Gabrielle Bellamonte - District 4 [DONE]

god, it's such a shame to have you grow up this way; didn't you learn any better?
but how is this my fault, when you shaped my destiny far from what it was supposed to be?
darling, I had to find a way to save your soul
what soul to save? i'm going to hell anyway
there's always an exception! maybe I can still escape from this

It's so hard to change on no notice at all
My doesn't hold much weight in her mind
Way of working is more delicate than others
To ensure that her sanity stays intact
Escape from herself is what she will do when her color turns blue

And So It Begins...

she has wandered the lands for eighteen summers
with a heart of tainted gold
through the city of water she blooms
seeking a destiny not of her own

Together We Are One

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I am outside
and I've been waiting for the sun
and with my wide eyes
I've seen worlds that don't belong

Gabby has versatile features. With a quick application of eyeshadow and lipstick she can seem older than she really is, boasting shining eyes and glossy lips. However, more often than not her face is wide open. Innocent. Long lashes frame chestnut eyes that are wide and doe-like, bringing light to the centerpiece of her face. Some say that when the lights go down so do her lids, lending her a feisty and not altogether there quality. The eyebrows are a bit long, travelling past the edges of her eye in a gentle curving motion.

Her nose is perhaps thinner than average, with small nostrils and a blunted quality at the end. That translates itself to her ears, which are also quite small with soft cartilage and sunken ridges. Salt easily becomes lodged inside the crevices of each appendage - her nose takes on a red quality while her ears become inflamed and rather dry. It takes a while to clear up, and she looks like she's just been in the cold for far too long, despite the mild seaside temperatures of District Four.

The lines of her face are smooth - if a bit pale - with youthful skin that stretches over elegant cheekbones and a sharp jaw. Often broken by mild scratches that occur when blindly running through the sparse evergreens that dot the cliffs surrounding the fishing town, Gabby's skin heals awfully well and leaves nary a trace. Whatever forehead she has is covered by bangs that curl down in front of her, often falling in her eyes because she's too stubborn to trim them.
Because of the ocean breeze her locks are often more of a salted tangle than anything; capable of being beautiful but lacking the necessary products. At times when her father returns from the Capitol she immerses herself in bubbly products and out comes a knot-free mane of hazelnut silk - but this is a rare occassion. Because it grows obscenely fast and is difficult to care for when long, she chops it off in the summer to keep herself cool, confident that by the time winter strikes it will return to its usual length.

The girl's lips are often quirked into a carefree smile, the pale corners pulling up just enough to hide her teeth from view. Of acceptable tint unless focused upon, the constant regurgitation of human blood which she swallows on a semi-regular basis makes them more prone to discolorment, thinning and bad breath if she doesn't care for them each morning, night, and twice in between - sometimes, she just forgets. It prompts a most foul odor and the realization that her teeth aren't close to perfect. Even if she does remember it creates an antiseptic smell like a hospital, so she often lets her hands do the talking when in close quarters.

my mouth is dry
with words that I cannot verbalize
tell me why we live like this?

From a delicate bone structure her neck is lithe and narrow, hidden by hazelnut curls and wrapped protectively in a layer of alabaster flesh. Whatever tendons that would mar the sleek appendage are hidden deep, only bulging out in times of great stress. Those same ropes fan out to slim shoulders with a protruding clavicle that create ridges along her shoulders.
Never one for exercise unless forced upon her, Gabby's biceps are none the less small in direct contrast to her large forearms. From hauling the boat with her uncle they've grown to be toned to an extent, but not nearly as large as possible considering she often weasels out of work given. Wandering down from red elbows are startlingly thick forearms to her small frame. Equally pale as the rest of her, in the winter they resemble the same tone as the underbelly of a sickly fish. When she was younger she tore open her left wrist from climbing too quickly over a rusty fence and contracted tetanus, prompting seizing of that arm for weeks. At times, it still cramps up though the disease has long passed.

