odette alonso, [capitol]. cb

[🌱 kaitlin.]

odette alonso.
thirty one • entertainer • capitol

She's like cream, she's that soft. Once her thighs are around you, you'll forget your own name.

[🌱 kaitlin.]

When Odette is fourteen, her mother sells the rights to her only daughter's face to the Melody Noir House of Haunts. Notorious only because no one is allowed to talk about what happens behind those looming iron doors, not unless they want to find themselves blacklisted from every fine dining or nightlife establishment in the Capitol for the next decade.      It takes seven years for Odette's name to get out. ›› ‹‹      The first time she is in the press, no one knows her name. Paparazzi take pictures from the street below of a young girl on a balcony, a duvet cover pulled up around her chest as she lounges on a patio chair. Her bare skin, caught with long-range lenses, printed in magazine spreads for weeks to come. She is seen smoking a cigarette, and the headline reads: CORSICA'S MYSTERY BLONDE!      She is nineteen, and he three decades her senior, but it takes another decade for anyone to notice or care and by that time, the damage has been done. ›› ‹‹      At twenty-one, she pays off her debt.      By this time, she has her own night of the week. Usually Thursdays, sometimes Saturdays, because that's when the high-rollers like to come in the most. She'd been surprised at first, when she realized that Thursday was the busiest nights most weeks, but Noir taught her after while.      "Friday is right there, sure, but the night won't be as sweet when they know they don't have work in the morning." She'd run a finger down Odette's cheek, a thumb across the red painted on her lips. "A drink and a girl on a Thursday tastes more like sin." ›› ‹‹      Like a champagne bottle shaken and waiting to explode, her smiled splashes across tabloids through the rest of her twenties. Sometimes with intermittent frequency, which makes her prone to long bursts of sadness, where she pouts and refuses to leave the comforts of her silk sheets.      "I want more!" she'll cry, collapsing on marble tile while a servant fills the tub. "Why don't they love me anymore!"      Sometimes their soothing cools her, and she'll let them clip her hair out of the way so she can slip into the warm water. Usually though, it's the little blue pill they drop into a flute of champagne that does the trick.

[🌱 kaitlin.]

for d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris .


[using up last ratmas
few cbs before they expire!]

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

she's a beautiful disaster <3
and her life is only going to get better ^(worse)