Stainless
i. Precocious
Precocious you are
Headstrong you are
Terrified you are
Ahead of your time, you are
-UR, Alanis Morissette
Her knives whirl through the air, puncturing taut fabric and embedding themselves in straw. The band on her wrist glints in the dappled sunlight. It is gold, signifying her triumphs. Signifying her eligibility.
She is precocious, in a sense, having mastered knives before those of her age even touched their first weapons. Then again, she's always been special. She's always been more deserving of attention than they. It's what she wants: attention. And Enobaria has a knack for attracting attention.
Somewhere, she's terrified. Attention can do that to a person.
But her pride quenches all emotion.
ii. Querulous
Where the workers stand in querulous rows awaiting dislocation
I'll be there too
-Babies Falling, The Magnetic Fields
"Why do I have to go, Mommy?" The young boy whines, his tone querulous. The boy's mother shakes her head, pressing her palm to the boy's mouth.
Enobaria is suddenly furious with the boy's inquiry- irate that anyone in Two, even juveniles, would put their district pride to shame. Besides, she wants the entirety of the population to watch her mount the stage, calling out the required words, letting her golden bracelet reflect off of the sunlight. She wants them to witness her glory; to know that she is there for personal purposes instead of meeting requirements.
iii. Opulent
We have spent our time
Drenched in opulent splendour
But when midnight chimes
Will gilded souls surrender?
-Absinthe With Faust, Cradle of Filth
She gazes at the plush, amethyst-coloured reclining chairs, the dazzling chandeliers, the numerous dresses in her wardrobe, and the variety of desserts she cannot eat. Watches the Avoxes, confined to life-long servitude. The extravagancy is almost too opulent, even for her particular taste. Of course she enjoys it- it's obligated for tributes to consider the Capitol as a utopia- but she's already tired of it all, even after nearly a week.
For the first time, she's begun to doubt her decisions. She's not sure if volunteering was worth it.
She'll know, come tomorrow.
iv. Rancorous
Scurrilous, widespread death
Punitive, stagnant mess
Rancorous killing spree
Punishing massacre
-Systematic Elimination, Cannibal Corpse
She shouldn't be rancorous. She shouldn't have anything against them. And yet she's killed two before the gong even rings, with the assistance of the Gamemakers' well-placed bombs. And yet she snatches up the knives, obviously placed there to encourage her temptation, and skewers three more. Quickly. Methodically. Rancorously, of all things. As if these children were treasonous Peacekeepers lined up for execution.
Harsh, she knows, but her thoughts have been strategically placed to restrict pity.
"Got 'em all, boss." Enobaria's allies all but worship her.
"The dead?"
"Tally to fourteen."
Her expression is stoic.
v. Benevolent
So we breach one more soul, toss them out on the dole
Our shroud of indifference belies our benevolent tones
-Tell Me Why, Good Riddance
"You don't control me," is the girl's last whisper, and then a cannon booms, leaving her eyes frozen in place, experiencing a realm far away from reality. Pale fingers drift over the girl's eyelids, shutting them in the only act of regret the murderer can achieve.
"Let's go," Enobaria drawls, standing up and moving out, her apparent indifference excluding her true thoughts. She doesn't kill for joy anymore. Not that she has benevolent intentions- homicide is not fueled by benevolent intentions- but now, her knife breaks skin out of necessity. It's that, or die.
vi. Asylum
In asylum's cage, I'm left alone
-I'm Alive, Blind Guardian
Contrary to popular belief, Enobaria hates the taste of blood. Also contrary to popular belief, she's never considered ripping out a man's throat with her teeth before. But as she feels the flesh give away beneath her canines, she knows they'll mistaken her as a vampire from here on out.
She's also sure they're going to shove her into an asylum and hold her there for the rest of her days after this, but honestly, she wouldn't mind much. An asylum would be so much better than here.
A cannon booms. She is alone.
vii. Parched
And the twisted seeds of doubt
Which spread my sins about
Lie parched and withered
-Thought Dream, Country Joe & the Fish
She wakes to cracked lips, gnawing pain in her stomach, and an apathetic Brutus at the foot of her bed. "Get me some water. I'm parched."
He hands her a glass. She drains it, and looks expectantly up at him. A flicker of emotion flashes over Brutus' eyes, and then they become petrified once again, stony as granite. "Enobaria," he says, sighing. He's not much older than her. "You have sinned, without a doubt. You have done things unforgivable. But you have done well."
She pictures her doubts as seeds and, mulling over his words, refrains from watering them.
viii. Mundane
All alone, staring on
Watching her life go by
When her days are gray
And her nights are black
Different shades of mundane
-Forgiven Not Forgotten, The Corrs
Life is mundane- at least, that's Enobaria's standpoint. She spends her days in the Victor's Village, watching Lyme and Brutus spar outside her window while Elisa and her girls walk by. Occasionally, she'll invite Glover over for a laugh, because the old man has a reputation for being unpredictable.