From much touching of the sea and working with both chemicals and rough ropes her fingers are hard and knuckles are chapped, with thick palms that look more befitting on a man than teenage girl. Despite their rugged appearance they are none the less small and relatively clean - you can't do this job without getting some dirt under your nails - yet, she boasts only nine fingers. There was an accident in hard waters; a knuckle was caught in the jerking gears and it was ripped straight from the socket. Not even a stump left, it's scarred over with numb pink patches across otherwise snowy skin.
Though the back is a large portion of unbroken skin, you can easily see the sharp shoulderblades that arch back in ecstacy from underneath roping tendons and thin layers of muscle, together with bunched shoulders that create a hunched and covered stance. Her coccyx is sunken and difficult to spot, except where it pushes out at the very tip and is prone to bruising.

Perhaps it's the narrow build of her torso or the dainty height she stands, but her breasts are well proportioned to her frame. With more of a barreled chest than one would think, they fit snugly with her curving ribs and toned stomach that she works hard and sometimes skips meals to retain. Due to her allergies to several types of shellfish that are brought in with great quantity during the winter, for a good quarter of the year she shows bones through the pale of her skin and sunken cheeks, coupled with protruding hips and a starkly visible ribcage. However, when spring rolls around again and the menu changes she regains the healthy glow about her that most see on a daily basis. The constant shrinking and expanding her body is doing to accomadate her fluxuating weight wears on her, however, and she often experiences aches in her abdomen and the occasional weakness of muscles, together with faint stretch marks that travel from the underneath of her breasts to just the start of her pelvis.

From the general slimness of her body it's expected to have small hips; and indeed they are. Not women hips but certainly not childish curves, the lower portion of her body seems to be stuck somewhere between mature and adolescent. If you were to trace the outline of the pelvis you could feel the bones ready, waiting to grow and flare outwards.
Because Gabrielle isn't terribly tall her legs aren't long to others, with taut calves that spiral down to bony knees that are always crouched from long hours upon the fishing boats and a prominent uneasiness with the world around her. However, because her torso is shorter compared to her relatively long arms in contrast it makes her legs appear lengthy too, though that isn't necessarily the case. They end in compact calves with sharp ankles and dry feet, with straight toes that are easily broken.

keep me safe inside
your arms like towers
tower over me

In this District, you aren't allowed to be choosy. Below is her most favourite shirt; both comfortable and stylish for her own frame, even if it means that she looks more like a District Seven lumberjack. She isn't one for accessories - they just get caught while running or rolling around in bed - but tries her hardest to dress herself in things that make her look attractive. Gabby is the type of girl that wants to look pretty, aided by the occasional fabric brought home from her father. The girl dislikes to hide her legs and instead shows them off with very short jeans that have been cropped, or floaty skirts that toys with the salty breeze. Her trusty pair of dirty shoes with deeply indented soles - her feet haven't grown since she was twelve - that have required many a repair job over the years.

Because of the mild weather that normally graces this seaside port, the residents have very few needs for heavier clothing. She wraps herself up in thick coats and layers so it isn't as obvious how skinny she is when the cold front rolls around, with colorful scarves that remind her to smile and forget the hunger. Year round are her sneakers that have seen her through wind and rain alike. Simple, form fitting jeans with frayed holes up along the thighs, they start out life as pretty and dark washed but end up lighter and threadbare (like so many around her), she only hides her legs when the humid temperatures take a turn for the worst.

As this is the fourth District, we couldn't go without talking about swimwear, could we? Gabby is a bright girl by personality, and naturally clothes herself in vibrant colors that make her stand out in a crowd. As her sixteenth birthday gift she was given a bikini of fish-scale design, bright pink that hugged her curves in all the right places. She adores the pieces of fabric, and never stops from turning heads whenever she heads down into the surf.

