kassandra bane. / district 2 (fin)

i'm no puppet on a string

i've got my own life
and it's high time i live it

Born nothing more than a symbol, a talisman to which her parents could attribute all of their disappointment, Kassandra entered the world as every little child shouldn’t: resented. She was a mistake, unplanned, a surprise her parents wished they could have returned if only the fruit they bore had come with a receipt. They’d already received their crowning glory, her older, much more perfect sister, Kamilla. Oh, so fondly, they catered to her every need while Kassandra cried out for attention, doing anything a toddler could do to garner any type of affection—mostly in the form of tantrums.

They called her fussy, belligerent, and obnoxious, but she only used the tools they’d given her, what she’d inherited from her loathsome parents: a knack for dramatics. If Kam was getting too much recognition, well, Kass would just simply cry and all eyes would turn to her. If Kam won an academic award, Kass could simply wail at the top of her lungs and every head would snap in her direction instead. But what every friend or member of family regarded as outlandish behavior was simply a neglected girl desperate for what she lacked most.

Love.

Her obsession with approval only worsened with age, each move she made a desperate attempt to outshine Kamilla, but no matter how hard she tried, her sister’s shadow was always there. Casting doubt and insecurities upon an impressionable, growing mind. Such an envy, it can fester like an open, gaping wound. And Kassandra walked through life as if she adorned just that. A bullet hole right through her heart, as if a piece of her were missing, and if she could only find it, she could fix what was wrong with her.

She could finally be enough.

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But Kamilla was better at everything. She had longer hair, fuller lips, weighed less, was always more poised—her mother liked to point that out, constantly despite the dozens of times Kassandra has personally felt the crack of her sister's knuckles across her jaw, felt the slice of her dagger-sharp words as they cut across flesh, felt the burn of her icy gaze from across a room if Kass even dared to speak—than her rambunctious, horribly put-together sister.

Kamilla was a better student, getting A's where Kassandra could only ever achieve B's, sometimes C's. She was a better listener, a better singer, had a better wardrobe and always hung out with much cooler people than her sister ever did. 

And the one thing her parents never let her forget was Kamilla was, without a doubt, the better daughter.

So Kassandra chose to defiantly lead a life of unbridled disobedience instead, taking the life that was handed to her, or rather, sculpted, for her and shoved down her throat—one where she was forced into the shadow of her sister, meant to stay there and shut up, told to sit in the corner while Kamilla shined center stage—and turned it on its head.

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At the academy, that was where her sister ruled. Her queendom if there ever was one, where she held the record for every obstacle course, every sprint, every physical test possible mastered and her name plastered across the number one slot for each. 

Naturally, their father would say every time she'd come home with a new merit, a new badge of honor by way of a bruise to her cheek, or a rope burn on her palm, some sort of wound or scar always visible to prove she'd worked for it. 

Must not be a lot of competition, Kass had said the last time with a twist to her lips as she popped a green bean into her mouth. It was yet another dinner where the topic of conversation was Kamilla and her many accomplishments, and Kassandra had just finally had enough.

She paid for that comment later, after their parents had gone to sleep and Kamilla had berated Kass long enough that she'd cried herself to sleep, but not before she made herself a promise. To knock her sister off that pedestal everyone so happily places her upon. 

The next morning, she applied to the academy, and with a name like hers, a Bane—the younger sister of their star Career—it was easy. They practically begged her to join, so much so they fast-tracked her paperwork and she was enrolled within a week, taking the very same classes Kamilla had already mastered. 

Or so she thought.

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It started out as revenge, as is the way most things Kassandra does start. Borne from a very specific hatred, its grip on her heart vice-like with no intent of ever letting go. But it gave her purpose, a meaning more than just sitting pretty and carrying her family name, even if it brought the wrath of her parents and Kamilla down on her head. 

That place isn't meant for you, her mother had said, tears not welling in her eyes, but something like a lump sounding in the back of her throat as she spoke. It is now, was all Kassandra said in response, resolute and unmoving. 

Maybe here mother had been right once, that the academy wasn't somewhere Kassandra should have gone because the reality of a place like that was what the training was for. To become a soldier. The perfect tribute. To become a victor of the games. 

The Death Factory, she'd heard it called once. Before she'd ever set foot inside its walls or earned her own name upon its record boards right beside Kamilla's. Churning out tributes like the graphite they mine in Twelve, they'd said, admonishing the process with a shake of their head. Imagine raising your children that way, training them to die. 

Maybe they were right, but for the first time in her life Kassandra had something that was hers and hers alone. Power and passion like she's never known, all in the name of proving herself. But not to Kamilla, not anymore. Nor her parents or even the entire academy. But for herself. 

Kassandra Bane is strong. 

And she is worth more than anyone ever gives her credit for.

nothing to prove to you
no more needing your permission
i don't belong to you