Thylia Grimoire -- Wanderer

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Thylia Grimoire -- Wanderer Jun 2, 2012 0:39:59 GMT -5

Post by Python on Jun 2, 2012 0:39:59 GMT -5

Name: Thylia Grimoire
Age: 17
Gender: Female
District/Area: Wanderer
Appearance:

Personality:

SAD. ANGRY. WHY DID MY SISTERS DRAG ME OUT HERE. I JUST WANT TO BE A STYLIST.

History:

LIVED IN THE CAPITOL. THEY WANTED TO RUN SO I FOLLOWED. LIVE IN THE WOODS NOW.

Codeword: odair
Comments/Other:

Last Edit: Jun 7, 2012 22:37:22 GMT -5 by Python

Python
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last seen Sept 18, 2024 23:19:26 GMT -5

Thylia Grimoire -- Wanderer Jun 4, 2012 0:45:15 GMT -5

Post by Python on Jun 4, 2012 0:45:15 GMT -5

Female.Seventeen.Wanderer.

The wilderness changes you.

[/i] Ask the shining star that once was, and she will tell you. What happened to those long, beautiful lashes? The silk skin with a creamy complexion touched by enough bronze to suit her to any color fabric? Where is that perfect smile? The wind swept them away as soon as I was taken. It faded as The Capitol had; her true home. There, she could wear her dresses and her heels and feel ravishing. There, constant scowling would not morph her face with creases at the corners of her rosy lips and at the center of her small forehead. There, her body was not scrawny and pleading for life. There, she was so trapped within her own whirlwind of happiness that she could not feel the imprisonment her sisters claimed had beckoned them to the outside.

Only one piece of her beauty continues to connect her to her ~~tempting~~ home. Orange locks, like minature whips dangling past her chest, scatter in every direction when the wind blows. In the Capitol, her hair was her pride and joy, and now it is the only part of her previous life that she can cling to. It grew with her, from the time she could bunch them into little pigtails to the time it took hours to style into perfect braids. It has remained untouchable for eternity; not a drop of dye, not a snip of the blades, and it will remain so until the day she passes. To cut these locks would be to banish the precious memories of home - the memories that don't deserve to fade like her scars.

There is so little of The Capitol's beauty in the wilderness. Or perhaps her grey eyes are blinded by her own desires and fail to uncover its hidden extravagance. She was forced to leave many of her colorful threads in her old home, and was limited to the simplest garments adorned only with flowers and colors she finds herself despising each day she washes them by the stream. Tears engraved themselves into quite a few of these outfits, and with her spare needle and thread she brought along she mends every flaw to maintain what dignity still remains. What she considers dignity is an illusion, however, because while she stitches her clothes she slices her pale skin raw with knives, needles, and twigs. The scars first appeared upon her arms - small, insignificant scratches that could easily pass as mild injuries from tree branches. With her sister's suspicions growing, though, and her assumed responsibility as their caretaker, she changed the location to her thighs. Now raw and scarred from her uncontrollable emotional turmoil, her thighs are what remind her that she does not belong in the wild. I am not an animal. I belong in civilization. Nature is ugly - and now that I am ugly, it is my home.

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[/center]

Colors have always fascinated those wandering grey eyes. They are what have led her through life, through choices, and through relationships. Styling was her forte, her passion, her life, and it was with this addiction to colors she grew into a creative artist. Give her the simplest shreds, and she will transform them into unimaginable beauty. She is a molder, a shaper, an angel who can use her nimble hands to create. The only issue is, the creativity vanished from her form the instant she entered the forests. I've lost my inspiration, therefore I've lost my hope. With so little to work with and with so much to worry about, what point was there in pursuing a perished dream? There is no dream. There is only reality, and only fate, and my fate lies with them.

The natural-born leader applies her instincts well. While she isn't the oldest of her siblings, she considers herself the most responsible and one of very few who hasn't lost her marbles in the treacherous forests. She loves her sisters dearly, but finds their behavior to be odd, inappropriate, and worrisome, thus compelling her to claim the ~~burden~~ throne as caretaker. With her self-proclaimed authority she consistently tries to control her siblings' behavior, or at least manipulate it so that it does not further endanger them in their environment. I remember when they used to be independent - when the only subject on our minds was how simplistic and fulfilling the day would be. She feels the weights of stress resting on her weak shoulders, and continues to overestimate her ability to handle it - stretching and stretching herself until one day she will reach her limits and snap.