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we are broken
what must we do to restart?
our innocence
and oh the promise we adored
give us life again, we just want to be whole

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With A Means

and Gabrielle she was named
to preserve a dying line
but in the bodies of those long dead
is where her troubles lie

But In Our Mind We Are Fractured

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you know you're not the only one
when they all come crashing down, mid-flight
you know you're not the only one
when they're so alone they find a back door out of life
you know you're not the only one

// Paranoid //

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Things move quickly, and people are never what they seem. Strangers in a crowded area can be nothing but traitors, waiting to thrust a stave into your chest. You see; she's learned that she's never safe. Not even in her own home, with the waiting corpses that have echoing ears and gaping mouths. An odd twitch of the fingers or shivering shoulders betray her outer instincts to the world, taking it in with giant eyes that are constantly peeled in hyper awareness. If jostled too hard in a crowd or the feeling of being trapped descendes, this strange shift wheels the gears of her mind into fast-paced reverse.

From years of running and hiding, she's become adept at fleeing far, far away. Crowds are nothing but cesspools of moving bodies that ache to sweep you away. If you give her shelter as a mere act of kindness, Gabby will most likely always ask for an ulterior motive when in this frame of mind. Quick to judge and heavy on forgiveness, it's best to retain a passive stance around her. Even the slightest sound sets her off with hyper-ventilation and tingling into the tips of her nine fingers, hearing the thrumming of a heartbeat she knows isn't real. After all, what if they're after her? The hunters that track down her scattered kind, watching and waiting with their guns and waters to destroy. This is why nobody can be trusted. Not her parents, friends, certainly not her brother. Perhaps not even herself...

It's a well known fact that vampires must be different to survive. Spontaneity is key, confusing their minds and their shiny weapons. It's why even during a seemingly casual and relaxed moment she will abruptly weave back and forth between streets, nervously drumming fingers out of habit. Places where she's supposed to be are avoided if even given thought, and while violence is shunned she will not hesitate to lash back violently if it's thrust upon her. However, this brings her into a state of blind panic - the vampiric urges she tries so hard to reign in bleeds out and she covers their unsuspecting faces in nail marks and deep bite wounds, fleeing far away and paying no attention to neither friend nor foe.
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[/blockquote]
so afraid to open your eyes, hypnotized
you know you're not the only one
never understood this life and you're right, I don't deserve
but you know I'm not the only one

// Innocent //

It's hard. Long a fact she's grown used to, but shoulders through any way. This life is far from normal and Gabby has never known anything but, living day to day with a bright outlook and dazzling smiles. She has a loving family and a way to subdue her problems, what more could she ask for? Sheltered from the lies of the world in her fishing town, safe from backlash through pitiful stares of being 'not quite right', Gabrielle wonders absently what it would be like to be somebody else. She's never been good at catching innuendo or being cruel hearted - on the contrary, her innocence shines through and makes her equally an easy target and a guilty pleasure. Still, she smiles at every stranger who would pass her by and forgets that away from here, battle rages and people die.

Everybody has a different outlook. True, some are more morbid than others; hardened by the world and what they've suffered through. But surely it can't be all bad, right? The Capitol keeps them safe from whatever outside or inside threats that appear, and allow them their own lives and relative freedom. Gabby almost never sees the rough side of things - this in itself is both a blessing and a curse. Rarely does anything ever get her down, but when they do, it's crushing. It takes her weeks to get back to her usual bubbly self, and even then there is a sense of heartbreak in her speech that lingers for months on end.
Her family are certainly not the richest in all the Districts, but she's much more well off than most. Combined with her father's mortician practice and her brother and company's fishing expeditions, they bring in enough cash to sustain the family of four. Despite vocal protests from her siblings, she often hands out coins and fish to the little children to bring home. When asked for help she's hard pressed to refuse, eventually giving in with a little exaggeration and pleading; of a giving nature, the girl finds souls in need impossible to resist.

She's tired. She hides it, ignores it, denies it. But underneath that innocent exterior - that while genuine, sometimes wears thin - is just a ragged girl that wants to be normal. Sick of having gaps in her memory where things are just more of a lucid dream; filled with clubs and sweaty hands and the iron tang of thick liquid, or certain patches of such sharp clarity and blind, crippling panic that makes her heart thrum and pulse accelerate just thinking of it. Fed up of meeting people that look vaguely familiar and having to fake their names, acting non-chalant when they mention that she seemed much different last night. And certainly, most definitely tired of feeling those strange little twitches like she doesn't even belong in her own body.

