Blood and Steel [Ella]

Silent as the grave. A fitting term considering my purpose here tonight. Cold fury surges through my veins, mixed with adrenaline, and the rush of excitement. It won't be the first time I've killed someone off the streets. Watched a wretch without so much as a penny to their name struggle, quake in terror, and then draw the life out of their pathetic forms. I shiver with delight at the memories as I stalk through the night, utterly silent. I followed her back. The one who robbed me, my family of honour. Of dignity. Betrayed us. And worse still. Allowed our position as prime Career family to be tarred forever. Rejected the Reaping. Allowed Kiera, an equally disgusting wretch bloated by her own self-importance to replace me. Me. A young woman in her prime, untouched by all but the blood of others. Pure. Death's very own bride.

My hands are stilled as I slink silently behind the two street vermin that have cost me so much that cannot be simply held in the hand. A deadly shadow, pulled inexorably toward them by the strands of fate. She wove them into her flesh and mine the moment she hesitated. The moment she faltered. She bound herself to me with one moment of weakness. The runaway girl, dragging her doom behind her, like a ball and chain. Inescapable. The savage grin on my teeth as I slither from dark corner to shady recess marks my utter glee at what I know will follow. My tongue flicks out, licking at my lips, wetting them without realising it.

This part of the District is dilapidated, ruined, squalid. Parts of it still bear marks from the quake that gutted our lands, forcing us to accept the aid of lesser Districts. The shame of it pales in comparison to that which Ms Dahl has wrought upon us. I refuse to think of her as a Moreno. She is not one of us. So few are. Even my true brothers cannot claim to be truly Moreno. To be Moreno is to give yourself utterly to The Hunger Games, and ultimately, to death. Ella, clearly, is so given over into her own self preservation that the only thing she can do well is run blindly away from everything life gifts her. Rage seethes within me, and my hand drops to the handle of my favourite knife, toying with it. It relaxes me, knowing that soon, it will taste blood...

... I have waited here for three hours. Silent. Unmoving. Watching the pathetic shed that Ms Dahl must call a home. Waiting for her damnable brother to leave. I've caught snippets of conversation when the wind hasn't been shrieking through the branches of the tree I'm using as a veil for my presence. Something about abandonment. A lot of crying. That faint note of joy of their reunion, almost drowned out by the remorseless breeze. It bites into my flesh, clad as I am in a short-sleeved blouse and khaki shorts. Inappropriate for the weather. Very appropriate for the deed. I want to feel her blood on my skin...

I catch a reprieve. Patience pays off, always. My grin is savage as Ella's brother finally exits, trailing the eldest Dempsey girl behind her. Mora? Mira? I don't care what her name is, they aren't who I want. Only Ella. I wait for a few minutes, for them to retreat into seclusion, before stealthily descending from the tree, the faintest scuffle as I drop into a crouch, softly approaching the 'house' she currently inhabits. Opening the door, just enough to slide my petite frame through, before closing it once again, the hinge not daring to squeal, or for the boards of the haphazard portal to creak. Silently, I creep through the building, before the slight sniffle causes my head to whip round, a snarl upon my features. A spirit of vengeance, cruel and vicious.

Noiselessly I usher myself into her room, eyes locking onto her sleeping countenance, nostrils flaring, restraining the urge to simply turn her body into a pincushion now. I can see it in my minds eye, the blade rising and falling, punctuating the constant screaming that I know she will do, puncturing lung, heart and throat, slashing maniacally at her face... I banish the thoughts, as I drop to my knees, crawling over to her, slowly… Slowly… I reach her slumbering form, clambering on top of her, hooking the butterfly knife that I so adore, grinning savagely, holding it in my right hand, leaning forward, lips scant millimetres from her ear, speaking softly to her. 'Awaken from your blissful repose Sleeping Beauty.' The blade begins to whirl between my fingers, twin handles clacking with a disturbingly even tone, ripping the silence asunder with a syncopated, disorderly rhythm, chaotic, something that Eris would appreciate, picking up pace. When I spoke, I wasn’t just addressing Ella.

I was addressing Death herself…