Chrysanthemum Byrd // Capitol (finished)

all these nights are catching up to me
i just can't put insomnia to sleep
i close my eyes but all that i can see
is someone who i'm never gonna be

When she was younger, she used to pretend she was Rapunzel.

It wasn't very realistic, of course. She wasn't locked away from people, spending years of solitude in her lonely tower. In fact, she attended the finest school of the arts in the Capitol, where she took classes on painting, drawing, fashion, and etiquette. She was practically spoiled rotten by her parents, who never failed to shower her with praise and gifts whenever they had the chance. She could have had anything she wanted, even though she rarely asked for much. She had friends, money, and a bright future full of creativity. Some even whispered that she might be the next big designer for tributes.

And yet, she somehow managed to feel like a lonely little princess, locked away from the world. Chrysanthemum was a delicate name for a delicate girl. When she was but a toddler her parents had showcased her at their parties, their brilliant little daughter who would someday be a star. She shied away from their attentions but tried desperately to meet their expectations, striving to be everything they wanted and more. They weren't really trying to make her feel so inadequate, but they did so anyway, scarring their only child without even realizing it.

She had only just entered school when she realized that she was different. The letters all swam together and blurred on the page, and even though she tried very hard she just couldn't read or do math like all the other kids could. She got splitting headaches, like someone was trying to break through her skull, and oftentimes she forgot important things. Her teachers all accused her of not trying, of being just plain stupid. She tried so hard for her parents, but the more she tried the stupider she felt. It wasn't until she was a young teenager, having already given up on any kind of bright future for herself, that one of her teachers finally brought to her parents attention the fact that their daughter wasn't stupid or lazy. She was dyslexic.

And that was when Chrysanthemum's life changed.

Her parents took her out of her ordinary school and hired a tutor who could help her. Within weeks, she felt like an entirely new person. The headaches and forgetfulness was gone. She regained faith in herself and her abilities, and realized that she was not destined to be a brilliant doctor or businesswoman. She would be an artist.

Her parents supported her completely and sent her to a school of the arts. She wasn't quite as confident or outgoing as she could have been, but she kept a tight circle of friends and did well in her classes. She didn't just bloom socially. Chrysanthemum's parents were told by many of their friends that she would marry well. She had beautiful high cheekbones and wide eyes, with wavy brown hair that she refused to die. She was tall but not horribly so, and she moved daintily, so that she almost looked like a fairy, or a pixie. Perhaps she wasn't as slender as some of her friends, but she turned away her parents' offers for medication or surgery. She'd spent her entire life hating herself. She refused to give that inner darkness the satisfaction of going to such lengths to change her flaws just when she'd learned to love them.

She began going by Chrys instead of her full name, which practically caused a scandal. A young woman of her status going by a man's name? It was outrageous. And yet, anyone who met her quickly discovered she was anything but. Chrys was quiet, thoughtful, gentle, and so dainty that one almost feared they would break her if they spoke too loudly. She had a creative mind that almost always wandered, and was almost painfully optimistic despite all that had happened to her in her youth. She had a passion for art, but not the traditional kind. She did not care for normal paints and paintbrushes, or charcoal, or pencil.

Chrys was an artist, and her face was her canvas.

She could transform herself into just about anything with make-up. She could sharpen or soften her features, make herself an angel or a demon, color her skin without dye. She was a master, and at the age of eighteen, everyone was certain that she would graduate and start her own business in make-up. She'd succeeded in making her parents proud.

There was, however, no ridding herself of scars she had earned in doing so.

silence just keeps screaming back at me
the ones i love are lost in memories
and i wish that i could take back what was done
you can only change the person you've become