Anabella Lyse, District Seven

. i . will . forever . live . in . a . world . made . out . of . strings .



I hope the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
And each road leads you where you want to go.

The puppets lay untouched on the table.

In the darkness of the abandoned shack by a paper factory, their empty eyes stare out into the icy night without expression or emotion. Wooden limbs are limp and mouths drop open, strings lay in a tangle, and all signs of the life they once possessed has long since left their broken forms. A few rush by them, too busy trying to escape the cold rain to glance inside and see their motionless figures. But then there is one who ducks into it for shelter, pulling her rain jacket around her tightly as she trembles, gazing out into the dim light cast by a nearby streetlamp. She rubs her hands up and down her arms, turning toward the table. They startle her at first, and her eyes widen. Cautiously, she steps toward them, noting their disrepair and the way scratches run deep along once smooth faces and flawless joints. She cautiously strokes the rosy cheek of one of them, and her hand falls down to rub the silky fabric it wears between her hands. Then seeking fingers find the cross of wood above it, the control. She lifts it away from the others and makes it dance lightly over the ground, wooden parts clicking and clacking as they hit each other. The stranger laughs, then, her eyes sparkling, before she looks around the wide room with interest. There are leaks in the roof and the thin fabric on the walls is dirtied and torn. Dust coats everything- obviously, it has been many years since anyone has visited, and the stranger can see why. The place is a wreck. But one should never judge a place too quickly

For this is where it would all begin.

And if you're faced with a choice and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.

They prance across their stage, joints clicking in their secret language meant only for the ears of those who try to listen, the very stars of District Seven. Every movement is one of grace, silks spinning and twisting and rippling along wooden frames and painted faces shining bright in the single light. But for once, searching eyes do not focus on the stage. Restless feet shuffle away from the crowd of children and behind the shack. Through whispering velvet curtains and hanging silk threads a staircase looms, with a soft glow radiating from beyond the line of sight. Atop the staircase is a room which must be ducked into, for the uneven ceiling dips low, perhaps no more than four feet. Candles placed all around cause shadows to leap and dance. And there, on the floor, just above a large hole, is a figure. She lays flat, arms hanging over and long, slender fingers gripping the controls and jerking them left and right. Perhaps no more than sixteen, her eyes are bright and alive, flooded with candlelight and joy. The tiny flames cast sharp shadows onto the planes of her face, and yet the kindness there is unfaltering. Her lips move, always with a slight, secretive smile nestled in the corner, but the voice that leaves her cannot possibly be her own, for it constantly changes. First her vocal cords vibrate deeply, and then rise in pitch, and then becomes silky and smooth. Eyes widen and watch her in fascination, and finally, at a pause, she looks up and smiles as the puppets clatter beneath her. Ears pick up their creaks, their groans, their smooth movements.

She is the puppet queen, and her loyal subjects call to their master.

And if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep walking 'til you find a window.

Carved faces, glass eyes, hair made of the finest, silkiest thread available...

Place her among the marionettes it is immediately obvious that she belongs there. Perhaps there are no strings attached to her that one can see, and maybe her limbs are not wooden, but it is almost certain that Anabella was made to be just like them. She can be so still, sometimes, when she sits with one of them in her lap, with the only hint of her life being the single finger that strokes the smooth wooden surface, slipping between joints to inspect for any loose parts, anything that might ruin smooth manipulation. It is then that one can clearly see her likeness to the wooden friends she surrounds herself with, with arms that bend and shoulders that rotate and fingers that curl only upon command. A puppetmaster's grace is something to be longed for- to Anabella, her body is not a cage. It is something that will move and twist and bend in multiple ways, but only if one knows the proper commands. The Lyse daughter considers herself to be her own personal puppet of which she is always in control.

Silky locks fall down past her shoulders in lovely waves, though they are usually frizzy or tangled. Her tresses are all different shades of cornsilk and bronze, shimmering in a beautiful curtain when the candlelight slips around the delicate strands. In the brilliance of the sun, it all blends into one ordinary shade of brown, a kind of pale color, like dirt. Her hairline is rather high on her forehead, and the fact that her locks rise up before they fall in disarray around her face. Her hair bounces and moves as if alive, just like it does when she causes her fantoccini friends to leap and spin and dance.

