Dance! (Open)

Purenessa Krow
Reach for the sky, it's not that far.
Close your eyes, catch a shooting star.
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Perhaps this night should seem beautiful. The moon's silver fingers reach down, brushing against everything in sight, and the stars glitter. The pollution is bad her, and they rarely shine as bright as they do tonight. Tree branches join together like arms reaching out for each other, interlocking in a canopy that hides me in it's shadows. Everything seems so ancient and mysterious in the powder white light. Most people would call it beautiful. Magical. Mysterious.

But I hate moonlight. Tonight, when I woke up and saw the moon, I scowled and wrapped a dark cloth around my face. My pale skin reflects it, making it impossible to blend into the trees. That's another thing I hate. My pale skin. And how thin I am. One hand automatically reaches up to my opposite arm, gripping my bony arm through the loose black fabric in annoyance. I should be strong. I am, after all, Krow. The strong, fearless girl who haunts the empty caves in the emptiest places of District One. I should not be as thin as a toothpick. I shouldn't look weak and half starved.

People picture leaders as strong, beautiful people who stand tall and proud in front of the setting sun. However, those are just fantasies, for leaders are really more like me. You're more likely to meet them in a dark all than you are standing on some boulder, staring at the sunset. And their hair is usually greasy and clumped together, hanging messily in their hollow, empty face, like mine. And they move quietly and easily through the night, hiding in the shadows, instead of stalking through the woods with pride. The fact is, we aren't as amazing as people want us to be. Great leaders are powerful. They are very rare, too. I'm not a great leader. I'm a leader. And normal leaders are selfish, power hungry people who want only to be obeyed.

The music from the club pounds through the night, disturbing everything that is still in the darkness. I glare at the sound in annoyance and anger, slipping around tree trunks in an attempt to get a better view. Lights flash from the inside, and my eyes narrow further. Through the window, I see people dancing, attempting to forget their troubles for a night. I find that kind of thing pointless. Your troubles just crash back down harder in the morning, and it's not worth the trouble or the extra pain.

Speaking of pain... I brush my cheek with the back of my hand, smudging the blood. That Keeper was lucky I was in a good mood, or I would have done much worse. After all, he landed a few hits. My black outfit hides the blood from my arm, but a bit of red trails down my face, in clear sight. I think of the flash of silver just before the sword slashed around. I jumped back, but the blade still caught my cheek.

Suddenly, I see a figure step out onto the deck. A cruel grin spreads across my face, and I move toward her with an idea. I slip through the trees, into the light. Blood flows freely from the side of my face, running down my chin and falling to the ground. I smirk, glancing at her dress and snorting. "Spoiled brat."

Purenessa Krow
I never can run,
From what I've done.
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I grin, but it is nasty and cold. The look of shock and absolute disgust on her face is enough to keep me here, and I throw back my head so that the long black locks fall away from my face, revealing pale white skin stained red from my cut. I'm ugly. I'll admit that much. Perhaps, if I cared enough to take care of myself, I could be beautiful. But my skin is smudged with mud and blood, my lips dry and peeling, and my hair is greasy and clumps together. But there is a certain power that radiates from inside me, clear in my black eyes, revealing a bit of inner courage that many people lack. I stare at her, thin eyebrows raised. "Well don't look at me as if I'm a ghost. I've worked so hard to be just the opposite."

I take a step forward, further into the light. My clothes- all black, of course- are torn on the sleeves, and I'm tall. I don't blame her for being scared. Perhaps, if I was as spoiled and unaware as her, I'd be scared too. But sleeping in caves and having to support myself has hardened me. I will never be as soft as she is- opponents see me and think I am weak, just because I'm a girl and a teenager, but they have no idea what I have seen, and what I have been through. For a moment, I envy her life, and her ability to turn her back on the problems in life. But no, I can't be wishing for a softies life. I may have a difficult life, but that's made me strong. I am who I am because of how I live. Sure, I could have gone to the orphanage as soon as my parents died. But instead, I went to the caves, and slept there, on the cold, hard ground. And, after a while, I got used to it.

Who am I? I should be offended. After all, I am legendary. The girl who slips through the woods like a shadow. I've even heard stories about myself as I listen from the darkness of the trees. Stories of the girl who wears feathers in her hair and around her neck. Very few know my real name- I will only be called Krow. Not Ms. Krow. Not Purenessa. Just Krow. Because that is who I am. Purenessa makes me sound kind and innocent, which I am not. I am cruel, and cold, and unforgiving. Lost within my own darkness and hate. I will never forgive. I've done terrible things I do not regret. I am Krow. Never, ever Purenessa.