[/color]

[/blockquote]all our lives, we've been waiting
for someone to call our leader
all your lies, I'm not believing
heaven shine a light down on me

// Seductive //

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With nothing more than a batting of heavily shadowed eyelashes and mouth twisted up into a reddened smirk, Gabrielle can go from barely seventeen to legal in a flash. Many have heard but rumors of her late-night escapades, choosing to ignore the skeptical tales of men describing a siren with a slippery tongue. As soon as blood is spilled or the pulsing familiarity of sexual arousal, perhaps even when her throat begins to burn, the girl's eyelids go down and sex appeal goes up. Cleavage and the occasional wink does wonders for the things people will and won't think, accompanied by tight clothing and appeal that oozes out of every pore in tight, dirty clubs. Still, they are meaningless in the face of her desires; just pawns to play in the game. They can groan and gyrate all they want into her neck (if they're good enough at the game, she might even do so herself) but in the light of day when the high has worn and she still remains, they are nothing. Inconsequential. Vessels.
Sheep.

The world is warped in this unique perspective, where people wait to destory you so you must destroy them first. She takes pleasure in seeing their confidence crumble which is this state of mind, delighting in their sorrow that makes them all the more gullible - and easy. First to reprimand but never the first to be reprimanded, she whispers pain into their ears and watches in wonder that, despite their heart, their bodies call to them more and they fall under her spell. A quick injection (or perhaps none even needed) and the scraping of teeth against such fragile flesh, and she is in her own little paradise.

It never used to be this way. A long time ago, before the acknowledgement of the thirst, the curse, she was normal. Unknowing of what she really was. Vampire.
But at eight everything changed, and she was suddenly so very aware of this ache that screamed to be soothed from an unknown source. Her sexuality jump-started, and along came this vixen that would flash sultry smiles and leave men in utter confusion and Gabby back on her merry way. She longs for the simplicity of a non-fragmented life when like this, uncaring of why every other parts of her memory are shrouded in a haze save for her own alcohol fueled fests or sudden moments of picture sharp clarity. It's infuriating knowing a person, but not from where or knowing what their name is, only that yes, they've met and yes, they're of importance.

She knows she's different, knows that there are more parts to her than this. Has a sneaking suspicion that there's something wrong with her mind. It's like... being continuosly high. When you're up and away you know that there's a normal setting somewhere, but you can't access it and can't be brought to care too much, because you're still concerned in your current problems. But being sober is being normal, and you can't recall your drugged movements or thoughts in anything more than a foggy curtain and a distant, nagging remembrance of times that weren't your own. More often than not she doesn't even see herself getting high, so to speak, unless somebody else brings it into perspective.

Such is the life of one Gabrielle Bellamonte.

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[/blockquote]
don't look down, don't look into the eyes of the world beneath you
don't look down, you'll fall down, you'll become their sacrifice
right or wrong, can't hold on to the fear that I'm lost without you
if I can't feel, I'm not mine
I'm not real


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[/size]

but sometimes, pretty little sister
you just have to brave the fray to get what you want, things are never as they seem
ignore all those people that looked at you like you weren't of this planet
you shine so much brighter than them, don't let them snuff out your spark
long did I try to ready you for this world, but you still believe in fairy tales and vampiric heroes

Pretty is for those who have no words to describe her beauty
Never will she stop until the last drop is drained from fragile flesh
Looked high and low for somebody that shared her curse
So that she could finally not be alone with her human nightmares
Vampiric is what she is when her color turns scarlet

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... To An End

You Are The Cause Of Our Suffering

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I still remember the world
from the eyes of a child
slowly those feelings were clouded
by what I know now

It was a strange meeting from the beginning. Her father was a handsome man, but always preferred the company of those long dead to the ones that still drew breath. A few years back the Capitol decided that the mild weather and salty breeze were better for the conservation of corpses, and asked somebody in District Four to take upon the gruesome job. Drew was never much of a people person and agreed, shedding his small fishing company and mooring his boat to snap on the gloves. He was brought to the shining city to learn how to effectively prep and ready them for funerals, wielding a scalpel as well as he once did a fishing rod. Once returned, he quickly set up his new practice and was immediately elbow deep in cold flesh and the clinical antiseptic of death.

