D3 ] Topia Fer \\ fin

D3 ] Topia Fer \\ fin Mar 9, 2014 2:48:26 GMT -5

Post by анзие (Anz) on Mar 9, 2014 2:48:26 GMT -5

d i s t r i c t 3

f e m a l e

s i x t e e n

F E R f a m i l y

t o p i a F E R

{ don't say you won't
be here tonight,
just one last time. }

Topia Fer believes in complete perfection.

There is no other divine entity in the world that Topia would rather believe in than perfection, because everything is about perfection. Or, rather, it should be Perfection with a capital P. Perfection keeps her alive, after all, because who knows how many times Topia might have died without her obsession with utter perfection? Too many, that's how. More than three, for sure.

(Three is a very important number. She's been brought before death three times and if she wants to live she has to deal in threes, too.)

So Perfection is her religion but she's been anything but perfect. She's tall, bone-thin and gangly, and half the time she's ungraceful and falling in tears while the other half she dances on the tip of her toes with a bright smile on her soft square face. When she's flying she laughs, her thin, pink lips stretching over dull, even teeth. and Topia is beautiful from the sheer mania that suffuses her face like a beam of light, hazel eyes sparkling with hysterical excitement, dry brown hair flying. Sounds like she's on the verge of tears but smiles, smiles, smiles.

It's then she dances as she does her work - the work she's put on her own small shoulders.

If anyone ever sees her racing like a whirlwind around the house they don't say a word because she's almost constantly on edge, petite hands shaking like she's taken something only she's not high on anything but her own need for perfection and a desire to relieve the anxiety that pulls her apart inside out.

It doesn't matter what it is. The smallest off physically hurts her (makes her head throb and her heart race like it's spending as many beats as it can in an attempt to help her to her end; there are an uncounted number of beats but they are limited and Topia really hopes the number is a multiple of three - maybe she'll live past the allocated number of heartbeats then). Everything needs to be absolutely perfect, like it's new. Newly placed, newly done, newly made. Nobody else ever does the job well enough so Topia takes it on herself to make up for their inadequacy. Scrubs, mops, makes beds. It doesn't matter how dirty the job is; Topia herself will get it done.

But it's only because Topia doesn't want to die, because if the beds aren't made, aren't smoothed, aren't straightened properly Topia might strangle herself on the thin sheets when she lies down (and because she has to she makes two more, feverish and driven by the idea that if she does not then she'll die anyway). If there's a chance of her accidentally dying there then it's fixed, it's remade, it's done over.

Only after that, Topia breathes easier.

If only for a little while.

She flips from highs to lows all at once. It started when she was nine, when she strayed too far with food in her hands and she was dragged before the Head Peacekeeper, wide-eyed and accused of thievery when it's just food she was going to offer the less fortunate, if only for the recognition her actions will get her. Topia doesn't remember what happened after they locked her hands to the post, but she woke up in her home with nine bloodied stripes on her back, a bandage wrapped firmly around each one. And while details are oh-so-important to her Topia can't pinpoint the exact moment she started dancing back and forth between a large love of life to needing three even cuts in her skin (for release, relaxation, rejuvenation to fill her tiny body so she can breathe). All they know is that she was found speaking to no one in particular: "It's so sad, it's so sad, it's so sad."

No one's tried to guess what.

But true to her heritage Topia's life is a tragedy in her own opinion. She's fallen out of a tree playing, but she'd narrowly escaped getting herself electrocuted by the buzzing fence, just before she knelt beside the pole with a leather strip in her mouth and her eyes rolling back into her head. She's almost drowned in her own damned bathtub when she was three, steering the sharp fear of being underwater, her heart tripping over itself at the idea of putting herself under.

And all that's saved her is the number three.

But ultimately Topia is her own destroyer (she stops before she goes too far, she stays from the edge but each time she strays nearer and nearer to stepping off the cliff), she is her own bane. When it's all sunshine and rainbows she'll laugh and dance and love like none other, but when she falls she falls, she falls like there's nothing to stop her.

fin