Crystal In The Glass {Raquel/Lorenza}

I don't like the knives we get here at the training center. They're sleek, weighty, perfect grips and pristine blades that glint in the fluorescent light. They're designed to be flashy. I prefer the ones Henri made, with the handles that had molded to my fingers over time, the blades that weren't endlessly sharp and had to continuously be scraped against metal. I'm used to those knives. Not these. These are different. Almost fake, in a way.

But that doesn't stop me from using them. I'm familiar with knives, and it provides some sort of comfort to have one in my hand. I don't feel so small compared to the rest of the tributes. I don't feel so vulnerable.

I've found a seat near the blades station, on a two-foot high ledge that juts out from the wall. My legs are crossed, bent over the object in my hand. It's a small piece of wood, chipped off from one of the trees at the camouflage station. It feels weird in my palm. False, not quite real, but not plastic either. It looks and behaves like wood. I'm sure if I had a match, it would burn just fine. I've set my blade to it, chipping away here and there.

I was never an artist. I can't paint, I'm useless with pencil and paper, I don't have an eye for color and light and how it all works together. That's been Emmanuel's area of expertise ever since he was little. Not mine.

What I am good at is wood carving.

My brows knit together, focused on the little piece of wood, one that I can cover completely if I wrap my fingers around it. The knife in my other hands moves quickly, glinting every time I switch angles. I bend down every now and then, blowing away whatever wood chips I've accumulated. I haven't quite yet decided what will be. It's taking some sort of shape, but at exactly what that is, I have yet to discover.

"Hey, how're you doing?"

The words of someone I don't know interrupt my thought process. I pause, the tip of my knife deep in a groove of the wood. I pull it out slowly.

"I'm Za-Za...er...Lorenza, really."

My gaze flickers in her direction, head tilted slightly upward to get a better look. I have to force myself not to grimace. She's the girl from One, the kid who's likely been pampered her whole life, the one who quite literally has six or seven years of training on all of us.

"I go by Za-Za. It's nice to meet you."

I don't smirk, despite thinking who silly the name sounds.

"Raquel. Raquel Izar." I turn my attention back to my work. "You already knew that though." I lift the knife blade to my mouth, tapping the point of it against my lips. Of course, everyone knows who I am. Everyone knows the fifth Izar to be sent into the arena. Maybe they don't know me specifically, but they know my family. They all do.