Are You Prince Charming? {Lalia}

S P E A K I N G // T H I N K I N G

Cinder let herself fall into the song, closing her eyes as the familiar melody calmed her. It reminded of her of her district's scenery, and she found herself thinking of it once again. How the world seemed to spread out around her, the wide vistas of the mountain ranges seeming to shout, "Hello Cinder, here I am, and there are you." It was home, and had been right up until she was twelve and stolen away. Unlike most, she had loved the freezing temperatures of winter, and the way her purple mittens looked under snow. She used to dream about going home all the time, and seeing her step-sisters, and step-mother again. She would constantly fret and worry about it, until these later years, when she was already beginning to forget the smell of her home. Lilacs and Lavender.

It wasn't like this house at all. A house that tasted of insubstantial shadows. She smiled at the mouse sitting contentedly atop the piano, washing itself. As her fingers led themselves along to the crescendo, she allowed herself to shut her eyes, feeling out each note. She opened her mouth slightly in a deep sigh of contentment, Her phantom tongue grazing her lips ever so slightly in that way it used to when she was happy. By now she had come to terms with the fact that she only had a stub in her mouth. It no longer bothered her that she could no longer proclaim her joy, only show it. It was funny how much people took words for granted when they still had them. She longed just to say the word, 'apple' again, let alone something exotic like, 'papaya.'

So immersed was she that when a pair of arms flung itself around her, she didn't notice until a cooking pot undid the melody, making the keys and song flutter to a stop. A kiss was planted on her forehead, and she sat stock still in surprise, completely unused to anyone touching her with affection, let alone a lovely kiss and a hug. For a moment she could almost pretend that the male voice belonged to her father, arriving home from a hard day at the mines. She shut her eyes tightly, and imagined the smell of home before the smell of boy and sweat overpowered the memory. With that, she was broken out of her shock, and quickly, before she could be hit for not being this boy's mother, she scuttled off of the seat, and crawled into the corner, leaving Lion to fend for himself on the piano top. She heard a plink, most likely meaning he had crawled into the piano.

From her perch in the corner, in plain site, she studied the disheveled boy, her eyes wide. He was wearing something rather ridiculous, a tie around his eyes, and LETHE across his chest. He was definitely not as prim as his old masters. Except their daughter had begun to enter her partying years. After years of studying people, she could tell, and probably rightly so that he was about her age, seventeen. She studied his face, what she could see of it, with confusion, he made joking sounds, but his face was not full of laughter, it was caught in confusion. She wished she could alert him to the fact that she was unable to speak, but everyone knew that was impossible. Especially if the person you were trying to alert was wearing a blindfold. She patted at her uniform pocket, remembering the letter. A flood of appreciation tore it's way through her, about how her masters had been sure to provide a means of communication.

She saw the boy begin to tug his blindfold up, and in fear, she covered her face with her hands, trying to make herself appear small, she curled in on her corner, hiding her body as best she could from plain sight. She pulled the letter out of her pocket, and held it out with her right arm, shaking obviously in her surprise at the master's arrival. She was unsure of the contents of the letter, but she had heard stories of avoxes who were used for things other than serving, such as harems. There had been stories circulating through sign among the avoxes about a harem. If you were hired there, or given to the master there, you were treated in likeness to a princess, and it was many of the female's dreams to be sent to this particular man. At the absence of anyone else but them in this apartment, Cinder could tell that she had not been sent to this man.

The reason she shielded her face were for two reasons. One, she was shy as hell, and two, because she was sort of afraid of that pot that was still in her new master's hand. She had also heard stories of a serial killer who had liked to torture and slowly kill avoxes. When he had been found out, not much happened apparently. It wasn't a crime to kill a slave or two. Better an avox than a human being. Even though she was a slave, Cinder took satisfaction in surviving and hoped she hadn't ended up with the crazy man either. Many people might say that her existence was pointless, that living this live was terrible. But Cinder had probably been raised to serve others, and she did it well. If she could have chosen to be avox, she might have, as long as she didn't have to have her tongue cut out.