On a cold, blustery day, a funeral was held for a man in a fishing accident. Things went by as standard, he was readied for that final burial in the ground. But Drew went to this funeral, being a distant friend. He never expected to find love.

She stood with a veil over her face, beautiful even in heartache. In her arms was a little boy, oddly silent despite the freezing temperatures for this place. The mortician watched from afar, laying down his respects when asked but not really paying much attention to anything but her. Their eyes locked and he offered a small smile, something she returned sadly. This was their first communication, but he knew that it was to be from there. Ever so slowly he wormed his way into her life, taking care of the child he knew to be Christophe and giving her breaks when she needed them. The woman was none the wiser to his affections, but gratefully accepted the help. They became friends, and his pride grew at being able to make her smile again.

A year after her husband's death, she kissed him. Though both in their mid thirties, they agreed that it was worth a shot to be happy. They took it slow and don't think there weren't bumps (because there were many) but Drew gave Clarisse a slow kind of burning passion that she needed to get over the pain of losing her first husband.

Two years after they first met, the woman was now pregnant with another child.

This created a temporary rift. Clarisse couldn't handle the fact that she was impregnated with somebody other than the man that she swore to love even after death, and Drew didn't know how to handle children. Christophe hated him for no apparent reason, remembering his father and seeing how this man kept trying to butt in on the picture. But neither could stay away for too long, and after a tearful reunion they stayed glued to each other's side. People from the District smiled at her growing belly as they passed, pleased that they finally found happiness in each other. On a mild October night, deep in the cozy depths of Drew's modest home, another member of the family was brought out into the open. Clarisse was brought up to love her heritage that refused to be forgotten by her grandfather, remembering the times where people were allowed to remember where they came from and celebrate that. To honor her French lineage she named her Gabrielle Bellamonte, and as such she remains.

Barely weeks after her birth, both parents agreed that they wished to offer a more stable relationship to brother and sister. In a quiet ceremony they were married and moved into the father's house, clearing out space and old knicknacks for a crib and bed with kiddy sheets. They still live there, getting by with limited space and a gorgeous view of the ocean.

where has my heart gone
an uneven trade for the real world
oh I... I want to go back to
believing in everything and knowing nothing at all

Gabrielle was as sheltered from life as one can be working with dead bodies. She grew up to be a well mannered if a bit gullible, never hesitating to flash a smile or lend a helping hand. From a young age it was easy to see that she belonged amongst the waves, and when she was four started to learn the ways of the sea from other men of the District. The girl was never happier than when on a boat, even through rain and storm. A true testament to her sea faring ways was when she lost a finger to the pulleys, but came back three weeks later to work as normal. Still, we aren't here to talk about her dedication to sailing, now are we? No, not at all.

Because of her mother's prominent pride in her lineage she was brought up into two languages. Of course, she wasn't allowed to speak French anywhere but in the close knit circles that still clung to their dying blood, murmuring in silky tongues and sharing secret smiles. Books of the topic were hidden far from prying eyes, but Gabby was fascinated and for the longest time, refused to read anything in English. This was broken in her second year of school, but it already set the tone that others thought her not quite right in the head (and the bad things had yet to come). Adding on to her unique situation was her father's work. Though he would never push her to do something she didn't wish to, she demonstrated at aiding him with his tasks. If it was unhealthy for such a young child to be around death it didn't show; scurrying around to fetch scalpels and bizarre amber liquid that she now associates with cold, sterile bodies and waxen skin.

