vennera le roux | d1 | fin

The heart that thrummed within her chest had been beating for a long time. Eighteen years was plenty of time to get tired, but that fine muscle didn't seem fatigued just yet. At times she'd place her hand atop her chest to remind herself that she was still here, that she was breathing and had a purpose, that she had inherited a lion heart and she'd better put it to good use.
The intricacies of genetics weren't really her strong suit, but the process was something to be admired. She looked similar to most of her family; brown hair, searching eyes, a body that she was meant to turn into the body of a career although she wasn't quite sure how to do that. She and her siblings - Isaac the witty, Aria the austere - were more concerned with intellectual matters than carnage and killing. She'd find herself gravitating towards the knife station at the training center only to muse about what the handle was made of, how many lives had it seen without stealing them.
Death was a natural thing. All of your muscles relaxed at once and your body just let go, your soul no longer tethered to this realm. Yet, it seemed unnatural to Vennera to kill. Sure, it happened in nature, and ecosystems depended on regulating the population, but this was not regulation. This was punishment. A Trojan horse dressed up with the promise of riches, glory, freedom - nothing the Capitol would ever be so inclined to truly deliver. It was natural, she had decided. She knew that deep down. Yet when she closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like to die, she felt fear stirring deep within her ribcage.
So she'd take the knife and stab at a dummy, because she knew that when the time came, her survival instincts would override any moral qualms she had.

Vennera wasn't an artist in the slightest, but she could appreciate something that was wonderfully crafted, and maps were often the most beautiful things of all. To think that the vast blue and gold represented places that she would never get to see was both completely fascinating and damning. She'd often pore over her father's old encyclopedias - contraband, like most things in their home were - when he wasn't around, inhaling the centuries and exhaling wanderlust. Gaining knowledge through books was great, but almost nothing compared to experience. How would one truly know anything without touching, seeing, smelling, tasting, hearing the world before them? It wasn't possible. She wanted to make things happen.
Almost as often as she traced the history of her family did she try to trace the geography of where they had been. Of course they lived here, in One, but they had also traveled elsewhere, to forsaken arenas and battlefields and places untold. Did she want to go there? Did she crave a new map, a new path?
To an extent, Vennera knew where she was headed - either to the Games or to the long-fought family fight against treachery. It was inevitable, no matter how she may have felt personally about it. She craved the greater good just as her family did and it would come one way or another. But where would she go in-between? What detours would she take? What direction would go uncharted, only known to her mind, never to be discovered by any of the Le Rouxes after her? Well, of course, that was unbeknownst even to herself. But one thing was certain - she was a lion, and while they were pride animals, their spirits would still run free and untamed.