to show.
Insecurity has become hidden under a layer of false confidence and obvious recklessness. A frail timid boy bound by the shackles of his fear has altered into one of soft smiles, long hair, and sculpted muscles. The King of a Castle of Parties. Countless nights the music of youth echoes down the avenue emerging from the center of the once quaint estate. Endless dancing bodies invited eternally to mask the fear he encounters when the morning comes, and again he is alone in his true castle of silence.
Forever attempting to hide the real truth that what scares him more than what will one day take his heart, is that he will be alone when that day finally comes.
In addition, the young seventeen year old finds no grace in the small branches of his family that remain. A pressure of great amount weighs heavy upon him as though he is the diamonds on which they all rely. Frequent reminders for decisions and choices attack him at every gathering. Signatures required, supplies to be counted, people to be paid. A never ending list of necessities thrown onto the boy with an advanced coronation to head of the main branch. A constant flow of demands for the boy who had no time to take in the lessons he was supposed to learn before leading his family.
Yet another pressure point for his core of constant worry-warped insecurity.
However, away from the parties and his pre-mature evolution from heir to familial head, the orphaned prince finds safety in one place: the training centers of the games. There is something seductively sweet to the thought of dying swiftly on a blade instead slowly merging with a machine. A chance to exist to the world as something more than another death-destined Jaroux. To be a tribute, a person with a definition other than that of doomed. Now there are some who would argue that both are fates tied to the same end, but he rebukes such thinking.
To die in a way other than that of his pre-destined fate is not death.
It is freedom.
It is freedom.
