campbell shepherd | district one | fin

She wears a string of pearls around her neck, moving delicate fingers along the string as she counts. It's not divinity she is after. She doesn't pray to a higher being. Doesn't kneel to any god, male or female. 

Pulling on the chain, the pearls clatter to the floor and she kicks them away.  They would only get in the way and she couldn't afford to be distracted.  

Besides, they could afford another necklace. 

She waits, eyes adjusting to the shadows. The smattering of freckles on her nose darkening her features as brown eyes study the man opposite her. 

Stubbing out a cigarette under a booted toe, she circles her trainer. The sand box, fitted in a circle and bound with rope was a poor excuse for a training center, but her father had always said that the Arenas wouldn't be like the gyms.  

Her thoughts are miles away, on a girl in her room just a few streets away, and the promise of another stolen night. But Bell had to get through this murderous training session before she had any hope of release. 

"Come on, princess," her trainer grunts, wiggling his fingers her way with a smirk. 

"Call me princess again, Burke, and you'll be out on the streets with the other trash in this district." 

"That's where you're wrong, princess," he speaks and she grits her teeth, taking too quick steps forward to kick at his balls.  

He crumbles in front of her, the rage on his face making his skin red. 

"I'm late, Burke." She says dryly, examining the nails on her left hand.  

"Princess, if your dad knew about her, you would be out on the streets with me." 

Bell turns back to Burke, red lipstick smudged from the hours that they have spent sparing, her ponytail unkempt. 

"Then it's a good thing he doesn't know about her, right, Burke?" For both our sakes?  We're done here." 

you'll never breathe to see the fire in the air

you'll never heal a wound open another tear

trying to lock the darkness with a knife

oh to the edge I'll jump the cliff to fly

- lyrics by mr. little jeans