Picture yourself in a room full of broken glass Blood on the pieces, the pieces you can't put back A little white light in a sea gone black My head is the room and the room's full of broken glass
The beginning of her life is framed for all to see — clear glass and old wood, white walls and happy smiles. Tragedies make for an interesting image, and it's true that any wise woman knows how to bottle her childhood fears and sell them to make up for everything that she's lost; but in her youth, Beatrix Alfray did not know pain. She was loved, and she was brilliant. Too clever for her own good, always looking for that next big adventure.
Her teachers called her a genius, and her fathers told her she was the answer to their prayers. Being young was easier, when she could exist outside of herself. When everything was warm and kind and all she cared about was being the best. She believed she was capable of such a thing, once. Her smiles were sweet enough to melt honey, and all those first-place ribbons were her greatest treasures. When she drew a bee on all of her papers, right beside of her name, it was because she wanted to be remembered.
She had a way of knowing the world, of learning its secrets. And she was bright, that much was true, but what set her apart was her fire. That unashamed hunger, the way she always wanted to learn more. The flames became ash as time passed, naturally and all at once. Adolescence had a way of stripping her of her confidence, locking her within her own mind. Living was no longer an experience, it was something cold and cramped and lonely. She remained inside her head for so long that she didn't know who she was when she finally escaped.
Still sharp, still hungry for a place at the top of society — but without the certainty, without the former strength of her bite. Because suddenly it wasn't enough to be smart, she also had to love herself above and below her skin. She found it difficult. Her body was too awkward and her face was too plain. It was like she had never looked into a mirror, like she never understood its purpose before that point. No one cared about the smartest kid in class anymore, they just wanted to hear the stories.
Bea had none to tell. Her memories rushed by in a blur, without excitement and with restrained joy. She graduated with honours, she went to the academy of her choice — but she missed out on her first kiss, all the parties and the thrills, the rush of finding herself and discovering the meaning of self-love. For a time, she was content with that. It was easier to exist in the background, to swallow her words and live silently. Just a name in the back of a stranger's mind, a faded photograph of a girl that was destined for something great.
When she accepted the role of Junior Gamemaker for Glamour Kinkade following her graduation, she never thought it would lead her to the present. She was grateful for the experience, for the pride of seeing her work have a purpose, even if it went without credit. She preferred in that way, being able to pursue her dreams without dealing with the publicity of it. There was a sense of fulfillment, a joy that calmed her unease. As long as she was able to make use of her education, she was fine with losing herself to history. She stopped wanting to be remembered a long time ago.
Then the letter arrived, and it felt as if she was sucked outside of herself once more. Only she was more aware of everything, of herself and her peers and how much more afraid she was. President Snow invited her to be one of the Head Gamemakers of the 81st Annual Hunger Games, and not only that, he trusted her with the coveted position. That meant he knew her, he knew her skills and her insecurities, and she could hardly fathom how she was worthy. It still seems impossible.
She's in the spotlight now, her face painted across magazine pages and her name being aired on all the best radio stations. And no one knows who she is, they call her a dark horse, and it terrifies her. She's no longer able to hide away, to push down her ambitions and convince herself that she's okay with staying behind the velvet curtains. The gods have beckoned her to their home, and now she sits on her throne as they crown her and cherish her and try to kiss away her shame.
The sun has come to shine upon her face, but the night is still dark in her eyes.
Glamglam is so proud and a little afraid he's condemned her rip. Also I love that someone who missed out on so many rites of passage is now in charge of shepherding twenty-four teens through one of the biggest ever. Will be fascinating to watch!