People are strange beings, fostering their own sick desires and wishes. Eight year old Gabby knew little of sexuality, but the feral grunts and moans coming from the morgue certainly intrigued her. Ever so slowly she crept down the stairs, peering over at the shadow that gyrated violently on the floor. As she peers around the corner, she is treated to an eyeful of her brother writhing over a corpse she had touched not even three hours ago herself, with his pants down over his ankles and hovering over the body of a pretty blonde woman with wide open eyes that hang over the steel table and stare accusingly at the little girl.
There is a shift in herself. Perhaps it is to distance herself from the wrong of the whole situation, or maybe a child's way of coping with the sight that nobody should bare, but she splits herself in three.

The memory of the night itself is hazy and coupled with an indirect feeling of dread, but it's certain that something changed that day. With the muffled squeak of horror that she produced, her brother (all glistening 165 pounds of him) looked up from sweaty bangs to see his half sister staring wide eyed at the scene. It was her expression that made him shudder the way he did, and he stalked up to the petrified eight year old and told her not to breathe a word. There was a flash of something strange across her features, before her lips curled back into a terrified hiss and she streaked upstairs.

After that day, things changed. Her behaviour became more erratic, almost seeming to be a different person. She would snap at her name or fidget endlessly, casing her gaze around and jumping five feet in the air. She tried so hard to figure why her brother suddenly was so over-protective and why she hated it, but she can't remember. The girl attempted to carry on her mortician duties, but whenever a lifeless blonde woman was wheeled into the morgue she would have to swallow down a bout of panic and clench her hands to stop them shaking. Sometimes her eyes would even be vacant. Almost as if she were... looking down on them, somehow. Only flashes, and then they were gone.

I still remember the sun
always warm on my back
somehow it seems colder now

Gabrielle became a master of hide and seek. Every day she would descend into the sterile depths of her father's practice and cut, drain and fill until none remained. Always her now grown brother's eye would burn into her back, swallowing cringes and strange little shivers whenever he would graze too close to where she stood. Whatever friends she had managed to gather disappeared in light of her 'mood swings' and fragments of insanity, leaving her alone with nobody but Christophe for company. Though she knew it was wrong she sometimes let him hold her in the dead of night, craving human company and something to quell these sudden white-hot urges she felt searing throughout her being. That is, until she met Amadi.

The older girl was a polar opposite of Gabby. Shy and quiet with a soft smile, they became friends on the uniting front that neither had any to start. Though the nine-fingered girl was but thirteen, she found solace in her Amadi's steady presence and the acceptance of her wild moods that grew increasingly lengthy and erratic. Perhaps it was why they let things continue the way they did.

When experiencing personality problems, booze was always a weakness of the Bellamonte's youngest child. She enjoyed the way it slipped down her throat and made her forget, the way others would look at her with an appealing eye. Amadi had, in one night of almost drunk stumblings, professed her love for both genders with scarlet cheeks and downcast gazes. Gabby simply gave a lopsided smile and responded to her that it didn't matter (and hey, maybe it would come in handy!). However, Gabrielle didn't forget the night after, oh no.

When she was fifteen, the alcohol must have unrelinquished something deep inside of her. Along with this sudden urge for hands to be touched by and people to touch came an ache that couldn't be quenched. Her predatory eyes fell across the shy eighteen year old, and she wasted no time in working her magic.

Gabby had never been with another girl before. Hell, before this she had never been with a man either, save for heavy petting but scared off by the primal feelings that rose inside her chest. She crawled into the older girl's lap, and despite half-hearted protests, they soon engaged in a heated session. Somewhere along the way the younger had clamped her teeth on Amadi's neck and bitten down; driven by an unknown urge to taste and feel and swallow. It was soon brought to light that it's what she wanted all along - the sexual parts were just a ways to receive the end product. To her credit the shy girl didn't falter, just let her carry on until they both dropped dead from exhaustion.

She always knew what she was. Simply watching these idiotic people go about their daily lives assured her to the fact that she was different than them. Better. Though crippled with a bloodlust that defies all logic and a heartbeat that shouldn't exist, the Bellamonte child knew what she was, and took pride in it. Vampire.

