Belle Ashe - Wa. - FIN!

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I'm told that I am beautiful, but I'm sure a lover of brunettes would say different. My eyes are said to be the faintest, most amazing blue and as bright as the sky, but what if you like sweet, chocolate colored eyes as dark as the calmest night? I'm not a chameleon - I can't change who I am. I'm not sure what the world thinks of me, and I don't know that I ever really wonder. I'm confident in saying that, to me, I am perfect. My appearance is not my main priority but I still find that I can manage to be beautiful - at least in my own special way.

I wake up and try to contain myself from flying out of my bedroom without brushing my hair or teeth, changing out of my pajamas, or any other things that are considered 'essential.' My hair is shoulder length, constantly growing. I've decided recently that I will let it grow out - my dad always loved it when it was long. It's colors range from bleach blonde to dirty blonde depending on the time of year and likes to wave around. It isn't actually curly, although some days I wish it would, but it is definitely wavy. Everyone seems to expect a former capitolite to want green or pink hair but my parents weren't about that sort of thing - they were what people considered normal, bland even. My eyes are also the regular color - blue. I got them from my dad. He had the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen and I loved him so much for giving them to me. In my opinion, the are my best feature.

Clothing. I love lazy days, if only because society cannot see me wear baggy clothing. The tightness of the clothes that fill my drawer are what I am used to though, and I do like looking like I know a decent amount about fashion. Having lived in the Capitol, I have seen it all. From 9 inch heels, to weird transparent clothing - crazy insane things, trust me. I dress as casually as I can manage. And considering where I grew up, I'm quite proud of myself for not catching on to the crazy, weird, exotic, high-end fashion trends a lot of the people in the Capitol do. My parents were simple in that way too. There really is no need to draw more attention to myself than I already do with my - 'sparkling?' personality. So I mostly settle for cute jeans and a simple shirt every day.

I'm not tall, but I'm not short. I think I'm around 5'7" and I'm done growing. I'm, let's say, well-developed in most areas, but generally don't see my body as the perfect female specimen. Especially considering my lack of muscle. I swear I have none. Overall, it gives me a tall and spindly look which isn't exactly what is considered desirable now-a-days. I stay in doors, I choose not to use the tanning beds that are in the mansion, and therefore I have a very fair complexion. I wouldn't call it pasty, but more of a glow. I don't wear much for adornments on my body, but I did choose to get a tattoo - I promised my mom that I would never get a tattoo, but I'm sure she will forgive me, just this once. Although the tattoo is extensive and flows along my body from the from behind my right ear, down my neck, and the n twirling down my spine, ending just before my tailbone. It's not a dragon or anything crazy like that - just a small line of musical notes that make up what was my mom's favorite song. And I love it. Helps me remember the beauty of every song she played.

Boisterous. Honest. Clumsy. I'm really not all that hard to figure out. I would never really describe myself as loud, but it seems that all my life people have told me that I need to quiet down. I don't ever really notice myself being what others call "extremely fucking annoying" but it's just some of the adjectives I get every once in awhile. Of course, I couldn't care less what everyone else thinks of me. They can hate me or love me or be annoyed, but I'm not changing myself to meet their standards fro the perfect girl. They call me brave for be my own person but I'm really just remaining true to myself. Honesty and bravery can sometimes collide. When I stand up to someone, most find me either crazy (which I do believe) and brave. I don't see it as bravery, in fact, I find myself to be quite a coward. But being honest can sometimes take bravery - or at least that is what most people seem to think. I was just raised to tell the truth. My parents didn't lie to me, I didn't learn to lie. I suck at it - ask anyone. Honestly, I will admit that I am the most uncoordinated person on the face of the planet. Physically, I can't do much of anything. I have no strength at all. Ask me to lift something, or catch a ball, or run long distances, I just can't do it. I was blessed with dexterity not much else.

Although most see me as a brave person, I find that I am just better at hiding my fears than others. I'm not afraid of the hierarchy of the mansion, but afraid of where I came from. Peacekeepers scare the living hell out of me. They are the reason I stay up at night staring at the door of my closet or out the window into the woods. It wasn't always that way, but ever since my parents died, I couldn't help but fear that they would find me too. I mean, of course I'm scared of little, petty things too - like normal girls. I'm terrified of spiders, snakes, and lizards too. I hate the dark too. I have night lights all over my room in order to see every square inch of darkness. I really try hard every night to stay in my own room, but every once in awhile I end up stalking off to Micheline's room for comfort. She never seems to mind. I guess in a way it shows my loyalty. I find that when I grow close to a person I am unable to leave them ever. Selflessness is what I like to think of it as. My friends are like family to me. They are so important and I know I would willingly give up my life for them. And I know that it keeps Micheline from hurting herself if I am with her - and me from crying myself to sleep in fear.

Eccentric is also a word that could be used to describe me. Well, I like to think of eccentric as being the same as crazy - because they are!! I don't know how life is actually supposed to work if it isn't without fun. I've learned that I can be a bit ... odd. But I don't know anything different. My parents raised me and taught me that everyone should learn to live a little bit. and if that means doing the craziest of things or looking mostly like a fool then so be it. And I like to wish that for everyone else. I think everyone should live a life that they love. That's way I try not to dampen anyone's day as much as possible. And when I find that someone is having a bad day, I make sure I at least make an attempt to fix it. I can't solve everyone's problems, no matter how much I wish that I could, but I find that even trying helps. I'm not very good at understanding why anyone finds their life so terrible or worthless because everyone has a purpose and a dream and some reason they want to live ... Right? I can't help but wish for some people to see themselves as the beautiful and unique person they are. I wish I could fix the world and the way it thinks - it gets sickening looking at how sad or pained everyone is.

