Therese Harkness (fin)

Name:Therese
Age:17
Gender:female
District/Area:Captiol
Appearance:

”If you'd only pay attention to your looks Therese you'd be one of the loveliest girls in the capital,” Corinne scolded for what felt like the hundredth time. The girl didn't even look up; the words wouldn't come today and even if they did she'd have to burn them. No one could be caught criticizing the bloodlust that was the annual Hunger Games. It didn't matter if the drops of body on soil reminded her of lost rubies never to be reclaimed or the gasps of the dying like some forlorn music never fully formed; she had to pretend she was fine with it – no that she enjoyed it, like everyone else.

“What are you writing today?”

“Nothing, mother,” she sighed reluctantly and brushed a knot of purple and ebony hair out of her eyes. “Nothing worth reading. I'll get rid of it.”

“We're going to be late for the opening,” Corinne chided. “If your father could see you wasting your time like this instead of harnessing the elegance of your voice -”

“Well, he can't,” Therese snapped, jumping to her feet and crumbling the pages as she rose. “He died, remember? He's not going to walk through the door, Corinne, and tell me what a future I might have if only I worked at it. I don't want to sing anymore and you of all people can't make me.”

For a second pain registerd in Corinne's eyes. “Honey,” she said softly. “I'm only trying to help you. You're not going to have a career or a husband if all you do is hide in the house writing nonsense poetry. You could have done anything, been anything -”

“But now my skin is too pale and my eyes are washed out; I have nothing to say to anyone and no one cares for my company,” she retorted. “Least of all you. Why don't you just leave me alone?”

“It doesn't have to be that way -”

Therese threw the wadded up paper at her her stepmother's face. “It does, and it is. And I'm not going tonight.”

The older woman's mouth set in a hard line. “This is the start of the Hunger Games. You'll shame us if you aren't there and I'll spend all night making excuses for you. You may not like it young lady, but you are going; I'll seend Madrigal to help you dress; the pale green ought to conceal how washed out you've grown and she's a wonder with make-up. Do you still remember how to dance?”

The girl didn't answer. It was a stupid question; she hadn't been able to do most than stumble since she'd fallen down the stairs a year ago and snapped her ankle. She'd sit on the sidelines and try to look less out of place than she felt but only a fool would ask her to dance. It was a bitter thought; once she had been as good as any society girl - not the best but she was hardly incompetent. Not that she meant to put it to use. Not that Corinne meant to be give her an option. After all how was she supposed to demonstrate that she was healing if she didn't at least try? “Do I have a choice?”

Her stepmother glared at her. “No. We'll find a mild partner for you; maybe a tribute; they can't know much about dancing so it won't look so odd. And you'll leave your paper and pen alone; if you must right your abysmal poetry you can do it when you get home. Do I make myself clear?”

Therese wanted to rail at the woman, to complain that this had no interest for her but there were tears forming on the edge of Corinne's eyes. All of this social nonsense meant something to her. Her stepmother wasn't a bad woman for all that she liked to pretend she was a villain in a fairy story; Therese hd never been able to stand to see her cry. “Yes. I'm sorry; it's just...”

It had only been six months. The older woman stepped forward abruptly and eveloped her in her arms. “I know, child. I miss him too. It may not seem like it now, but it will get better.”

I don't see how, Therese brooded. Kyle had died in one of the district riots, commanding the peacekeepers. How could she ever get over that? How could that ever be better? All she could do was hope that the tributes from the district that had robbed her of her father died quickly and if she was lucky she would see their blood stain the ground before the end of this year's games.

Personality:”Can't you pretend to be optimistic just for a night?” Magrigal's dark eyes seemed to sink into her flesh, their reproach almost scoring her bones. “You might meet someone interesting. Maybe Corinne will even be right and you'll find someone who can overlook your surely nature.”

