Morgana Wraith :: District Eleven :: Fin

[Arrows]

Morgana Wraith
17 years old
Female

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"Something Wicked this Way Comes."

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- Ray Bradbury -

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Something is always stirring in District Eleven. Bombs blowing up buildings, riots running rampant through the soiled streets, and strikes streaming through every intersection are only simple segments on Eleven's long resume of rampage. Similar scenes of beaten bodies and prowling Peace Keepers stain the pages of Eleven's legacy. Mama has always claimed that Eleven is the center of chaos within this Capitol controlled nation. I have learned such sentiments to be true. Where else would children of the same families be plucked from the crops of our prominent population over and over again to be buried beside one another? It is of course the sign of the power that breathes from Eleven's entropy. The power my family possesses. 

There are far more families beyond the bounds of the Izars, Miristiomas, and Rhodes. My family looms in their shadowed sanctuary for survival. We watch their children fall and we grieve for them, but we also lift blessings for our spared souls. Every year where another set of siblings is culled from the clutches of one of the "famous" families, we Wraiths are protected by their blood. We share our safety with the soil in sacred ceremonies every evening that passes when we return from the Reaping. We might be survivors of the shade, but we are far from unknown. 

A cruel crown carries the name of Wraith. A large family flourishing on the wicked roots of what the world sees as a terrible tradition. The reaches of the Wraiths is far from the impassible Izars, but formidable none the less. Alas, where the Wraith name has lacked the Capitol's fame, it has emerged within the infamy it radiates though Eleven. Many phrases have flown from the Rumor Mills about the actions of the Wraiths, about the truth of their traditions. From Wicked Witch Doctors to Sadistic Shamans, there has been no shortage of stigmas sewn to shroud my family in mystery. We know no label, we simple serve the spirits of Entropy that guide the course of our world. 

Mama first taught me about the spirits when I was a little girl. Bright blood was burbling up from a scrape on my knee as tears trickled down my face. Mama hushed my sobs and collected my tears which she wove into a salve. Such certainty and careful craftsmanship fascinated the folly of a child. I started staying by Mama's side much more after that. I would watch while she worked, while she would break bread with the Spirits of Chaos and Karma. I learned their names and their influences better than any studies shared in school. The Spirits are sacred and something about the way they are shamed seems to draw me deeper into them. 

People have always feared what they do not understand, it's written in books that span the tests of time. We Wraiths are of those sorts. Some "Chaotic Cult" to the watchers of this world. When we dance by flickering flames while singing songs they cannot interpret, they denounce us as demonic. When we walk through the fields of our estate igniting incense while whispering to our sovereign Spirits, they deem us dangerous. Solely because they cannot understand us, they fear us violently. They don't realize that why we sing and why we dance is for signs of safety from the sorrow that they sow in the world. 

I lost my Papa when their worry resulted in a "work" injury that he would never recover from. I was only eight. They do such terrible things to us, yet they come crawling from their crevices for our medicines consistently. Mama tells me not to hate, for such is the breath of isolation. When we are too enraptured with our emotions, caught up in the extremity of our instincts, we lose the neutrality necessary to commune with the Spirits. I may hold distrust for those who watch around me, but I hold my spirituality above them all. Let them cower at my coldness towards them, my lack of empathy for their sufferings. For as long as I am steady in my conversation with the Spirits, then I am stronger than them. 

Sewing seems to be a safe space for me when I am in need of re-centering. I find pleasure in the tedious threading that befalls from my fingers. I'm pretty good at it too. On the weekends, I travel into town to set up a small shop where I usually sell out of my materials by the time Monday manages to arrive. Despite the demons people perceive to be my shadows, they certainly don't seem to mind purchasing pieces of cheap clothing from my shop. It's alright though, I am a daughter of Eleven where we are raised with thick skin and hardened eyes. Truly, sticks and stones may break my bones but their words will never hurt me. 

Shifting to suffice in the absence of Papa wasn't too tolling for my family. I have six siblings so there's plenty of hands to help hold the heavy load of life. Mama calls us the carbon copies of our Papa, beautifully rich skinned with the deepest of brown eyes. I handle making the meals, hours forging food from flames for an extensive family. However, being wealthy in Eleven certainly shares in our management of loss. What others see as luck, we see as the certainty of the Spirits. Our harvests have been heavenly and our salves superior. Whether the world likes the "witchy" Wraiths or not, our shadows aren't going anywhere. 

[Arrows]

Woo, first Eleven in a while. 

ripred_bot

[[ retro gm ] angel lí ✨]

"My family looms in their shadowed sanctuary for survival. We watch their children fall and we grieve for them, but we also lift blessings for our spared souls." loved this line!

a spooky, beautiful, eerie bio! accepted <3