A Heart As Hard As S t o n e [Skittle]

A Heart As Hard As S t o n e [Skittle] Sept 16, 2013 1:48:45 GMT -5

Post by Scourge on Sept 16, 2013 1:48:45 GMT -5

Arelia Ares Clement
♈

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{Name: Arelia Ares Clement}
{Ar-el-ia Aer-es Cle-ment}
{Gender: Female}
{Sexuality: A-Sexual}
{Age: 12 years old}
{District 2: Masonry}
{Assassin Plot}
{Face Claim: Sorsha Morava}

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The cars howled at the dead of night, although the once irritating and reverberating sound of an engine was little more than a feint muse to you now. Frostbite nibbled at your exposed fingertips and at the exterior of your already weary tear-ducts. You inhale the polluted air of the District, instead you began to tug carefully at your hem dress, still perfectly in-tact. You allowed your gaze to shift uneasily to the cap left beside your make-shift home. Plenty of coins were perched in it's grasp, you easily pick it up and slip them into your single satchel. Enough to get you past the week without risking theft, you suppose. You shift uncomfortably as your stomach rumbles, instead you walk out of the dark alleyway inwhich you usually sought solace in.

SO WATCH MY CHEST HEAVE
AS THIS LAST BREATH LEAVES ME
I AM TRYING TO BE
WHAT YOU'RE DYING TO SEE

Your mind trailed back to the coins you had received previously as you walked along the firm cobble-stone pavement of the Town Square. The kindness of the people who gave them to you made you question their benevolence. Paranoia seeped in deeply as you felt your mind put two and two together, lieing to yourself, to keep the anger flowing. To keep your heart cold and ungrateful. You instead focused on the pitter-patter of your feet as you walked, although said concentration didn't last very long as a cold chill approached you, finding and nipping it's way under your coat and dress. Quite cold for autumn, you told yourself.

BREAKS US HE MAKES US
HATES US HE GAVE US
NOTHING BUT NO TRUST
AND I AM SO FUCKED UP

You picked and adjusted the lace beret that covered your ebony locks, a small smile tugging at your lips as you realise that all of your clothes-- besides your stockings, were the same colour. You felt a bit like an elf with your pointy-tipped flat-heeled derby shoes. The soles were worn out, due to your poor treatment of them and constant sprinting. Maybe you did have a nice appearance at least, but that didn't stop the self-hatred bubbling up from inside you. Always there, creeping up on you just when you thought you actually felt good about yourself for once.

AND HERE AT THE END
AT THE END OF THE HURT
THE PAIN AIN'T THE SAME
WHEN IT'S YOUR TURN TO BURN

You made your way in and out of a bakery, quickly and carelessly. You bought a simple loaf of bread, the smell wavered into your nose as you instead sat back onto a stone chair, beginning to nibble at it carelessly, your empty stomach grumbling in hopes of being filled for the week, once again. You devoured the bread just as quickly as you got it, when you felt a presence wash over you. You looked to the side, seeing a tense, slightly bulky teenager with a pretty face. You inhaled deeply, before exhaling.

"Evening."

LET IT ALL BURN
IT'S WHAT I DESERVE
GOD I'VE TRIED
AM I LOST IN YOUR EYES