pixie. d7. fin. cb.

"I swear I did climb the tallest tree in all the District!" pouts Pixie Pewterson, all four-foot-nine-and-a-half-inches of chaos. She stamps her boot-clad foot in the dirt and demands attention. "I did, I did, I DID!"

"Yeah, alright Pixie..." someone grumbles, ruffling her brown hair for good measure. 

"I ain't lyin'!"

That gets a laugh, "Yeah. Sure you ain't, Pix."

It's the sixth lie she's told today, and certainly not the last. Getting the kids in the village square to believe her isn't hard, getting adults to drink up her bullshit is a much trickier task. Still, Pixie likes a challenge. Only child, her father keeps her stories entertained at the dinner table - she's the apple of his eye, after all.

They live on near-scraps and it's probably why her growth was stunted, but her father always made sure they had food on the table. Not a lot, but just enough. His daughter is tiny for her age but what she lacks in stature she makes up for in personality - a small girl with big dreams and an even larger aptitude for storytelling. It's more a coping mechanism than anything, an attempt to fill up her life with pretend things she'll never really have.

Pixie claims she's not the shortest girl in her class, that her Mother passed away in a setting of epic proportions, that her cousin's cousins are the Pryce siblings. Some kids believe what comes out of that tiny, pouted mouth and she drinks up their attention - consuming whatever she can get, even scraps. When they start to get bored she tempts them again, stringing along a show of smoke and mirrors. 

"Yeah I did steal this bracelet from Jacinta Salazar's house!"

"Nuh-uh you didn't!"

"YEAH-UH I DID!"

Pixie Pewterson: Con. Artist. 

"TELL THE TRUTH PIXIE-"

"GOTTA CATCH ME FIRST, HA-HA!"