Little does the poor girl know that she is already breaking. As high and mighty as she may appear to be, she is slowly crumbling on the inside and neglecting to pick up the pieces. She is a puzzled unsolved, but some of the pieces have shattered.[/i] Depression and misery have grown to be her worst enemies and closest companions. Why else would she drag the reaper's blade across her tender flesh to distract herself from the tears that threatened to trail down her scowling face? Why else would she spend so much of her time trying to chastise her siblings for their irksome shenanigans? The stress is coursing through her veins like snake's venom, prepared to invade her vulnerable heart at any moment. The constant struggle for food, the eternal pursuit of happiness, the endless exposure to earth's harsh conditions; there is only so much this ~~fragile~~ girl can handle. She craves to sit beside the warmth of a fire and braid her sisters' hair like she always had. But there is no turning back now. She is destined to remain stranded wherever her sisters flee, because she knows she could never live with the guilt of abandoning them. However, if there is one thing to be positively sure of, it is that Thylia Grimoire is not suited to dwell in the wilderness.

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Two parents, seven daughters. The simple childhood of Thylia Grimoire, thriving with hopes, dreams, and innocence, was a delightful one. Remember when we used to drink hot chocolate by the fire and play with our dolls and laugh just for the sake of laughing? The little red-head with pigtails and pudgy cheeks always used to sit in front of the television during the tribute parades and interviews before the Hunger Games and gawk how the stylists could turn nobodies into stars as vibrant as the sun. Then, with glistening eyes and a mind filled to the brink with inspiration she would try to make her own creations by experimenting with her sisters. "Let me fix your hair." "This shade would bring out your eyes." "Oh, these would look gorgeous on you!" During her amateur years her sisters would often scold her for dressing them in ridiculous outfits and hairdos, but this never destroyed the stubborn girl's hope. She continued to practice and experiment until she was worthy of a stylist's praise. Nothing - not even the stage of mainstream drug abuse that temporarily tarnished her appearance - could stop her from following her ~~destiny~~ dreams. Or so she thought.

It was a shame she had to abandon them. Her dreams were merely an arm's length away, and she had reached as far out as she could just to brush her little fingers against them. The thread wrapped around her torso - the string that connected her to her beloved sisters and simultaneously squeezed the life out of her - was yanked backward, though, when her sisters decided to run away from home. She did not understand their logic, if there was any at all; but regardless, she followed them into the foreboding forest with her head hung low and her heart sunken into her polished shoes. Where are your dreams now, dear sister?[/i] The instant the tips of their toes crossed the boundaries of ~~happiness and decay~~ past and future, there was no turning back. Once a runaway, always a runaway.

Now, with a body ruined by nature's wrath, she waits to be reborn into one of its creatures. She waits for the glass that is her soul to crackle and split until there is no more. She waits for herself to teeter over the edge of sanity and join her sisters in their fabricated joy. What other explanation is there for their strange behavior and refusal to return to the warmth and welcome of their old, colorful home? There is the weeping widow, mourning over the absence of a fallen lover - the raven girl, who adorns herself with black feathers and the stench of death - the addict, who wanders within her dreamworld while the effects of her beloved candies are emptied from her crippling system - the wild one, who has become one of nature's precious ~~and deranged~~ creatures - and the twins, one who favors the daytime and one who embraces the darkness along with the sky's brilliant starlight. There is never one she loves more than the other, or one that she can despise less than another. Together, their personalities clash, but unconditional love tends to overule every obstacle in their course. Now, Thylia can only endure what they have given her, and hope that in the end she does not destroy herself.
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Last Edit: Jun 7, 2012 22:39:55 GMT -5 by Python

Python Retired Staff 4,515 POSTS Pronouns: She/Her last seen Sept 18, 2024 23:19:26 GMT -5	Thylia Grimoire -- Wanderer Jun 7, 2012 22:35:44 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Python on Jun 7, 2012 22:35:44 GMT -5 Finished ^^ [/blockquote]

✨ zozo. Retired Staff 8,203 POSTS Pronouns: she/her last seen Sept 23, 2024 14:15:14 GMT -5 bloomtodeath	Thylia Grimoire -- Wanderer Jun 7, 2012 22:55:06 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by ✨ zozo. on Jun 7, 2012 22:55:06 GMT -5
	“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”