She peaked through her fingers when her letter had still not been taken, at the boy standing before her. She was able to see his hazel eyes, and the way they stared at her in fear. A Capitolite afraid of an Avox, that might be the best joke she ever heard, if it weren't for the fact that the situation made her too scared to even try a strangled chuckle. She slid up the wall behind her, making the respectful sign of an avox to it's master before letting her eyes fall respectively to the floor. She held the letter out once more, willing him to take her information. Wishing she could tell him that she wasn't going to hurt him. Because that's what his face said, that she was going to undo him. An avox who could harm someone was a laugh, and this time a bitter smile did form itself on her downcast face. If her life was a fairy tale, this boy would end up being her prince who takes her away from it all, but maybe she'd be the one who rescued him in the end.

S P E A K I N G // T H I N K I N G

She'd seen a lot in her time. Usually, people like to keep things locked up nice and tight behind their doors. They liked to keep their secrets hidden, and to stack their faces with so many smiles, no one would ever be able to see the horrible reality underneath. Everyone was like that, they didn't want people to see. Cinder understood that, but Cinder wasn't people. Cinder was 'the help', unworthy of even a capitol letter. So when people did things behind closed doors, Cinder was in the corner, there to pick up broken glass. Cinder was the one who saw what happened in the lives of the rich, because it didn't matter what Cinder saw. She couldn't tell anyone, and she could barely read or write. She knew her numbers, yes, but words were a different matter. Cinder Ash was a nobody here, a ghost, an ornament. She was a slave, somebody who cooked the meals and made sure everything was dusted. Nobody cared what she saw or didn't see.

Well, at least not until this moment. Stunned, she watched from the corner, just as she'd always done. Usually, there was someone else making someone cry, or at least a thrown piece of something or other that she could sweep up. Not once in her entire existence had she been the cause of anyone's suffering. Not once had she ever even registered in someone's mind, let alone been something to fear. A wave of guilt washed over her, as she watched the uncertainty in the boy's gaze go from confusion to fear. Did she look threatening? She hadn't meant to.) Her gaze fell to the pot in his hand, and instinctively, she cowered back into the corner, legs so weak from nerves that the wall became her source of gravity. She'd never been hit with a pot before, but then again, she didn't know this boy, he who held all the power. He could kill her and it wouldn't even matter. She was his now, it would be legal.

She shut her eyes tight again, wondering how badly it would hurt to be beat to death with a metal pot. She wouldn't be very pretty at all anymore. Once, in the games, she'd seen a tribute beat to death. The girl had her blood spattered everywhere, and by the end of it, she was unrecognizable. Cinder didn't want to die. She didn't mind it, working for others. She was comfortable, the occasional slap never did much harm. What was terrifying was she did not know this young man. He could be anything he wanted, while she would always be nothing at all. She was air, to be ignored, something to be used.He had a voice. She had strangled laughter and couldn't even hum anymore.

The blows never come. He speaks and she opens her eyes to see his wide with fear. That's when the confusion hits her once again, and she's thrown for a loop. Tears well in the corners of his eyes, and his knees give out under him. He could be crazy. She knows that, he could be utterly insane, and she could be dead within minutes because a cooking pot would make a wonderfully effective weapon. Instead, he seems to deflate, curl in on himself like an anchor that's lost it's ship. Unable to move, she sinks down to the floor, and waits for him to finish with the horrible sounds emerging from his lips. She's forgotten how to comfort properly, she hasn't seen her beloved ones in years. She doesn't know what protocol is. Does he even want her to hold him, to comfort, but what if he's one of those ones that can't stand the touch of 'the animals'?

As he finally dissolves into something called a small silence, she reaches a decision. Unfolding her small frame, she quietly inches forward until she sits in front to of him cross-legged. Making a soft cooing sound, she carefully rests a hand on his knee, and collapses her frame, making herself look smaller. Smiling softly, as if to say, 'it's alright', she disentangles the letter and presents it to him once more. Her nurturing side taking over, crazy person or no, she wipes a thumb across his cheek to try and clear the tears that still run away from him. He shakes underneath her hand, and she's amazed to find just how frightened of her he really is. She has never been the one in power.

