{Guinevere DiAngela} // District 1

Some say she doesn’t know she’s beautiful.

Others say she knows, but is modest.

Still more say they’ve seen her creep down to the pond near her house and stare at her reflection in the water for hours.

Guinevere discovered her beauty during her teen years as her body began to develop and was startled. Now, with a fully developed figure, her own beauty still surprises her. With thin, long legs, a flat stomach and a full chest, Gwen is quite the catch. Her skin is the color of rich milk-chocolate. And on that skin, one would find various moles, the most noticeable one next to her nose, and light brown freckles, which dot her nose, as well as frequent acne, which finds its home along her shoulders, back and chin.

Beautiful hands, they say. And it’s no lie. Gwen’s long-fingered hands, having never wielded a sword, are soft, smooth and always clean. Her nails are perfectly-shaped ovals and never have any dirt under them. I’d love to hold that hand, they say.

She’s always despised her thin, pink lips set upon her oval face, but even more than that, her slightly crooked nose, right above her lips. Her nostrils and the bridge of her nose are both rather wide. And she’s always felt as though the mole right next to it made her look like a witch. Yet, those insecurities of Gwen are hardly noticeable as one’s eyes slide farther up her face. Veiled by long eyelashes, Gwen’s dark eyes are captivating and light up considerably with her white-toothed smiles and thin eyebrows, rising up on her wide forehead.

Despite being terribly thick and frizzy, Gwen’s dark brown hair has always been an aspect of herself that she’s loved. It’s curly and long, flowing down her back, skimming the middle of her back. And, like her hands, it’s always soft and clean, smelling of lavender. I’d love to run my hands through that hair, they say.

As she stares at herself in rippling pond, Gwen bites her thin lips and scrunches up her wide nose, wishing they were prettier. But, her eyes are glistening in the sun and her hair is curly and lovely, going all down her back and when she brings her hand to it, she can see the smooth, softness to them. And she forgets about her nose and lips and stands, rolls her shoulders back, raises her head and, swaying her balanced hips, glides off.

They’re crazy.

Every single day, they’d hear it, but they ignored it.

Crazies.

Weirdos.

Keep them away from my children.

But, the DiAngelos kept going. Married at a young age, the Markus and Eleanor DiAngelo lost all popularity for their denouncement of the Games. They said fighting was wrong and foolish. They would never raise their child in the way the children of the District were raised. They might’ve been punished by Peacekeepers had they not thought the couple crazy and rather amusing in their tangents. However, they were warned not to do it again and they obliged, retreating to the outskirts of the District to live in a smaller house than the rest. They live away from everyone else and keep potted plants in the window. There are no doors, but beads hanging down from the doorways. Both Markus and Eleanor are workers, leaving at reasonable hours to make luxury items for the Capitol and coming home before dinner to see their only daughter, the lovely Guinevere, whom they kept their word about.

Their child was not to be a Career.

The two parents, who had the child shortly after marriage, shared a common goal: to teach Guinevere that she must never fight another. Pacifism was the way. For the young parents, you see, both had lost siblings to the Games. Both younger, both innocent, both of them not quite ready for what awaited them in the Arena. And they’d watched their own parents declare that child weak, unfit to be a part of their family. And it burned both of them, stung at their hearts. They were the oddballs of the District that felt that way, while every other child who lost a sibling was yelling at the screen, yelling at their sibling to shrug it off and get back up.

And Guinevere knew that and she accepted the words of her parents and never trained. They taught her to follow her heart, as they had and be true to herself. Of course, that left her in quite the sticky spot in school. No one wanted to sit next to her, no one wanted to talk to her.
Crazy.

Weirdo.

Stay away from me.

This treatment lead to Guinevere’s held tongue and her quiet nature. Yet, she still believed these other kids to be wrong and looked down at them. Though quietly. She was the outcast.

This all changed when she changed.

Puberty, the lovely, dreaded, long-awaited time.

Guinevere changed quickly and it was not a change anyone expected. One day, she was a gawky outcast and the next, a full-fledged woman. And a beautiful one at that. And that’s when the boys, at least, forgot her disposition on Careers and were lining up to talk to her. But, there was one boy who really caught her. Her heart fluttered and she knew he was the one.

Arthur.

And he noticed her too. It started off with the brushing of hands, the catching of eyes, the occasional chatter here and there and only went up from there. Soon, he kissed her for the first time and she was hooked.

She was his.

It didn’t matter he was a Career, for he made her heart flutter. And he brought his friends, brave other Careers, and they became her’s, as well. And she was glad for the company. She finally had friends. And she figured they’d be happy forever.

Until her heart fluttered again.

Lancelot. Strong, funny, brave Lancelot. He made her heart flutter. He caught her eye. And she couldn’t let go. To this day, Arthur doesn’t know and Gwen still finds herself torn between the two young men as she watches them make their plans and train and grow up.

It’s hard to follow your heart when it’s going in two different directions.