Marble Robbins [District 1]

Her wavy blonde hair that goes past her shoulders, her green eyes, her soft skin and freckled face… All these features point out the obvious. Marble is a prim and proper princess, too young to have been damaged by the hardships of life but old enough to be a blossoming beauty.

Yet below the surface lies something stronger, fiercer, in sharp contrast with the girl's face. Though she only measures five feet and three inches, Marble is surprisingly athletic and has an unusually developed musculature for her age, a result of the intensive Career training she has been going through over the last several years. Her breasts, however, are somewhat underdeveloped, an unfortunate side effect of her heavy workouts. This, coupled with her height, still gives her the appearance of a child when her clothes conceal her musculature, though her sad eyes betray what little dwindling innocence there is left within her.

Her clothing varies wildly, as she designs it herself. With big dreams of becoming a stylist, Marble spends a lot of time creating outfits for herself and is always wearing something different. Her style is distinctly Capitol-like, though it tends to look a bit more natural because she simply cannot afford Capitol merchandise. As such, she frequently goes for daring colors and cuts, but leaves her hair and skin untouched, basic beauty products aside.

Around her neck hangs a small gold locket. Inside it is a picture of her deceased brother. She keeps it with her at all times not only as a memento of him, but also as a reminder of who she is - and who she should be.

Like her physical appearance, Marble's personality is layered and difficult to understand. Since she could speak, she has been raised to be a Career Tribute. She was taught not to be weak, not to cry when things go wrong, not to feel sorry for herself. Her parents have forced her to always conceal signs of doubt and fear, to face everything head on and never give up. Marble was told to love the Games and yearn for the honor they brought to the Victor's district. She was instructed to be competitive, to always put her own needs first. Never lower her guard in the face of kindness. Never trust anyone.

Marble might've obeyed all these orders when she was a child. She might've believed in their necessity. But after watching a televised recap of her brother's death, everything was thrown into perspective. Is it wise to shut yourself out and build a barrier between yourself and everyone else? Is it honorable to only think of yourself, at all times?

Besides, something has prevented Marble from throwing herself entirely into the Career mentality: her passion for fashion. Though she has never admitted it to anyone, the girl's favorite part of watching the Games by far isn't the actual arena portion itself. Nor is it the revelation of the training session scores, or even the glorious Victory Tour. No, Marble secretly watches the games for the opening ceremony and the interviews. If she could truly choose what she wanted to be, she would without a doubt become a Capitol stylist. She still hopes to be able to achieve her dream someday.

But in order to do that, she has to survive the Games. And that thought cripples her with fear, knowing her parents expect her to volunteer this year. Despite her training, she knows she's not good enough to win. So if she makes it into the Games, she dies. If she doesn't, she shames her family.

As a result, her entire personality – at least the one she projects to everyone around her – is fabricated. She doesn't believe in the conceited things she says to fit in to her world. She forces herself to laugh along with other Careers her age about those poor twelve year olds who die within instants in the bloodbaths. She despises the intense workouts she puts herself through.

But mostly, she lives in fear of being discovered, of someone finding that chink in her armor and revealing her true nature to the world.

Mythril, a young woman who worked at a perfumery, and Nacre, the son of a respected jeweler, met in the city square while watching a live event televised from the Capitol. It was love at first sight. They bonded over the Games and the glory of the Career Tributes. The two of them got married soon after a tribute from District One conquered the Games, wishing to be united during such a glorious year.

As the years passed and their businesses flourished, the couple had three children, all spread out over the span of fourteen years. The first, a boy, was named Obsidian and immediately became the Robbins' first hope for a Victor in the family. When he was eight years old, Mythril gave birth to another child, a girl. Marble grew up in her brother's shadow for most of her childhood. Because she didn't know any better, she immediately adopted her family's view of the Games. Several years later, as Obsidian was starting to show great promise in his Career training, the last Robbins baby was born: another boy, Zircon.

Just one year after Zircon's birth, Obsidian finally completed his training and volunteered in the Games. Mythril and Nacre watched through proud teary eyes as their son entered the opening ceremonies, obtained an amazing training score, and charmed the Capitol audience in his interview. And then they watched as he was stabbed in the back by a District Two tribute on the first day.

Though their shock and disappointment was obvious, Mythril and Nacre did their best to appear contented with the simple fact that their son had represented their district in the Games. Soon enough, as they began to process their grief, they planned for their next child, Marble, to train for her own Games. At barely eight years old, the girl began alternating school and intensive workouts. She went with it willingly at first, believing in the same values as her family and desiring to honor the Robbins name by becoming a Victor. She knew her brother had died, but she didn't fully understand the circumstances and meaning of that death until a few years later, when the television aired a recap of those Games for the sake of remembrance.

The brutality of Obsidian's death struck Marble like a knife to the gut. He had been so proud, so confident during the opening events. The audience loved him. He showed so much promise. And then he died in the bloodbath. Killed as he was trying to grab a weapon from the Cornucopia. He never even had a chance. That was when the hard reality hit Marble. What was the point of all this? Glory or not, these Games were sending children off to be murdered. That was what awaited her at the end of her training. Death, no more, no less. The thought terrified her.

Suddenly Marble found herself lying about everything, to everyone. Lying about how great her training was, how impatient she was to volunteer in the Games, how pitiful those lesser districts were. There was no way she could make her thoughts public, not even to her family. There was nowhere for her to run. She was stuck in District One, pretending to play along with the Career game, slowly crumbling under her parents' expectations.

Then came the day of the sixty-first reaping. Marble had completed her training. She was ready. That afternoon, she made her way to the square and waited as the escort for District One pulled names out of the fateful glass balls. Her name was not called. The girl tribute who was called slowly began to make her way up to the stage. It was time for Marble to volunteer. But she stood there, frozen, paralyzed. She couldn't do it. And within a few seconds, it was too late. Marble's chance to volunteer had come and gone and she had failed.

The following months were very difficult. Marble's relationship with her family worsened considerably and - though she had made acceptable excuses such as not feeling ready and needing more training in this domain or that if she truly wanted to win - her parents began to suspect some sort of weakness in Marble's bravery.

It has been nearly a year since that dark day. The sixty-second reaping is fast approaching and with it, the thought that Marble will absolutely, unmistakably have to volunteer. Or face the inevitable consequences.