xiii.
ira is vicious, and ira is cruel, and enobaria's heard the trainers whisper amongst themselves when they see her rip apart a dummy with nothing but her bare fists. even brutus, sparing as he is with praise, told her once that she's gonna go far, and it was all the other academy-children had heard for the next few weeks. ira is not modest. but nobody challenges her, anymore.
sometimes enobaria watches her, as ira cradles her knives like they're the precious stones district one is so fond of. at the back of her mind, there's something uneasy, something whispering in her ear.
was she always like this, enobaria? or has the academy made this monster out of her?
she watches as ira leaves the training ring, covered in the guts and gore of fifteen dog-beasts they'd set upon her, the limp carcasses lying in her wake. she catches enobaria's eye and grins, excited, proud even as she waves with a bloody hand.
no child should be like this, enobaria.
nine strings are knotted around her wrist.
but ira is not a child, anymore.