She doesn't go out much. There's nothing to do. It makes her irritable, and although her nature was irritable in the first place, the other Victors tend to avoid her and her snarky remarks.
Life is simply so tedious.
Until she's reaped once again.
ix. Comrade
Comrade of death
I am comrade of death
-Comrade of Death, Dies Irae
This next bloodbath dyes the waters around the Cornucopia a crimson red. She lets Seeder's body fall into them unceremoniously, frowning as the woman sinks from sight. She was Enobaria's comrade once, and now she is slain.
No mercy. No mercy. She purses her lips, turning to Brutus, who has strode up behind her. "The sinners are perishing," she tells him.
"And yet in the process," he replies, "we are sinning once again."
A melancholy smile plays at her lips. "Inevitable, isn't it?"
"Afraid so."
She wonders, her smile now wry, if Brutus has a death wish.
x. Intrepid
We're hunting open secrets
We're searching high and low
Intrepid we might be; we'll never know
-On the Verge of Infinity, Edenbridge
They hunt at night. They sleep during the day. And soon she's unlucky enough to wake up to screaming.
She follows the voices into the darkness, her knives her only means of support, and screams with them. Some are shrill screeches, others deep bellows. All are in recognisable tones: the family she left behind, the friends she had forgotten, the Victors she had loved. And yes- she had loved. She had loved so many. Unfortunately, Enobaria was too proud to show it.
The jabberjays scream and she's trapped with them for eternity. Crying. Shrieking.
No one is intrepid.
xi. Empathy
Empathy washed away
Hard as bone, cold as stone
You shall remain
-Turn, Construcdead
The doors swing open, the rusty hinges squealing in protest. She leans against cool metal, baring her teeth at the guards, who march in and snap handcuffs over her wrists. They drag her to another empty room, attaching her to the hooks on the wall.
The man enters, his sneer cruel. He draws a knife from his belt. "Enobaria Goldfang," he says calmly, "what do you know about the rebellion?"
"Nothing."
"Liar." The knife sinks into her calf.
She hisses, teeth clenched. "You have no right to do this. I am a Victor."
"And we have no empathy," he says.
xii. Disdain
I have been blinded by the darkness
With no disdain
I have received my punishments
And with no haste
I await them
-Fear, Ra
Ever since they rescued her from the prison, she's been left alone. And when Enobaria is left alone, she thinks and dreams. It just so happens that her thoughts are plagued with home and her dreams are of Brutus' death, reoccurring like the verse of a song on a broken record player.
She needs to take her mind off these things, so that's how she finds herself knocking on Coin's door. "I want to fight," she announces.
"My dear Enobaria," Coin's lip curls in disdain, "Surely you have better things to do."
But she doesn't.
xiii. Demagogue
I am a demagogue
Born of eternal flaw
Forever just a memory
-Bottom Feeder, Project 86
She doesn't watch as the arrow pierces the demagogue's forehead, knocking her off the balcony. Chaos ensues, but she doesn't pay attention to those from District Thirteen as they begin to scream about their beloved Alma Coin, her opportune death, and the despicable Katniss Everdeen.
No, she's watching someone else. The demagogue that appealed to the wealthy: President Coriolanus Snow. The man who killed her mentor.
He is laughing. How dare he laugh? She makes her way toward him looks him in the eye.
"I hope you're happy with yourself."
Her knife finds his chest.
xiv. Conformist
Yesterday's rebels have become today's conformists
-Yesterday's Rebels, Moral Crux
"Look who's playing conformist," Enobaria remarks as she glides into the room.
Paylor doesn't look up from where she sorts papers. She is dressed in a becoming violet pantsuit. "It just so happens," she replies, "that I have a meeting with Harpalus Beaumont scheduled in a half an hour."
"Then why have you called me here?"
"I am inquiring about your choice of occupation. I'd like you to offer you an important position within the government. You are a highly respected figure."
She smiles grimly. "No. I don't deserve their respect."
"Very well then," Paylor sighs.
xv. Ephemeral
Our flames will burn in this ephemeral reality.
Like dancing candles closed in upon a mysterious breeze,
Our light will slowly fade
-Forever, Various Artists
She lies on her deathbed. "Honestly," she tells the doctor, her only friend, "I never thought I'd make it this far."
He nods, but he doesn't really understand. All those who understood are dead.
"But it seems too short," she continues. Her voice is hoarse from coughing. "It all went away so quickly. Life is... ephemeral. Maybe that's the reason why killing those innocent children never bothered me much." She shakes her head. "Surprisingly, even after everything, I feel innocent. Stainless."
"You have let your sins go," he whispers. "You are free."
She smiles. He understands now.