Everybody wants to be the hero of their own story. Growing up in an orphanage, Anthea didn't see herself as noteworthy. She watched other children write their daily lives in their diaries as if someone would miraculously appear to read their tragic stories and sympathize. Anthea didn't have to heart to tell them that nobody cared. They were boring, ordinary orphans living less than extravagant lives. Anthea already knew she wasn't important, and she was okay with that. She wanted to blend in with the crowds; the less attention she attracted, the less trouble she was in.
With so many children in one house, competing for affection and attention grew exhausting. When someone managed to get the love they craved, it was always erased by criticism later on. The caretakers in the orphanage were not compassionate people. They raised the kids with just enough kindness to get by, and spent the rest of their time following strict curfews and forcing the teens to cough up their factory job money. If you don't pay up, we'll throw you onto the street! Some people took that bet, others were too frightened. Anthea refused to give up the comforts of a warm bed and a full belly just to prove a point. That type of freedom was something she could worry about later.
The others knew her as the obedient one. She cooked, cleaned, and worked without complaint. If the caregivers had something rude to say, she met them with respectful silence. Arguing and competing for affection were tiring affairs. If she faded like a dull shade of grey, she was usually left alone. She didn't have to deal with a lot of drama. She was probably the least dramatic person in the house, even more so than the caretakers themselves.
If people called her "boring", she didn't care. She didn't care what anybody had to say about her. A woman of few words, she will either respond to an insult with silence or a one-word statement. Words were chosen wisely. She did not like unnecessary conflict if it was for her own pride's sake. She didn't have pride. Her goal was to coast through life until she turned nineteen - then perhaps she could take a break and relax without the weight of somebody else's problems on her shoulders. There were too many other kids to take care of, and she couldn't stop herself from caring about them.
That was Anthea's weakness - her fierce protectiveness over others. She cared about the other children in the home like a mother would, or an older sister, and threatening them was the easiest way to piss her off. If anyone dared to hurt or bully her siblings, she wouldn't hesitate to hurt them back. Everyone in the home recalls the one time Anthea got into trouble; someone bullied her little brother to tears, and her first reaction was to ask the perpetrator's name and walk out of the door.
When she found him, she broke his nose. She didn't care that he was 3 years younger than her.
The caretakers paddled her with a wooden spoon and grounded her for a month, but she didn't regret it. Family was everything. She wasn't the most affectionate person around, but she would kill for them if the situation demanded it. The only exception was the caretakers, because as much as Anthea disliked how they treated the children, it would hurt her siblings more in the long run if she stirred up a fuss. She had to protect them in more subtle ways when she wasn't breaking bones.
When the other kids asked her about her future plans, she never had an answer. She worked a lowly factory job creating and shipping winter coats for the Capitol. In school, her grades were superb, but she had no idea what to do afterward. Move out of the orphanage, for one. If she could afford it, perhaps take some of the children with her. Besides that, she had no clue. She wasn't a planner; each day was taken in slowly. Her leisure time was dedicated to fixing the kids' toys and throwing dance parties in her bedroom. It was a boring, simplistic, and ordinary life.