aspen rose || district eleven

{Please note that lowercase is for style! It is a part of the template & I cannot change it.}

{appearance} You are a porcelain doll that sits alone on a dusty shelf. You are a ghoulish porcelain doll. Not something that belongs in a collector's shop, but something that should have been marked a mistake and thrown away. Your eyes are icy blue voids, holding nothing in their depths, not even despair. Your skin is pale from lack of sunlight (who needs to go outside?).

Your cheeks are slightly sunken because you don't eat very much anymore. All you do is sit in your room, letting the dust gather on your sallow skin as you are lost in a sea of your own thoughts as you sit there in solitude, wondering if your sister, Moss Rose, will come home. You don't try to fight the vicious current of the sea of thoughts. You let the current take you.

Your hair is dark brown strands of silk that lie flat on your head. These dark locks of hair cover your eyebrows and ears. You have a thin nose with a large tip and full, pale lips. You are tall (5'10) but delicate, like a snowflake (easy to crush between one's fingers). Your lanky structure make you look like a new aspen tree (the tree you were named after), all weak with a thin trunk with fragile branches that are like twigs.

{personality} You used to dance in the sunlight as laughter exploded from your mouth. You used to laugh so much that people would call you "gigglebox" (and you didn't care). You used to sing as you worked in the orchards, the trees shading you from the harsh sunlight. You used to smile at people as you walked by.

You haven't been you since Moss was shipped off to the Capitol to compete in the Hunger Games. You haven't been working as hard (and you are a very hard worker), nor have you been playing in the sunshine. You are stubborn and have little bursts of sudden anger every now and then.

Now you're angry all the time, because there's so much to be angry about. But instead of screaming your anger to the world as your face turns scarlet, you keep it to yourself. You lock it up in your room, where you remain for most of the day. You don't play in your room, you don't dance, you don't draw. You think.

People used to say that you are stupid (you are actually quite smart), maybe even mentally retarded (they probably still do, you just don't hear them). You think all day long (you think twice as much now) about strange things. You think about everything one can conjure a thought over. You ask yourself, Why are Monarch butterflies colored differently than Pink Lady butterflies? Why do flowers lean towards the sunlight?

Sometimes you are so consumed in your thoughts, you don't notice your surroundings. You don't hear certain things. The only thing you're focused on is your thoughts. Your head is lost up in the clouds, like many other children in District Eleven. But unlike those children, you're not painting pictures of unicorns and fantasies in your mind. You're thinking of how things function, and contemplating mysteries you have yet to solve.

You could say you have grown up fast, maybe a little too fast.

{history} Since Moss stepped off of the podium and darted farther into the Arena, you haven't been watching the 66th Hunger Games. You hear fragments of the Games through your door (your family watches it in the living room). You heard Moss scream and later found out that her arm was blown off by a latch crab.

Boom.

Every cannon that is fired makes you flinch. When you hear that chilling sound, you wonder if the cannon signifies Moss's death.

You accepted the grim fact that your sister wasn't coming home and forced yourself to face the stark reality that you would only see her bloody, mangled body, not a living, breathing, smiling Moss. You'll be at her funeral and you'll place flowers (roses) on her grave. You'll have to face the people of District Eleven, and you'll have to smile when they say, "I'm sorry for your loss," when they really don't give a shit.

You have wondered what you will do when Moss is gone, but you can't come up with an answer. You love your sister: what will you do without her? What about Colin, Lark, Briar, Truth, Quincey, and Ignea? How much grief will they suffer when they lay eyes upon the lifeless Moss?

You don't know, you don't know.

And there's only one way to find out, but that's not the path you want to walk on. That's not what you want. You don't want Moss to die and decay in the ground. She'll be nothing but a coffin full of bones, and then later, dust. Or maybe we'll burn her body and scatter her onto flowers.

Your life used to be so quiet, so still. But now it is a churning pool of chaos that's held back by a fragile dam that will be broken soon. You have parents who love you, good grades in school, great friends, a whole life ahead of you. But you guess your life was always a pane of glass, and the Reaping was the hammer that shattered it.

You can't remember a tragedy in your life. Your life wasn't as perfect as a newly bloomed, unsullied flower, but it was good enough for you. You were fine, Moss was fine, everything was fine. If only Moss's name hadn't been pulled from that damn bowl, you would still be dancing in the sun and singing as you worked.

{word count} 928

{comments/other} I'll be adding the face claim once this is approved. x3