Nona Fate [D4]

[Python]

Name: Nona
Age: 18
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 4
Appearance:

Personality:

History:

Codeword: odair
Comments/Other:

Elegant's Fates plot

[Python]

They say I've never touched sunlight.

They see pure white skin, sensitive sapphires framed by small lids and blonde hair dirtied by years of darkness and assume that the Fates have risen from the depths of Hell.

It's much simpler than that.

Our tale begins with the kidnap of my older brother, Prometheus, when I was five months of age. We don't know who, why, or how he was plucked from our mother's grasp so easily, but it was his misfortune that that lived to conquer our own lives. Our family's wool shop (passed down from generation to generation, the Fates' unwavering legacy that would inevitably change after my birth) was my prison. Walls of fabric became my cage, and the threads were my chains. Sunlight was forbidden, and everything beyond my confines was unholy ground. My parents' fear of a second loss suffocated me as a child, because I was not allowed to venture out into the open. Fortunately, I did not suffer alone. Atropos and Decima, my two younger sisters, were born into the same prison. We were too young and naive to understand our own torment, but disobedience was bound to happen. One curious rebel was all it took for blind eyes to see the beauty of the outside world.

It was more misleading than Atropos had imagined.

When she returned that evening, flesh seared by an invisible flame, we were all worried. Father had wandered the district in search of her and mother had stood watch like an anxious owl at the front of our home. Meanwhile, Decima and I had poked our little heads above the windowsill wondering if Atropos would even survive. When she did, we were relived and hopeful for our own futures, but her condition warned us that perhaps we had hoped too much. Even after her body peeled and healed itself of the red ailment, her mind couldn't quite catch up. Her personality changed; we're not sure what exactly happened - we think maybe the sun invisible flame had fried her brains like eggs - but it left a scar upon our family. It also made room for plenty more.

As far as I knew, Atropos was gone, replaced by something that wasn't quite the same. I would catch traces of her here and there, when she wasn't lining her room with severed animal heads or marking her floorboards with decaying blood. I didn't let the change separate us, though. We were still sisters no matter what scars littered her insides. Our parents didn't seem to agree (always screaming and scrubbing her floors of the atrocities she brought into the shop), but have our parents ever been reliable? When have they ever been truly trustworthy or fair to their imprisoned children? They abandoned us, believe it or not, after news of Prometheus' survival ended up on Atropos' bedroom wall. They left in search of their precious son, leaving me in charge of the shop. I decided to make a few modifications while they were gone.

I'm not sure if was my anger at seclusion or Atropos' passion for killing rubbing into my skin, but I was inspired to add a cold spice to the business. People from around the district would walk in to request fabric designs or buy our merchandise from the shelves, doing everything as they pleased before walking back out into the world. They were in complete control of their lives - of their fates. Unlike me. My fate was decided the instant this wool shop was opened, and thanks to mother and father I couldn't control my own childhood. My fate had been in their hands to mold - so if I couldn't control my own fate, why should anyone else have the luxury of controlling theirs? I call that unfair.

So I came up with an idea.

As my calloused hands spin our imported goldmine, our customers come in and ask, "How much?" I reply with icicles dripping from my teeth, always indifferent to their eagerness, their selfishness. "That depends," And when I request information, names, pictures, backgrounds, I place a price on that life. I make my own judgments, grip their fates firmly in my hands like putty and I squeeze until I'm satisfied. Then I hand it over to Decima.

Decima researches. She decides the proper time: will it be within the month, the week, the day, the hour? I trust her to make the proper decision, and when the time is decided the fate falls into the almighty, ruthless hands of Atropos, our star.

She decides where and how, and she cuts. Their fate is executed, and she returns home with the aftermath staining her clothes.

It's been three years since our parents left. Atropos drove them away with her insanity and the wool shop still stands, but with new rules - my rules. In the world of the Fates, customers are never right; we are, and we don't care what you have to say. We don't care who or what you want. I don't care if your motives are vengeance, envy, entertainment, because I won't share your victory. I won't feel anything. I have no regard for you or your family. Is it your daughter I set at such a cheap price? I don't care. Is it your grandmother who is in jeopardy thanks to our services? I don't care.

We are the Fates. Our fates are in our hands now. My fate is my own to decide.

And so is yours.

[/blockquote][/justify]

[Python]

Finished!

[/blockquote]

[cass]

Love her! Beautiful, you did an amazing job ^^