And then, tucked inside the frame of her waving tresses, is a face that is hard to forget. The Puppet Queen's face so clearly matches the faces of her subjects. She's watched the plain wood being turned into basic shapes and forms of the puppet heads before, and often wonders if perhaps her face was formed the same way. Not a single nick or deep scratch can be found in her features, however - every curve is smooth and unflawed, as a human's face should be. A rather large forehead spreads down to meet high cheekbones, only straying from the easy curve near the eyes, when it dips inward ever so slightly. Beyond her cheekbones, it smoothly glides down in a triangular manner into a pointed chin that juts out slightly when she's pouting.

And perhaps her eyes are yet another similarity to the marionettes she loves so dearly. The marionette eyes are clear, but blank and almost always lifeless. Anabella's eyes are two pale green disks that reflect the emotions cast upon them. It's almost eerie, the way they seem so free of all emotion except for a simple satisfaction. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, than Anabella's soul must be a very quiet, empty place. The only time they come to life is when she's alone up in the attic of the performance area, with all her candles and puppets and scattered oddities. Then, in the dim, flickering light, one can see quiet delight and something close to obsession shining in jade disks, bright and vivid as ever.

The puppet's noses are perhaps the things that amuse Anabella the most. Usually they are just little wooden spheres nails on, or on occasion a long pole to make the children laugh. Perhaps that is one way in which the Puppet Queen differs from her ever loyal subjects, for her nose is long and straight on her face. Smooth and childish, Anabella never grew out of her baby nose. It's odd, comparing her long nose to her tiny ears, always hidden by long waves of hair save when she pulls it back, at which time the tiny things are revealed for the world to see.

Anabella's lips are perhaps the most interesting things on her face. A very pale shade, they almost blend right into her normal skin tone. Long and thin, one can always find a smile hidden in the corner, mysterious and teasing. It is not a rare thing for her to actually smile, but that hidden one never leaves her face. Even in times of the greatest sorrow, it is still there. And just as fascinating as that hidden smile is her voice, clear as a bell with not even the slightest hint of a lisp, full of easy vowels and sharp consonants. And yet, in a performance, she is somehow able to morph her voice into something completely different, be it the low tones of a male's or the high pitched Capitolite drawl. It all seems to come so easy to her that it's a shock her voice isn't constantly changing outside of the performance. Despite these skills, however, Anabella has never been much of a singer - while her voice can be sweet and soft in a quiet melody, such as a lullaby, all other songs make her voice far too strained.

Anabella Lyse cannot be described as slender - it would be far too much of an understatement. She is all skin, bones, and prominent elbows. Her shoulders are bony, her neck seems too thin to support her head, and her legs are like twigs. Perhaps this would be normal if the Lyses were poor, like the majority of those in District Seven, but they aren't. They're so rich it's a surprise that they don't have a servant or two. And yet, Anabella is so frail she looks like even the slightest breeze could lift her up and carry her away. It scares her parents to death when they ask her what she's eaten that day, and she simply smiles faintly and doesn't reply. It's not that Anabella doesn't want to eat, or thinks she's fat. It's simply that except for dinner, which she most show up for promptly at six o'clock every night, she forgets to eat most of her meals. She gets distracted and suddenly eating doesn't seem so important anymore. The other Puppetmasters encourage her to eat at work, however, and so she is kept from complete starvation.

Anabella's hands are unmatched by any other pair in the district. Beautiful is not good enough a word to describe such gems among the ashes, with beautifully soft, smooth palms and long slender fingers adorned with ten perfect nails. She is the Puppet Queen and so her hands must be nothing but perfection. Her hands are her tools, her controls, her world. When they tug at the strings, they are flawless, smooth moments with fingers curled like talons, thin wrists flicking and allowing the movement of her subjects below. It's like they were built to master her trade. Unscarred, unmarred, Anabella's hands are her pride and joy.

And yet, they are also her doorway to obsession and perhaps even insanity.

If it's cold outside, show the world your smile
But more than anything, more than anything

Anabella Lyse is not a normal child.

Of course, one could argue that there is no such thing as being normal. In fact, it is normal to be abnormal and abnormal to be normal. A known fact - normality is a minority. However, Anabella's abnormality reaches staggering heights that alarm her parents and often confuse her friends. No one expected Anabella to be the perfect daughter, pretty and polite and in all ways proper. No, as a child she was far too distant and wild to turn into something so... refined. But what Anabella is today has far surpassed any predictions of her outcome. And yet constantly accompanying the worried expressions of those who watch her, there is a slight trace of fascination. She is the Puppet Queen, after all. Doesn't she deserve to be adored?

