Sarka Medea Blodeuwedd/Backstory

Backstory: Sarka lived her childhood in a poverty-stricken orphanage in District Eleven. She has no memories of her parents nor relatives. As a toddler, Sarka remained soft-spoken and quiet. The headmaster of the orphanage was a cruel, vicious middle-aged man. His wife was a victor of the Hunger Games. The couple lived in victors village with their only son. He often took advantage of his relationship and had an alcohol addiction. A once humble man now surrendered to the high influence of liquor frequently exhibited hostile behavior around the children in the orphanage Sarka resided. He often found satisfaction in beating many of the orphans. Fortunately, the administrator of the orphanage found fondness in Sarka; he never laid a finger on her. To maintain this relationship, Sarka forced herself to stand as a bystander. This is when Sarka understood the corruption in this world. At a young age, this affected Sarka greatly and aided the development of her manipulative nature.

Sarka disliked living in conditions where famine is considered regular. She despised civilians in the Capital dining in splendor. She took matters into her own hands and crept into the orphanage kitchen. The floorboards creaked under the tension of her tiny paws. Her nose followed the sweet-scented aroma skulking beyond the cupboard. Subsequently after releasing the hatch locking the rations, her hands grasped around the crescent-shaped bread sleeping in a woven basket. Each loaf fit perfectly in her palm as if specially designed for Sarka herself. She carried no remorse and noiselessly purloining six buns before vanishing. Many nights were spent with an empty stomach; but not anymore. Sarka's taste-buds absorbed the flavour of each pastry; the sweet seeds complimenting taste warmed her stomach with delight. A true delicacy for the tongue that could finally please her desires. Naturally, this felony didn't go unnoticed. The shortage of goods distribution emerged consequences as justice can't exist without retribution. Sarka smoothly implicated two juvenile boys in the orphanage as the felons. The weasels routinely caused a disturbance in the orphanage; they were the perfect pawns. The headmaster savagely removed his ring blade from its sheath and relentlessly clawed at the two 'delinquents'. Initially, Sarka pitied the innocent boys who were unable to defend themselves; but eventually her regret disappeared.

This pattern progressed for approximately a week until austere regulations were constructed by the staff. To prevent robbery, the pantry became strictly prohibited. The cellar was left under lock and key whenever possible. This recent bylaw became a perpetual solution that ceased Sarka's theft. When Sarka angrily protested against this statute, the headmaster took her revolting speech as a personal threat. He briskly slammed his fist across her cheek to "teach a good for nothing nuisance that they should respect their superiors." Overwhelmed by desolation and rage, Sarka plotted vengeance. Mother nature could sense Sarka's impure aura and sent armies of smog and troops of thunderstorms in attempts to alert the orphanage of what will truly be its darkest days; but alas Sarka's rampage could not be halted.

The next day, Sarka tenderly waltz into the headmaster's bureau. In defiance of the gloomy forecast, he wore a jolly grin with a cigarette butt drooping from his lips. His cheerful attitude was influenced by the children who spent the day in utter silence. The horrid storm isolated the youth into their dormitories with nothing to do but stare up into the eerie sky. He sat comfortably in his office workspace with his back facing the door.

"Good evening, m'lady" He humbly greeted Sarka, puffing a bulky vapour between breaths. "I apologize for hitting you in such a manor. But rules are rules and you had to be taught a lesson. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." His repentance had no value to Sarka. His words cannot revert his tyrannical actions.

"I-I... don't understand..." Sarka faintly expressed in a under-toned voice, before erupting in a surge of weeping. "Why are they so mean?!" Sarka uncoiled the veil she fabricated with her fists to shield her face. She revealed multiple bruises and blemishes she inflicted on herself using damp dirt and charcoal outside to imitate wounds. The headmaster spun to observe her condition. His buoyant, uplifting nature quickly transitioned into disappointment.

"What a shame." The ruthless man murmured in a stone-cold pitch. "Those hooligans will never learn their lesson, now will they?" He nonchalantly dismisses himself. Sarka cringes at the stench of the headmaster's exhalation and alcoholic odor. The headmaster's sturdy hands grapples the timber doorknob. A wicked, devilish smirk broaden to both sides of Sarka's cheek bones. She zealously marvels the mesmeric metallic ring, allowing its effulgent aura to shine. The very scalpel the headmaster exploited to torment minors now rested in Sarka's possession. A simple swipe of the wrist and Sarka adhered the staff that governed this orphanage. A villainous triumphant boom filled her spirit; the vitality occupying her could take over the district itself. In a split second, she sprints to the headmaster and punts his talus causing him to trip. Sarka draws her blade and slits the administrator's collar. He dies before fainting upon the carpet.

Sarka extracts his cigarette butt from his lifeless mouth. Ensuing a brief pursuit of obtaining a lighter from his desk drawer, Sarka ignites the tobacco which inevitably escalates into a charring flame that devours all in its midst. Satisfied, Sarka departs by hopping through a small window and traveling the boulevards of liberation. She accomplished her objective, yet her lust for ambition hasn't been quenched.

''"A devastating house fire left a local orphanage in scorched cinder. As of yesterday evening, the destruction of this orphanage lead to the deaths of seven staff members and twenty-eight children. There were no survivors. The conflagration melted the majority of the structure. The administrator of this establishment was found with a puncture wound piercing the jugular vein. This evidence caused investigators to suggest that this catastrophe was an incident of arson. However, there is no further justification to confirm a culprit." ''Sarka scrolled down the article feeling strong interest in reviewing the fatalities of the havoc.

"Eritheia Yasuhiro's remains are yet to be discovered. Ultimately her fate is unknown, but her skeletal remnants likely disintegrated with the plurality of the building." What an unfortunate fate that poor girl met, Sarka thought to herself. ''Sadly, I no longer recognize her name. I am no longer Eritheia Yasuhiro.'' Sarka modified her identity to introduce a fresh beginning in her life. Sarka detached association from those in her prior chapter and completely reconstructed her alias. This marked Sarka's new dawn of life.

Sarka endured the remainder of her existence in District Eleven on the loathsome trails. Sarka weeded the charitable and sympathetic to capitalize and embezzle their wealth. She dexterously employed her acts of prevarication and made life a simple game suited for her. She often diverted attention of authority and ransacked harvested produce and other merchandise. Sarka was even able to ditch working long hours of labour in orchards and wheat fields, and on rare occasions steal crops going unnoticed. Many villagers of District Eleven yearned Sarka's comfortable lifestyle, not observant of the precautions necessary to achieve extravagance. Who says beggars can't be choosers?