Music is life. Not just my life, music is life itself. It is what makes me whole. For everyone else, or at least the residents that live in Reedsburg, music is one of those things that isn't needed or necessary for life. But to me, music is what completes me. I love listening to music, but it still isn't the same as creating your own. The way the piano keys ting beneath your fingers, the violin strings almost pierce your fingers, and the way your whole body tingles when you play through a whole songs without a single mistake. I know that it doesn't happen for everybody, and rarely do I actually finish a song without making a mistake but that is part of life. Perfection is so dreadfully hard to achieve. And in some ways, it is impossible to achieve. But I have heard the way of perfection. My mother played songs that were so beautiful, so heavenly, that I could fall asleep to them every night and never get bored of a song she played. When people around the mansion listen to me, I usually don't notice until I'm done. Music takes me places - any place I want - and I make sure to play when I find myself frightened or worried about something. Everyone who decides to listen praises me and says that my music is some of the most beautiful they have ever heard, but I wave them off even if I am a bit flattered by their praise. In the back of my mind, I can just see my parents playing 10x better than I will ever be able to.

When I was little, I was taught how to play the piano. And the violin. And the flute. And pretty much every classical instrument in the book. It wasn't really by choice, but music was part of my life - both my parents were composers for a classical orchestra. I haven't known life without instruments or the beauty of music. Except for maybe that year after my parents died. Nothing was musical then. When I was 4 years old, I lived in the best places in the Capitol - hopping from opera houses and theatres every other day and given luxury suites to stay in with my parents while they worked. I loved it. I can remember having hot chocolate every morning for breakfast with little marshmallows and meeting tons of famous pianists and violinists and cellists. I was amazing all the stories they had to tell. I specifically remember a guy with bleached white hair only on the sides of his head with a mustache that drooped down past his chin telling me stories of where he played all around the Capitol. He said that he once put an evil monster to sleep while playing sweet lullabies on his cello - and saved the day for many. Of course, I know now that it wasn't true but I still hope for the day that I am good enough to fight off evil with a piano or a violin or a cello. I learned from my dad how to play most of the instruments decently - his talents stretched beyond knowing how to play just one or two instruments. But my mom was the most amazing pianist in the entire world that I have ever heard. Yeah, my dad could play everything from the piccolo to the tuba to the harp but my mom played the piano like she was a goddess. I couldn't help but just stop and listen to her play. My dad would sit next to her and flip the pages on her music - and they were both so happy. That is how I like to remember them.

I was home schooled as a child too. Many people don't think that home schooled children get the education they need but I think I turned out pretty damn well if I don't say so myself. I may be a bit loud and not understand the idea of keeping somethings to myself, but I know the basics of social life. And being at home with my parents only gave me more of a chance to learn about music. Not only that, but I could do whatever I wanted most of the day as long as I made sure to practice playing most of the day and read. I found that I enjoyed English literature. It was quite hard to find a lot of it, but I really loved the way the words flowed together and made little sense to other people I met. It's hard to believe what I find fun. I love quiet and soft and elegant music as well as intricate books. But when I wasn't reading or playing music, I was running up and down hotel hallways screaming to my imaginary friends or going up and down in the elevator or accidentally breaking the flower vases at the lobby desks. My parents always let me laugh about it after we got kicked out of the hotel. Which I suppose is why I couldn't care less what anyone else says to me around the Reedsburg mansion when I break something or won't shut up. In fact, sometimes I find it fun to break more things and be even louder when they tell me to stop being such a loud-mouthed clutz.

I like to remember my years as a little girl without a care in the world because when I turned 10 everything changed. I remember the day too. I was watching TV - I should've been studying music or reading a book but instead I was watching the 56th Hunger Games that was being broadcast across the world. I thought it looked fun - I dreamed of being a Tribute for nearly 2 weeks straight. My parents didn't yell at me to stop watching or anything, but they didn't find it as entertaining as I did. And the day the Victor was crowned, I was ecstatic exclaiming to my parents how I wanted to be that person, that I wanted to win the Hunger Games. I turned around to see my mother crumpled in the doorway - crying. She said I didn't understand and for the first time ever screamed and screamed at me to turn it off - then stated we were leaving. She said this place was no place for a child, that the Capitol was corrupt, that the world had come to children not understanding that death was death and killing others was a crime. I didn't get it until later - until after we had fled the Capitol into the forests. All I brought was a few books, my violin, and some clothing. And then it was hell for another year - and even worse than hell a year later.

I am supposed to be dead. When I was 11, I was supposed to have died. Peacekeepers came and found my parents while they slept and not me. I was taking a walk that morning, hating my parents for bringing me to a forest where there was no sure source of food, no new clothing, no soft bed, nothing but my violin and books that I had already read 3 times each. When I got back from my walk, they were gone. There were pools of blood where my parents had been sleeping, but otherwise - nothing. They were gone, and I was all alone. I think I played my violin for two days straight before throwing it in a nearby river. And then all I did was cry for days and days. I didn't eat for almost a week and was near collapsing and passing out when I was scooped up by somebody. I thrashed for a bit, only to find that I was too weak and tired to do much of anything. All I can really remember is how painful it was to move.

I woke up in a soft bed the next day.

And now I wake up in that bed everyday. I live with so many people and get everything I want - just like in the hotels with my parents. And best of all, I could play music all day, every day on any instrument I wanted. If I asked for one, I got it within a week. And I was safe. No more terrible people killing my parents, no more horrifying Hunger Games, no more physical pain. Only emotions are left - even is that pain hurts the most of all.