I wipe the blood off my cheek with my hand. Then, I look at her and tilt my head to the side ever so slightly, gazing at her with black eyes cold and filled with hate. I stretch the hand out, as if offering for her to shake, although I know she won't. My smile is still cruel and angry. "I'm Krow. The girl who lives in the woods."


((OOC: Sorry it's so short. Purenessa just stopped speaking to me all the sudden.))

Purenessa Krow
Gotta take 'em down,
And turn that smile into a frown.
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Most of her words are simply going in one ear and out the other as I study her closely, trying to guess how long it would take to buy a dress like hers. I would have to rob at least three houses, and commit one major crime for someone else. I compare myself to her. Her hair is nicely combed and washed. I figer mine, which is greasy and full of snarls. Her skin is smooth and generally flawless. I run a hand over the acne on my face, smudging the blood some more. She obviously has enough to eat every night, but still remains attractively thin. I frown, bringing one hair up to feel a bony shoulder. There's no denying the fact that I am all skin and bones. Her dress is nice and clean. I've worn this outfit for four days straight, and it is ripped and muddy.

Her sudden movement makes me leap back, one hand quickly grabbing one of the knives on my belt. I quickly realize that she is simply gesturing to the area around her, indicating that it is where she lives. But I don't relax or release the knife. Instead, I yank it out of my belt, dangling my arm next to me casually and gazing at the buildings around us in hatred. I've always related luxeries like living in a house to the Capitol. While I may never have visited the city, I've seen glimpses of it on T.V. when they show the Games, and I've heard people talk about it. I suppose it must look pretty. Tall, colorful buildings nearly touching the sky, and people traveling around in cars and limos. Bright, candy colored people prancing along the sidewalk, their odd fashions glimmering in the light of the sun. I think of the Capitolites, and their oddly colored skin and hair and eyes, and wonder what they would do to me if they ever got a hold of me. Die my skin pink. Braid my hair. Take my black feather necklace away. Clean me. I want to puke at the thought.

But if they ever do get my hands on me, they'll either kill me, or turn me into an Avox. I'm a criminal. I've done some terrible things, although I can't say I regret them. In a life of crime and poverty, I can't feel regret or sorrow. Only annoyance and anger and hurt and hunger. Some people say that everyone has someone good inside of them. Not me. The only thing good about me is my fighting skills. Otherwise, I'm never kind, always sarcastic, make mean comments every chance I get, and am known to betray people. Often. So no, there really isn't someone good inside me. There's ice where a heart should be, and black flames where love should lie. I do have some good traits, but they rarely surface. When a person can convince me to fight on their side, I fight well. I fight with purpose. I can't say that I'm loyal, since the person usually regrets ever meeting me afterward, but perhaps there is something that comes alive in me during the fight that comes close to caring.

No, the only person I ever really cared about was... but no, he died. The Capitol killed him. And I can't really say I cared about him. We worked together well. We agreed on things. I never betrayed him, and he never betrayed me. And that's as close as I'll get to caring for another person. However, when he died, there was some pain. It was faint, but knowing I would never see those ice blue eyes again brought out a new kind of ache in me that I hadn't felt since my parents died. Perhaps sometimes, I do feel something. But rarely.

I think about her life, envisioning being able to get whatever she wants. Being rich. Having a closet full of fresh clothes, all very fashionable, of course. Being pampered. Having other people admire me. Being beautiful. Sleeping on the softest matresses with the softest pillows. Having my own room that I can decorate however I want. Owning a clock. Having a deep bathtub. Being able to take a warm shower any time I want to. Being clean all the time, and never smelling or having greasy hair. Being able to use soap. Eating whatever I want, whenever I want. Living in a house. Having parents.

Being loved.

But if I lived that life, I would be spoiled and soft. I wouldn't know how to fight, or how to take care of myself. There would be no excitement or adventure, or fights. I wouldn't be able to get revenge. I would never last on the streets. I'd never be able to get my own food. I'd have feelings. And I wouldn't be a threat. Friends that don't even like me (which is far worse than not having any at all). It would be horrible. And I don't need a life like that. I don't want a life like that. It's just not... me. I was born to live in the wild, and have to fight to survive, and sleep in caves. It was my destiny from the start, not that I believe in nonsense like fate.

I cover my emotions well, hiding behind a simple smirk that acts as a mask. "A house? Hm. I was right. You are a spoiled brat, no matter what your so called friends say."