S P E A K I N G // T H I N K I N G

Of course she had come to terms with it. It had been a few years now at least. To be perfectly honest, she could barely remember her time before this, whatever this was. It had begun to feel like a dream. She'd begun to forget what her sisters looked like. Her father's face, her dear, beloved father, his face was wreathed in shadow. She wouldn't be able to tell you if his hands were rough or not, she couldn't remember. He mined, she knew that, but what if he had been an overseer, rather than one of the men who dug? She didn't know. This life was what she had, it was everything that she owned, and it didn't even belong to her. So, it was all that mattered. Whether it was out of self preservation, or sorrow, she willed herself to forget.

It was difficult to forget, however, the way her voice sounded, or wonder about how it would sound now. It was hard to let go of the fact that she would never sing again, nor whistle. She couldn't even hum anymore. It was difficult to forget that she became a prisoner in her own head the day they took her tongue away. It was hard to let go of the weightless feeling inside her mouth. She barely liked to open her mouth to eat, let alone think about it. Her tongue, of course, was cut. Clean, smooth, and it was not horrid to look at, just a sad little thing. She knew what it looked like in other Avox mouths. She knew the sign language that was used between Avoxes. It had been over two years since she had last been able to freely speak to another Avox, and that had been them teaching her how to speak with her hands.

When her Mistress had found her waving her fingers through the air and creating stories with her hands, she'd threatened to cut them off. Animals don't speak, neither would Cinder. So Cinder had been tongueless for ages now. She understood, and she had come to terms with it. She just didn't like to dwell on it, or have to think about it. Always one to put others before herself, that had worked to her benefit. She hadn't had time to be sad about it, not when one of her ladies needed a meal, or her men's shirts needed ironing. There had always been so much to do to keep it out of her mind. That was the way she had liked it, too.

Carefully, she watches as the boy's eyes scan the letter, something in her softening now that he's stopped making those beautifully sad little sounds. (She can't make those sounds.) For a few minutes, before he seems to digest what is happening, he still seems utterly terrified, and he shirks away from her grasp. Embarrassed, her cheeks turn pink, and she tucks her hand underneath her, forgetting that she isn't supposed to touch unless they ask her to. (Like that friend of Mistress that would come around a lot, before.) So when his hands fly at her, she doesn't see until it's too late. Reflexively, her mouth tightens as he tries to pry them open. Panic, flies through her, and she scrambles back, hands searching for purchase in open air, desperation filling her up.

He's so lovely and perfect. So, horribly whole, and she has no tongue. For a moment, she had been glad. Glad that he thought she was one of them, that any moment she might open her mouth and speak, because she was disfigured. She had a wound so grievous, because she had struggled too much when they'd taken her apart. They had not only cut out her tongue, they had dehumanized her, and for a moment, this boy in the strange clothes had thought her an equal. She wasn't even human anymore, and he was going to see that. It was as if he were tearing her clothes off of her, even as she screamed 'NO' into his ear. He was going to see what she was, and she didnt't want that.

In an insane act of defiance, she thrust her hand out, shoving the boy in the chest. Surprised, her mouth popped open, reveling the emptiness inside. Instantly, she snapped it shut again, and slapped a hand over it. Over the hole, that disgusting, empty hole. Scuttling away, she wrapped herself up in the corner. Tears began to fall, unsteadily at first, and then faster. Of course she made no sound, but she wanted to. He would hurt her now, she knew. She'd defied him, and that wasn't allowed at all. Worse than that though, was the pain that rested in her throat, waiting to come up in a wail. She didn't want him to hear the terrible sounds she could make. No one should have to. She wrung her hand in front of her, the other still clapped over her mouth. Maybe he'd regain his senses and hit her with the pot now?

