juno tallis. two.

[🌱 kaitlin.]

juno tallis
 fifteen • district two

I've forbidden myself to think, to feel, because thinking and feeling— How can I go on this way? How can I not?

[🌱 kaitlin.]

The thing is, you don't really remember much from before the Games. You're not sure really if it would matter if you could or not, can't really be sure that your life looked all that much different then than it does these days. Your parents were Capitol supporters in the highest degree, poured their wealth into making sure that the Capitol would be able to squash the districts. So, in your childhood brain, the rebellion never really seemed like much more than a fly that needed to be swat. That was your parents mistake. Because you're never going to care about the Capitol, have no interest in helping them succeed, but they brought something else to your life that you could never help but be fascinated by. You're nine years old, sat in front of the big screen and forced to watch as Adder Ames mercy kills a small girl and then slits Oliver Vos across the throat. And your friends are crying the next days, weeks, months, traumatized and broken by the horrors that they were made to watch. But you're something else, something quieter that no one wants to put a word to but unsettles your mother more than she could ever admit. It makes her tend to you with thorns and criticisms, trying to make you smaller, politer, kinder. Normal. You're pretty sure that there are girls your age who would die to have a mother who tended to you the way yours did. The way she would brush your hair while it was still damp, gentle and delicate, run oils through it and smile at you own your shoulder in the mirror. The way she would trace your forehead at night, the tip of your nose. But long as you can remember, it just seemed suffocating. "She has hollow eyes, Howard," you overhear her say to your father late at night. "Like a doll. " You remember smiling at his reply. "If you don't want her to be a doll, stop dressing her up like one." She doesn't take his advice, but his approval, his faith you didn't need dressing up, stirs hungry things in your chest.  And slowly, breathing feels easier. You’re fourteen years old when Terra the Terrible steps foot in District Two for the first time and you worship her the second she takes out that fucker who spits in her face. You remember sitting in front of the TV cross-legged, watching everyone forget she could be a threat until it was too late for it to matter. That gave you goosebumps all over your arms. You watch her take down a man twice her age in a blink, and you have to swallow something thick in your chest. You don’t understand exactly what it was, but it hollowed you out. “Monstrous thing,” your mother says behind closed doors, cutting into her steak. You tilt your head, say that you want to go to one of Terra’s victor training sessions while she’s here, and your mother looks at you like you’ve sprouted horns. The thing is, to you, monsters are the most honest thing around. You never have to wonder what they want. “I think she’s quite clever,” your father replied.

[🌱 kaitlin.]

L△LIA  fin x

[L△LIA]

Accepted! <3