blood works like rain | {eden/amadeus}
Dec 7, 2014 16:33:37 GMT -5
Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Dec 7, 2014 16:33:37 GMT -5
{e d e n .
perfection is the disease
of a n a t i o n . }Whispers in the night, a random sob from somewhere within the dark, cold palace of punishment Eden Ohara was trapped in, and the inevitable thoughts of "what is going to happen to me?" were all key factors in keeping sleep at bay from the raven-haired girl. Instead, she lay silently on her back, dark eyes trained on the painted ceiling, focused on her own heart beat with her hands folded over her chest. They made her change out of her clothes and into a simple white shirt and gray pants made of cotton when she arrived. The shirt was a size too small, but not many of her clothes weren't, and the pants were far too long, so she rolled them up at the waist to compensate. As well as this, they itched at her flesh constantly. Not enough to cause a rash, but just enough to keep her annoyed.
She had been warned so many times that she couldn't count them all. The heads of the orphanages, the families she would stay with for short whiles, all of them tried to lead her away from the violence in her life, but what they didn't realize was the violence was her life, and without it she was not a full person. It would have been like chopping off a limb, or having a heart that didn't beat. She would have been missing something. And now she would pay the price for turning down the countless words of wisdom. Now she would pay for doing what made her happy, and now she would officially be the most broken she had ever been.
She never saw the sun had risen, but she was certain enough time had passed. It had to have been long enough, another second of just sitting there like a stone, refusing to move or blink or smile and definitely refusing to cry was going to drive her insane! Yet the alternative did not sound any better. She wondered what the punishment for beating an asshole's face in like she had. Would it be a spat on the wrist, or would she get her tongue scooped out and be shipped off to the Capitol? Would she get to say goodbye to anyone if she was to be sent off? (Perhaps, if she had anyone to say goodbye to.)
Her cell doors opened and she moved to see why they would do something like that. Her neck was stiff and her back popped when she sat up, but when she saw a man standing toward her, lanky but fit with curly hair and crystal clear eyes, she froze. "So, you've come to deliver my punishment, then?" She asked simply, standing as slowly as possible, as if the man were a wild animal and sudden movement would startle him into mauling her. He was actually quite handsome. He was taller than she first realized, and looked more young than old, though definitely old enough to know how to play whatever games Eden planned on playing to get herself out of this.
Her midsection was exposed because of the too-small shirt, and she pulled her hair over one shoulder and smiled. Maybe he wouldn't want to kill her as much if he thought she was pretty. Maybe.