;; Elsa Lining, District Four ;;

I am small.
That tends to be the first thing people notice about me. Standing at 5'1, I am, without a doubt, short. I don't necessarily see this as a bad thing .. just not a good one. I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining, but yes, it is annoying being called shorty, or having to ask your ten foot tall brother to reach something on the top shelf. That's another bad thing - I'm the only person in my family that's short. Daniel says I probably get it after Aunt Maggie, and that I'll look like her when I'm older. I hope not. She has a hunched back and grey hair with bald patches, and the worst fashion sense ever.

Not only am I short in height, but also in width, though this I am happy with. It's not really that I would find more fat unattractive, I just think it would be annoying carrying around all that extra weight wherever I go. It would certainly make things like climbing and running more difficult, and my handy ability to squeeze into tiny spaces would no longer exist. I doubt that my slim build is from lack of food or immense exercise. It is true that I enjoy sports, but as I eat a lot, I believe I may have a fast metabolism, also. Mother tells me I should be careful, and that around twenty - twenty-five [20- 25] your metabolism slows down and all that excess weight over the years will catch up on me. Overall, I think I would describe my build as small and slender. Slender.. that's a nice word, it just rolls off your tongue. I better keep quiet now - I have a habit of rambling.

My hair is blonde, though when I was younger it used to be a darker brown, which you can still see in my hair slightly. I didn't dye it - which I get accused of a lot - it simply changed color after a while. My father said the same happened to him when he was a boy. He used to be ginger, but he's a brunette, now. My hair falls completely straight, though I do find it can be a pain sometimes, as my hair has almost no volume. I tend to keep it with a .. sort of side fringe, I suppose you could call it. I usually keep it down, too - I'm not too fussed to tie it up, or the like.

My eyes are a blue color. They don't seem to be a natural color, like the color of the sea - if you could even call the see blue, it seems more like white to me. I suppose you could describe them as the color of the sky just after the sunset, when it's a dark blue, but not yet black. They're framed by a long, dark curtain of eyelashes and arched eyebrows. My eyes are half way down my face, though my teacher has said that everyone's are - it just doesn't seem like it, because of our hair.

I have a heart shaped face, according to my mother. It seems more like an oval to me, but when mother speaks, you just smile and nod, and pretend that she's right, before she decides to rant about it for half an hour. I have a pointed chin - just one, mind you, I don't have a double chin. My cheeks are rosy, and when I grin to reveal my slightly crooked, still white but turning yellow - from all the soda, obviously - teeth, you can see dimples. My face seems very.. flat to me. No sticking out cheek bones or baby fat. It's boring. It's all completely average, with no specific trait that stands out, my eyes being the exception. Not flawless, yet still not easy to spot the flaws.

My style is simply anything I find attractive. High waisted shorts, floral t-shirts, anything. Unfortunately, since I am in the middle of my teenage years, I have acne. Ugh. I have so many products to stop it from happening, and I wash it at least three times a day, but it always comes back. It's not too bad, but it's still there, and it's noticeable. A few blackheads appearing on my nose, a spot on my back.

I was born on September the eighteenth [18] to Dylan and Susan Lining, the youngest of two older brothers, Daniel [17] and Jason [21], both of which are absolutely gigantic - height wise and muscular. They've been training to be Careers their whole lives. Me? Well, I've been watching them. Not a very exciting lifestyle, mind you. I was often their punching bag, so to speak. They wouldn't rough me up bad, but if they needed someone to chase, I was your girl. This helped me too, I suppose, since I can now successfully run faster than both of them and climb trees to unimaginable heights. I learned how to defend myself, and they learned how to.. offend themselves? I'm pretty sure that's not how you say it, but let's go with that.

It all turned around when I was ten [10] - and by that, I mean got worse. I had a strange obsession with fire when I was younger, an unhealthy obsession. When no one was around, I would light matches and watch them until they were enveloped into nothing but smoke. This, plus my bad temper, equals a very bad mix. A life threatening one.

As a ten [10] year old, I didn't understand the danger of fire. And so when Mister Peter Riddle, the cranky and mean elderly man that no one was really fond of, started speaking ill of my family, I did the only thing logical in my little ten [10] year old brain - I swore revenge. I hadn't even planned to do anything with the fire, I sneaked into his home to mess it all up. I made a good start on it, too. The bedroom was completely destroyed, when I heard the sound of a front door opening. I turned off the lights and hid in the corner, lighting a match to help me see better. The match grazed the curtain, and the place lit up immediately. I was fast enough to get out with nothing but a minor burn on my arm, but Mister Riddle wasn't so lucky. He died that night, and me being young, I didn't even know what I had just caused. All I said to my mother when she found me coughing my lungs up outside his flaming house was, "I stopped him talking bad about us, Mommy."

It was almost a year later when the guilt started eating at me. I realized what I had done, what I was. My pyromania stopped once I realized how dangerous it was, and the introverted ways I had as a child also stopped. I had made our family hated among the people of District Four [4], and I was feared. People wouldn't have a proper conversation with me, for fear they would anger me. I told myself that I would make sure they forgot it, by being a completely different person. The guilt changed me, but not completely, though the parts that were the same as before were hidden to the rest of the district. For the most part, my plan worked. No one mentioned it anymore, and none of my peers were really ever told the full story of Mister Riddle's death. There were always one or two children that wouldn't speak to me, probably by request of their parents, but I was okay with that. As long as I wasn't feared, because to be honest, most of the boys could beat me up in a second, It was a crazy, irrational fear, but some parents still saw me as a threat.

When I was thirteen [13], I finally found a girl who I could open up to, Bella Cyrus. She never told me her faith though. She had a disease, one that without the proper treatment - and maybe even with it - she had no chance of survival. She died a year after we met, when I was fourteen [14] years old.

The face claim is Acacia Clark.
The song is Eyes Open - Taylor Swift.
The passcode is odair