Lyanna Fenmoore | D1 | FIN

Lyanna always knew she was born for diamonds and pretty dresses.

The air was biting today, she acknowledged. The birds were singing with sore throats and the howling of the wind was the only sound joining their melodies. The violet walls of her room took a morbid tone and turned grey, though her eyes were glued to the ceiling. What awaited this new day? Her two feet escaped the linen sheets and collided with the soft carpet stretched across the entire floor. It tickled her feet but her face was emotionless as if someone had pulled all the life out of it.

And wasn't that the truth? She was forced to play a role that she didn't like, pretending that she was perfect but deep inside she felt injustice.

Wearing your mask with the break of dawn, huh?

As she fixed her ebony locks in a ponytail she imagined the list of duties bestowed upon her by her father each day. "Dress pretty, show your face around the most prominent of people around the district, wear your father's jewellery, be lady-like," she whispered as if reciting a poem, eyes dead cold but lips twitching in a smirk. As the final twists and turns of her hair were done she froze, looking at herself in the mirror and clicking with her tongue.

That's not your mask, dear.

It took her seconds to ruin the neat ponytail, messy locks falling down her back even more curly than before. She took a seat, every sore muscle of her body aching, but she took a posied stance anyway. She shouldn't show pain, that would be suspicious for her parents. It took her an hour to get ready for her daily performance, a fancy hairdo and a stylish dress which was much more uncomfortable to wear than to look at paired perfectly with her makeup -- but she had to be perfect for them. Not that she cared, entirely. The first chance she got and she would butcher her axe in her family's crest.

'Don't curse, don't show your fire. Be cold.'

But she didn't have any fire, to begin with. It was a freezing wasteland deep down there. She hardly ever showed concern but if she had to seem warm she tried her best to fake it. That was the funny part of things -- her family never knew her for who she was. Not her mother, not her father, not her brothers. For them, she wasn't the career they wanted, she was just the face of the business, the pretty daughter who wore her father's jewellery and smiled for the magazines and the cameras. The blood, weaponry and training were for Charles and Ben, of course, they were the machos of the family.

Yet, they never got reaped, they never volunteered, they never fulfilled what they promised. It wasn't like she cared that much about the games as she cared about proving a point. The truth was she trained but in secret. Once or twice she may have given it out when she threw a perfume bottle way too accurate at her brother once or when she almost bent a spoon with her bare hands when handling all the mocking comments from her brothers. But that didn't matter. They didn't know, and when her moment to be reaped came, she would show them all.

"Good morning," she greeted, a fake smile on her lips. Her entire family was waiting or over half an hour already, their manners didn't allow them to begin their breakfast feast without each and every family member sitting down. Charles and Ben gave her a snarly look, her mother smiled back. "It's been half an ho-" her mother began, but Lyanna interrupted. "I know. It's an important day today, our father and I are getting interviewed, aren't we? I had to make sure I look my best, I know you'll understand. Unlike some of us, sweat and bloody lips aren't an appropriate look for the clients." she responded, returning her brothers' mean looks with a smirk of her own. Small victory.

"You won't be coming with me for the interview. You can put something more comfortable on." her father called, his voice like a thunder compared to hers, but the boldness could be noticed in both Fenmoores. He was a nothing but an influence in the jewel business around the district. All he wanted was fame, money and the crowd's love. Her eyes shot at him, icicles dripping. "What do you-"

"I don't need you for this one, the topic of discussion involves the male side of the family. You know, money, finances, grown-ups' talk. I don't need more marketing as of now dear." Another fake smile. It seemed like it was running in the blood. Charles and Ben were enjoying this too much, she knew.

Lyanna was very close to keeping the mask on, to act like the perfect daughter but her soul demanded else. "Is that it? Our father likes to play with puppets." Her fingers touched her glass which was already filled with water, fingers delicately inspecting the material, though her mind wandered elsewhere. "If not to be involved in the family business, why am I even here?" she prompted with courage, knowing that a snarl would be hurled her way.

"You do what I say. You have your own duties in our family just like your brothers have their-"

"Their job is to not only spread the word about you, but to fight for you and YOUR honor in the arena as well, is that right? You never cared about family, you always cared about yourself. Their job is to be the perfect careers you always wanted. I'm sure you wanted three of them but then your poor wife gave you me and now you hate us both." Lyanna interrupted, seeing her father's eyes lighting up. "I'm not blind. You threw me away and left me to watch, expecting me not to follow? Why do I think you are bigger fool even than those two sitting over there?"

Lyanna's head was spinning. She remembered all these years of training that almost took her mother's sanity. It wasn't easy teaching her how to behave in certain situations. Knitting, cooking and just existing for the pleasure of the others in the household wasn't her thing. All the rude and violent words from her brothers, this separation from the world drove her crazy through each of her seventeen years. She could feel the freedom close, however.

Her father, Jacques Fenmoore was breathing heavily, as if a thunderstorm was about to be released. "You will not speak of your family like this, young lady!"

It took her seconds to stand up, throwing the glass of water towards her father and hitting him on the shoulder, his heavy clothing protecting him from shards of glass but not from her anger. "Your sons fail, father, look at the truth. They are cowards but you fail to see the gold. You lock it up and show it just for its pretty face, but never for its price. But I pray every day to be reaped so you can see what I've been doing behind your back. My brothers aren't the only one wielding weaponry."

And so she left, tears of rage rolling down her cheeks and door locking behind her as if it was her unbreakable shield from the rest of the world. Her petite hands tore the dress off of her, her fingers ruining the brad her hair was so royally tied in. As her body crumbled to the ground her tears stopped, breath heavy but eyes focused on the mirror in front of her.

Look at yourself. Pathetic.

Lyanna's shaking hands pushed her off the ground slowly, fingers fixing her messy and curly strands into a ponytail. Her features instantly became sharper, her eyes cunning. This was her mask, this was her true self for she was not made for diamonds and pretty dresses.

She was made to kill.