She was born to be a puppetmaster. The day she found them, old and abandoned and in disrepair, was a day when Anabella finally became complete. She's a natural at her trade, controlling the puppet's limbs as easily as if they were her own. She has her own little area, above the backstage of their performance area, where she lies down to control the puppets during the show. Though she could bring a flashlight, Anabella prefers candles, illuminating her kingdom in a warm, gentle light that is powerful enough to make shadows dance. That little attic is her world - while the others occasionally come up to talk, it has always been considered exclusively hers. There are some days when she'll spend hours up there practicing, refusing to come down despite her friends' attempts to persuade her. Not that she needs practice. Anabella is incredible with the puppets, bringing inanimate objects to like with a simple flick of her wrist and a twitch of her fingers.

There is no doubt in anyone's mind that Anabella is obsessed with her puppets. However, few understand the source of her addiction to the inanimate beings. To understand that unconditional love, they must first understand something deeper - Anabella's greatest fear.

There is the occasional person who is able to penetrate past her half smiles and distractedness and calmness, right into the core of her soul. And, to their great surprise, they do not find magic or colors and sunshine there. Instead, they find fear. Dark fear, cold fear, pure and intense, burning bright with a dark light that pulses outward and freezes into everything it touches. It's a fear of being singular, of being one without others, of being apart from the sea of nameless faces. More than anything else in the world, Anabella fears being alone. She remembers moments when it was just her and the emptiness and no other voices or movements or breathing, and she remembers hot, sticky tears burning her cheeks and her thin limbs trembling beyond her control. She has never known a fear like that, so complete and overwhelming. And then they'd find her, huddled on the floor with her back shaking with sobs and her arms wrapped around her knees, heart racing at a million miles a minute, and her mother would wrap her in her arms and try to comfort her. It's alright, sweetie. Oh, honey, it's okay. You're okay. But even her mother's pretty words could not succeed in drawing Anabella out of her phobia. No one, it seemed, would ever understand.

And then she found them. On a day when she decided to duck out of the rain, she met them all. Laying on a table, broken, just as hopeless and helpless as she was. And as the days passed and she spent hours at a time trying to fix them, she realized something. The puppets were becoming her friends. When she was near them, she wasn't afraid. And then weeks went by and they became more than her friends - they were her loyal subjects and she was their queen.

And so the insanity was born.

She talks to them. With a voice like silk and a terrifyingly calm smile, she converses with them as if their wooden ears can understand her words, as if their hanging jaws can respond to her deepest thoughts. She talks to them and treats them like friends, apologizing when she knocks them over and complimenting them on their outfits. But even more disturbing than that is the fact that she'll spend hours up in her attic, just being near them. No words. Not a whisper. Just her, her puppets, and her scary half smiles, huddled in a corner watching the candles burn and the shadows dance. Sometimes, it seems like she'll never come down.

But when she does, she becomes less frightening and more innocent. Among others, Anabella floats like a summer breeze, all smiles and kindness with a soft voice. She can sympathize and she can laugh, even joke around sometimes, though most often she remains quietly out of the spotlight. Oddly enough, she doesn't enjoy being the center of attention. She more often persuades others into becoming the life of the party while she sits and watches approvingly from the sidelines. She is a puppetmaster, and therefor she was made to let other people shine.

Sadly, despite decent social skills, Anabella's relationship with her family is not a strong one. They've always wanted a proper daughter with polite smiles. Someone... normal. And unfortunately, that's not Anabella. Anabella is proper, and she is polite, but she is far from normal. She can't help but feel like she wasn't meant Her twin, Danni, is her parents' perfect daughter. But Anabella? They try to love her just as much. They really do. But she's just so odd, they don't know how they can relate to her. Even Danni seems constantly distant, for her sister is just too foreign for her to ever properly relate to her. They may be twins, but they are nothing alike. More like awkward friends, if even.

Anabella is not without real friends, though. The others who help her put on the shows are her friends, joined by a single passion, with their friendships only intensified by their differences. They are the reason that Anabella is allowed by her parents to be a puppeteer. They feel grateful that she has any friends at all. And really, Anabella is grateful, too (they may not be her subjects and she may not be their queen but somehow it still works in a way that takes even her by surprise). She'll admit, however hesitantly, that she enjoys their company almost as much as she enjoys the puppets'. And she is forever in their debt for helping her fix the out marionettes and creating new ones.

She's a sweet girl. Polite, proper, kind, generous, with a smile always on her face. If one were to just glance at her, they would wonder how she could look so calm and content. But she's not calm and content, not on the inside.