“Not bloody likely,” she murmured as she let the woman lace up the pale green grown. Her hair had had been a mix of black and purple only a few hours ago; now it was a telltale forest green with dark streaks meant to offset the gown and accent the silver makeup she'd been practically coated with. Had there really been a time Therese had enjoyed dressing up this way, with the splendor and the colors and the excitement? She glanced at her maid. “You can't be serious,” she protested, glaring at the two and a half inch emerald heels she was pulling from the closet. “I can't wear those anymore; find something flat.”

“But Therese, it's the -”

“I don't care!” She snapped. “I'm not falling on my face in front of the whole of the capital and making even more of a fool of myself than I already half to. Black flats, Madrigal. No one goes wrong in black.” Sometimes she could swear that no one had any sense in this place but her. It was as if her father had died the whole city had gone mad, or maybe they had always been that way and she'd never notice.

No, she realized. They aren't mad; they're blind stupid. We're all getting together to celebrate the deaths of a twenty three people and no one stops to think about the families left at home – people who are going to hurt just as much as I do.

“Give me my notebook,” she ordered.

Madgrigal frowned. “The lady Corinne said specifically that you weren't-”

“The lady Corinne is my father's widow,” the girl retorted. “You work for me. I'll hide it away but I don't intend to forget a line if it comes to me. I'll hide it well, Mady. Just hand it over.”

History:

If Therese could remember anything clearly it was the death of her mother. Ysandra had died in childbirth when Therese was only four years old ad the baby, her brother Antoine, had not survived her by a week. Therese couldn't remember ever seeing her father so angry, with the staff, with the doctors, with the whole system they lived in; it was as if the very nature of he world had been to blame for him and he had never quite forgiven the world for her loss. It was the first time Therese had tried to put her thoughts down on paper but they had come out a jumble, nothing sensical, nothing that offered any comfort. She'd never shown it to anyone. Like everything she wrote she had consigned it to the fire. She supposed it hadn't helped that Ysandra had gone into labor prematurely and everyone competent had been wrapped up in the Games. The only person Kyle had been able to commander to help had been a half-trained apprentice who had lost the mother to puerperal fever, and the boy to what they only called 'failure to thrive'.

Why Kyle hadn't withdrawn into seclusion after that Therese had never understood but he had seemed determined to give her a life worthy ofone of the capital elites. It didn't seem to matter to him that Therese no longer cared. She danced because he wanted her to, she learned what the schoolsl taught because he wanted her to, she dressed in the local fashions, including dying her hair colors she hated because he wanted her to. The only thing she had ever done for herself was write and he had never wholly approved of that. Her words were too full of critcism for everything around her, and he had made her promise that she would destroy anything that even seemed slightly subversive. Therese always kept her promises.

She'd been fourteen when he had married Corrine and even Therese had to admit the woman tried to reach out to her, to mother her, but it was ten years too late for the teenager to want either a mother or a friend. The closest she had was Madrigal who seemed to see the silliness in all everything even if she encouraged Therese not to rock the boat. It wasn't that Therese didnt feel guilty for shutting Corrine out, or for snubbing her attempts to be kind but every time the women spoke she was reminded of the mother she should have had. They had managed to reach an unease peace, but nothing more. Sometimes Therese thought her stepmother would be more than please to see her married off and in another household where they didn't have to see each other day after day.

Then Therese had fallen down the stairs. The news of her father's death had hit her too hard and all sense of balance had left her. The next thing she had known she was in a hospital with a cast around her ankle and an elderly woman assuring her that she would walk again. It took surgery to repair the fractures but she had walked even if there was little grace left to her movements and little interest left in her for the outside world. She'd concealed herself at home despite her stepmother's best efforts to drag her out places. If only she could have avoided the opening of the games she would have been happy but Corinne never would have tolerated it.

Madrigal finished twisting her long hair into an elaborate knot that left deep black and pine curls waving down her back. “There,” she announced. “Now all anyone will notice is how lovely you look.”

Therese glanced in the mirror. She thought she looked like a pine tree in shadow but it would have hurt her maid's feelings to say so, and so she held her peace. “I suppose it'll do.”

Other: