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. She draws the headmaster's own weapon and drags the dull blade across his throat. His neck violently ruptures and he is engulfed in a stream of crimson, choking to death. Sarka leaves the headmaster to slowly rot on 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 leaves the headmaster to be engulfed by the flames. 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?

Sarka endorsed for schooling and in turn her citizenship testimony upon turning twelve. Sarka excelled in her collegiate studies. She was appalled by her career path opportunities as nearly all graduates employ in agriculture at minimal wage. Sarka fantasizes of bathing in treasure and prosperity; nothing else can satisfy her ambition. She daydreams of her mythical dwelling in the Capitol's finest standards. A colossal, exquisite palace overlooking the wonders of the world. Sarka became determined to revolutionize her daydream paradise into existence. Unconcerned about anything else Sarka's goal became her purpose in life.

Eventually, Sarka accustomed into gambling. The indulgence and thrill of taking financially perilous decisions in anticipation of yearned for desires fuels adrenaline throughout Sarka's conscience. Gambling became Sarka's guilty pleasure; a syringe full of her addiction spiraled immediate alleviation. Of course, staking in such affairs were prohibited in District Eleven and furthermore had to remain hidden from the public. Sarka attained a natural gambling ability and earned the title of 'Ultimate Gambler'. Her favourite game is mahjong which she would often participate in with a stubborn peacekeeper and the silver-haired bartender who ran the secluded casino.

In the midst of an intense mahjong session, a charming individual individual stepped foot into the establishment. Sarka's eyes locked on his captivating grin and mesmerizing gaze. Sarka urgently invited the perplexing lad to join her party. Sarka began to understand chemistry and interest for another. The four launched a friendly clash of mahjong in which Sarka relinquished victory in order for her idolized beloved to secure triumph. Following an extraordinary evening of bonding, Sarka learned of Kuro's residence at Victor's Village. Now that a promenade to her life motive has been acquired, Sarka established a new goal; to bunk alongside Kuro until a new opportunity to fortune has been attained. At nightfall, Kuro proposed Sarka spend dusk with him after he acknowledged Sarka's lack of shelter. She graciously accepted his invitation and the two strolled hand in hand to Victor's Village.

Upon arrival, Sarka marveled at the excellency of the decor and interior design. Kuro treated Sarka to a deluxe and ornate banquet. Dining amidst effulgent silverware, a full platter, and feasting on impeccable cuisine is an endowment nearly all of District Eleven will never experience. Afterwards, Kuro suddenly pardoned himself from the buffet. Growing weary of continuous waiting, Sarka resolved the situation by searching the house. Finally, Sarka established Kuro's destination; in his very own chamber. Kuro eye's trained upon an argent ornament resting in his fingers. Kuro's posture suggested a state of hypnosis or trance. Just as Sarka gently fastened the door shut, Kuro talked in a slurred speech.

"I miss my father. He wasn't a perfect man but I still loved him." Kuro softly whimpered. "What do you remember about him, Eritheia?" Eritheia. That was a name she'd long suppressed from her memory. "What a miserable fellow. Abusive. Smug. Hostile. Malevolent. Now that I think about it, your father and I have a lot in common." Sarka sternly sneered.

"He didn't deserve to die!" Kuro shoots back. "He was... recovering. He recognized his mistakes and began to rebuild upon himself. He wanted to give me a better life... and now he's gone." Sarka asserted a sparse giggle. She slowly came to the realization that her masterpiece resulted in a backfire. Irritation welled within her pulse.

"I value human life less than a shard of a broken poker chip! I was simply doing whatever it took to win! That man was an asshole and deserved an agonizing and imbrued death!" Sarka shrieked, flooding the mansion with her barbarous echo. Kuro became shocked to the point of paralyzation, stunned by the horror of the monstrosity standing in front of him.

"I am sorry. I was just eliminating all restrictions that prevented me from seeking my objective. Surely you can understand." Sarka calmly assures, abandoning her unusual barbaric, rude mannerism. She transitions to a civil demeanor despite the current circumstances, however this affected Kuro's sorrow to little extend.

"How... how can I possibly understand? You killed my father! I'll never forgive you for what you did!" Kuro charges at Sarka with his father's shiv. The spark igniting in Kuro's pupils make him relentless, yet strong-willed. Sarka harmoniously evades his mighty uppercut and propels her foot against his leg. He clutches his shin in anguish. Kuro flails his fists formidable strength, but alas his accuracy and efficiency deprived Kuro of a fighting chance.

"You're quite the robust and tenacious man." Sarka compliments him. "Unfortunately like your father, you lack coordination." Kuro ignores Sarka's mocking comment and continues to thrash to no avail. He haltingly grows exasperated and fatigue from crusading. Kuro became blinded with despair; his heart sought vengeance, for retribution in honor of his deceased father.

"And now, you will fall; just like your predecessor!" Sarka announces. A straightforward shove conquers Kuro as he collapses. His desperate, furious struggle inevitably ensued failure due to sheer carelessness. Kuro and Sarka exchanged glances one last time. Sarka firmly restrains Kuro by kneeing his groin and compressing his broad shoulders against the marble floor. She affectionately caresses his cheek and cleanses the droplets cascading down his sockets.

"You've been a great companion of mine, but sadly our affiliation must cease. You've simply left me no choice." Sarka fetches her treasured ring and hoists her fist ready to strike. The stiletto strikingly shimmers upon being unsheathed. A ferocious, menacingly smirk infects Sarka's complexion. The harmless, innocent lady Kuro encountered that nightfall evaporated within thin air; in place stood the plague about to declare its host. Sarka forcefully punctured Kuro's cornea and plunged her blade into the contents of his cranium, instantly killing him in a swift flick of the wrist.

Sarka's instincts promptly drove her to dispose of the body. The District electric fence being conveniently close to Victor's Village seemed pertinent and adequate. She chucked Kuro's corpse into the metal coil. Kuro illuminated the twilight as he was incinerated into a singed crisp. He crippled to the ground, soot vaporizing from his smoldered skin. Sarka recalled Kuro's clean-cut, handsome aura that gleamed upon his arrival at the casino. She genuinely anticipated a better outcome, but nevertheless Kuro's alluring qualities were futile in redirecting Sarka's motive.

''"Celestia Corliss, one of District Eleven's only victors, has been found in her home in Victor's Village with a noose around her neck. Yesterday afternoon, Celestia took her life in response to her son's passing. Kuro Corliss was found near the outskirts of District Eleven after a thorough search investigation. Inside sources have determined that Kuro didn't die from electrocution, furthermore his corpse was scorched in attempts to dispose of his body. This can be supported by the fact that there are visible bloodstains near his face and shirt suggesting he had been in a struggle beforehand; scorching his corpse was the culprit's method of disposal. Sadly, as his corpse is mutilated to a great degree there cannot be any more clues uncovered from his body. Law enforcements are continuing to progress through their cross-examination to find traces that will expose more details about this case that has left District Eleven in dismay." ''Sarka discarded the editorial into the busy streets of District Eleven where feet trampled and scrunched the article. This illustrated Sarka traversing in the direction of the present. From this moment forward, Kuro represented a mere shadow lurking in the chasm of Sarka's omitted past.

Sarka regulated her lifestyle prior to meeting Kuro. Sarka was never accused as the fugitive behind Kuro's case. By reason of Sarka innocent and civilized psyche in addition to her short-lived relationship with Kuro, she was capable of eluding punishment. Her life purpose remained persistent, even after her reaping. On reaping day, Sarka wore her finest attire for this occasion. She never authorized such onslaught, nevertheless she frankly formulated no remorse for the tributes that shake hands with Death. Her opinion on the matter didn't suffer revision after her reaping. Sarka's name being plucked from the glass jar signified a new beginning. Now that another opportunity for fame and fortune has been acquired, Sarka won't let a damn soul interfere with her quest. This was her moment; her destiny. Sarka gracefully danced up to the stage, polishing civil and rational conduct to her utmost potential. Sarka beamed a semblance of confidence to the crowd. She felt the potential building between her thumbprints, prepared to command her opposition like a marionettist wielding a puppet.

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