kol forrester || district seven || cb || fin

Mama's always told your best trait is your smile. It's such a sweet, pretty smile, she coos - shy and reserved, almost, lips hiding pearly white teeth colored in the same shade as your hair, and only ever appearing during the most special of moments.

During birthdays and gatherings, after receiving hugs and making flowers from crowns. But she says it's most radiant of all when gifting an offering to the gods, trading the warmth of a body for the warmth of the sun on your face. It feels nice, you'll admit, breathing in the cool breeze, hearing the winds rustle, listening as screams become gurgles become silence.

Curiosity strikes you one day after such an offering, a pretty little thing with big brown eyes. Terror had filled them when you'd brought the knife to her throat, and yet as they now stare emptily up in your face, an urge compel you.

You dip your fingers into red, spread a mark against one cheek, then the next. Then, you step past the offering, deeper into the woods, until you find it - the lake as clear as glass that during the night reveals the gods' home to the mortal eye.

But right now, it's just the sun and a cloudless blue sky, and you, an inverted copy reflected in the stillness of the water. Your own eyes, pools of blue, more like the sky above than the liquid below. Your jawbone, sharp and pronounced against the pale of your skin. Your mouth, slightly agape in wonder. Your cheeks, plump with youth and stained with the offering's lifeblood.

Slowly, hesitantly, you close your lips and contort your cheeks, until you're gazing upon that same grin that Mama loves so much.

She's right, you think. It is such a pretty, sweet smile.