S P E A K I N G // T H I N K I N G

When an Avox was bad, they made a very clear message out of it. When Cinder was still waiting to be bought, or given as a gift, there had been a man who had attacked a Peacekeeper. First he had defied them by not going back into his pen like he was told. That was a normal thing, usually they resisted at first. So the punishment for that had been a whipping. She'd always hated watching those, but they had to. They were forced to watch them, because averting their eyes meant defiance. It could seem harsh, a whipping for being unwilling to go back into a cell, but no one wanted an unruly Avox. Avoxes had to be broken first. This man, that Cinder never even knew the name of, was not able to be broken. He was rejected.

So they made an example of him. Since he was so resolute, so unwilling to accept the life the Capitol had so graciously bestowed upon him, they broke him by force. Carefully, they tied him to a post and broke every single bone in his body. She still shook at the memory of it, it served well enough for a warning. It was like when mothers told their kids scary stories at night; be good or they'll smash you to smithereens. So Cinder had been good, for a long time now, she'd been very good. It helped that she didn't have a rotten bone in her body. It hits a kid pretty hard, watching that. Bones had cracked in her nightmares ever since. So she did what she was told, she worked hard, and she didn't look anyone directly in the eye because she wasn't supposed to. It had landed her here anyway.

Feeling sick, she couldn't help flinching when his gaze fell on her. Despite herself, a strangled cry slipped out almost languidly from behind her lips, tearing at the quiet sounds of the city outside. It was an ugly, horrible sound, nothing like the shattering rain he'd tossed out like a storm. Her's was the sound of an animal in pain, and it made her shudder despite herself. Her life was right in the palm of his hand right now. Resisting was death, and not resisting was death. She didn't have a choice, she was his to play with, and he knew it too. He'd see what was inside her mouth because it was his right to, as her owner he could do what he wished. It was the same as checking a cow's teeth to see if it was healthy. It didn't mean anything else to him, not like it meant to her. She was meaningless.

She felt his touch upon her skin, and fear coursed through her, making the tears come harder. She wasn't crying so much out of hatred for herself anymore, or even disgust. It was guilt, pure, untarnished guilt. She wanted to check for bruises on his bare chest. She wanted to apologize. Hand still firmly clamped over her mouth, tight as a vice, she unballed her hand which had made it's way into a fist. He was awfully close, but it really wasn't that awful, his stance was not half as pushy as it was. Still, uncertainly, she pulled herself in tighter when he came nearer. That stare was anger, hurt, rage, and so much sorrow, for a moment she wasn't sure if it was him she was staring at, or somebody else. The boy with letters scrawled across his chest, and no more pencil to write with.

She tried to calm her breathing, she shut her eyes, to try and stop, stop crying. She couldn't. The whole day had been trying, as if someone had stomped on her. Even her Mistress hadn't tried to pry her mouth open, she hadn't wanted to even see it. She felt a fingertip brush against her cheek. Eyes fluttering open, he was even closer, and his expression somehow determined. AS if he had given up, but not quite. This could be a game. She's heard horror stories of Avoxes who'd been used 'in that way', and then dealt with. She didn't want all the bones in her body to break, she was already someone's puppet. Invisible strings were enough. He wiped away another tear, speaking softly as he did so.

She still didn't understand, how she could be the threat. She was too small, too quiet, too defenseless to even do anything. Except of course, push him over. Slowly, she reached out, and brushed one small hand across his chest, fingers almost touching, but not quite. A fresh wave of hopelessness overwhelmed her, and the thumb across her cheek did nothing to help. How long had it been? five years? Six? She hadn't felt the comforting touch of another in so long. It had only been stinging slaps, shoving, and before that, her tongue being forcibly removed. No one had touched her so carefully in such a long time. Hand fluttering away, she almost reached up to push his hand away, and found that she couldn't. She couldn't ignore the only kindness she had felt in so long. It tasted too sweet.

The tears stopped, almost abruptly, like a well had run dry. She slumped lower with resignation, and let her hand fall with a thump to the floor, her lips uncovered. It didn't matter. She was his, he would do what he liked in the end. She was the goat, the cattle, the chicken. Her neck could be cut off tomorrow for sunday dinner, and no would bat an eye. If he wanted to see her mouth, he would have it. She didn't even shut her eyes, she wanted to see his disgust. Cinder opened her mouth, and a tiny squeak came from the piano.