On the inside, she's so afraid.

My wish for you
Is that life becomes all you want it to

The Lyses had been wanting children for a long time, so when Sara became pregnant with twins, they were overjoyed. Unlike many in District Seven, the Lyses were wealthy enough to be able to feed both those mouths and give the twins most anything they desired. The friends of the proud couple were delighted, and the little lace baby dresses and tiny toys came in pairs to the to-be parents. One person even gave the Lyses two little stuffed Alarm Owls, imported straight from the Capitol. No one even thought to give the Lyses money, however - they were already so rich, everyone knew they wouldn't need it. So they were showered in presents instead.

The birth of the twins went as well as anyone could have hoped, with Danni (or Daniella, as it said on her birth certificate) being born just minutes before Anabella. Sara held Anabella first, while George held Danni. Both parents were crying. Even District Seven's most experienced healer appeared to be touched. They were two beautiful baby girls, even if they were screaming so loud their faces turned scarlet.

They were showered in gifts of all kinds - the two stuffed Alarm Owls became favorites of both Danni and Anabella. They were dressed in tiny silk and lace dresses, and all who saw them adored them. They ate the finest baby food, sat in the most expensively carved wooden stools, and slept in elegant cradles. The twins were spoiled, there was no doubt. Poorer district citizens walked past the Lyse mansion and felt envy and anger toward the babies, who had so much when they had so little. Little did they know that the fortune of the twins came with a cost.

The expectations of the parents were high. They should be crawling and babbling by this age. They should be toddling at this month. Their first word should be spoken that month. And of course, both hoped that the first word of the twins would be "mama" or "dada". Unfortunately, the twins disappointed. Danni's first word was the name of her father's favorite soda brand, and Anabella's was the brand of baby food the twins ate. But in every other area, they pleased their parents, raising expectations even higher.

And of course, growing up together, they became friends. They played fairy princesses with each other and wore matching outfits (not even their parents could tell them apart then), and gave each other little makeovers. Friends of their parents always came over to tell them what lovely daughters they had. They were quickly taught to behave in front of these visitors or else suffer strict reprimanding. Even at such a young age, they knew how to be polite. Napkin on your lap, no throwing your food, no talking with your mouth full. They learned these lessons together, two halves of one whole.

Even entering their first years of school, they were inseparable. If put into different classes, they begged their parents to call the school and change it. They made their own friends, of course, but they were each others' best friends for the longest time. Anabella never knew fear when she was with her twin, so she stuck to Danni like glue, and Danni welcomed her into their friendship and sisterhood with open arms. When the family first discovered Anabella's phobia, it was Danni who was able to comfort her when their own parents could not. They were best friends, able to survive through anything.

Or at least, that's what Anabella had thought.

She had been noticing her twin's anxiety for weeks (they were twins, after all). Even at twelve years old, she could feel something big and disastrous coming on. And then, one day, it all spilled from Danni's lips, heated words that could not be taken back. All about how she was sick and tired of being part of a whole, and how she wanted to be her own person. How she hated it when people gave them both the same compliments instead of individualizing them, or how they always had to wear the same outfits and do everything together. Anabella was stung. She fled the Lyse mansion into the rain, abandoning a twin who was already beginning to regret her words. She flew past strangers on the streets at first, but then she became tired, soaked, and cold, and her steps slowed. Finally, she stopped in front of an old abandoned shack, deciding to take shelter, if only for a few minutes.

And that's when she found them.

The puppets took Danni's place in Anabella's life. They became her comfort, her friends. At first, it was just her that put on the shows for the younger children, but gradually others became interested. They all thought they could perhaps help in some way, and they were right. The puppet shows became better, more popular. And, slowly, those who put it on became friends with each other. They were the puppetmasters, helping each other through the worst, giving support when it was needed.

Today, the Puppetmasters still thrive. Anabella's relationship with Danni has improved over time, though not by much. She relies on her puppets, mostly, and the time she gets to spend with them. She is obsessed with them, needing their company.

She may not have been born a puppetmaster, but she was born to be one.

Your dreams stay big, your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold.

odair

[5C4B49] - her actions
[F6CBBB] - her voice
[F0715B] - her love
[FD9F8C] - her insanity

Credit to Brik for the word graphics<3

Credit to Tattle for the picture graphic<3

Her Face: Eleanor Tomlinson
Her Song: My Wish, by Rascal Flatts