adara staite // district four // cb1

Your name means beauty. Your father tells you that you look like your mother and that she was a beauty too- you only have his words to believe him because there are no photos in the house and your mother died when you were small. You know for one that your fathers eyes are yours, pale grey like the sky on a winter morning or the mist that hungs on the oceans surfaces but there is where the Staite blood ends in you.

 From what you know based on your fathers appearence, Staite's have hair warm, like smouldering logs once the fire has been put out, with skin as pale as shells your find on the beach. Your skin is sunkissed, deep golden like the sand beneath your toes and your hair is dark like drift wood that turns up on the beach. Your Grandmother, who looks much like you, told you once it was because of you were born in the depths of winter, where the seas swelled with storms for weeks on end, that the cold seeped into your skin in the womb and you believe her because you have felt how the cold seeps into your bones and how you do not shiver. 

When you ask your father about your family, he shakes his head and tells you that the rest of your family is toxic, that the mainland is toxic, and that staying ont he island with the lighthouse to watch over you. You only go over for Reaping Day- your Grandmother home schools you and teaches you to cook and weave and her son, your Uncle teaches you to swim and fish. It is a lonely life.  

But you know no different and wouldn't change it for anything.