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where has my heart gone
trapped in the eyes of a stranger
oh I... I want to go back to
believing in everything

And she believed it in the two of her alternating personalities. It would make sense, why she suddenly began having these flashes of increasing length. But the thought evaded her completely when she was normal and her own Gabby self, and she floated through life to a degree. Still she let her brother touch her in ways that previously she only remembered Amadi touching her; and even that was covered with a thick fog that she felt more than saw in her mind. They confided in each other and didn't judge - and this suited her just fine. However, the days were far from normal. A regular seeming time had to be completely ruined by the paranoid side of herself rearing it's ugly head, in the most public of manners.

Crowds never sat well with her. She would get those unexplainable stabs of panic and nervousness, drumming her fingers anxiously against her thighs and scraping nails inside her palms. Faces that were undoubtedly strangers were instead waiting for her to enter, waiting for the right time to grab, waiting for... what? She wasn't sure. Yet on that summer afternoon, as the throng closed in and she lost sight of Amadi, something snapped.

And suddenly they were everywhere, with guns and stakes. Seeing to extinguish her from the face of the Earth. Everybody was a threat, and nobody was safe. They seem to go by without noticing her, or even giving the small girl a second glance. But she knows. Knows that somewhere in this crowd are people that wish to do her harm, and she must escape before they can do just that. Vampire hunters, come to finally take her away.
Phantom heartbeat (after all, why would they be chasing her if she was alive) thrumming, she ran with barely concealed hysteria, shoving through balls of people and never once stopping. Eyes were on her, and she weaved in and out of alleyways to try and escape the hunters. This was the first of many incidents to come.

When she finally broke free of the sweaty mass and into the sparse bush that dots the edges of District Four, she kept running. Over a rusty fence that tore open her wrist, through prickly bushes until exhaustion took over and she had to slump down and rest. Cradling her bleeding arm to her chest she wondered why people hated her so much? Couldn't they just leave her kind in peace? Certainly other vampires existed, and didn't want to hurt as much as she did. Footsteps broke her reverie, and there was a boy coming towards her. Though concern was painted clear as day on his face, she only had eyes for the fishing knife strapped to his hip. When he attempted to approach her she curled back her lips and hissed, forgetting that she doesn't have fangs in this body. She quickly got up again and ran before he could do anything but gape.

Hours later, she awoke with a burning pain in her left arm and dried blood staining her clothing and skin. There were only vague recollections of what happened to her to receive such injuries, piecing things together only after hearing rumors whizzing by from a handsome boy with a large fishing knife. Three days after that, she contracted tetanus, undoubtedly from whatever broke open her skin. Though she recovered, it will randomly cramp for hours during the days.[/blockquote][/size]

iesu, Rex admirabilis
et triumphator nobilis,
dulcedo ineffabilis,
totus desiderabilis.

She still resides in District Four, alternating between fishing and morgue practice. People are hard pressed not to notice her changing of personalities; but her parents try their best to ignore it. When confronted they will deny, stating that she's just going through a rough time and they still love her. Sometimes they even try to pin it on lack of nourishment.
See, Gabby has allergies. To shellfish. Which is quite a pain considering that's what this District's diet is mostly composed of. In the winter time what she's allergic to they will haul in with great quantity, and she'll get hardly anything to eat. Her body shrinks, her energy drops, and she starts to resemble more of a skeleton than a human being. She tries to conserve what calories she has, honest. But for an agonizing four months she struggles through the fatigue and gnawing hunger, coupled with escapades to stranger's beds and pointless running from an unseen foe. It's no wonder that she dreads the cold that's fast approaching, seeping into the houses of unsuspecting occupants. It's on these nights that she looks to her brother to keep her warm, despite the constant nagging feeling that it's wrongwrongwrong.

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where has my heart gone
an uneven trade for the real world
oh I... I want to go back to
believing in everything
and knowing nothing at all


We Are Broken - Paramore
The Only One - Evanescence
Field of Innocence - Evanescence

This tale is a confusing one, and I apologize if she confounds you at parts. I'll do my best to explain.
Normal is blue [A0CFEC]
Paranoia is green [4E9258]
Vampiric is red [E55B3C]
Speaking/Thoughts is purple [737CA1]
Other people's speech is white [FFFFFF]