They do surgery in the Capitol, to make people appear younger and thinner. In District 12, looking old is something of an achievement since so many people die early. You see an elderly person, you want to congratulate them on their longevity, ask the secret of their survival. A plump person is envied because they aren’t scraping by like the majority of us. But here it is different. Wrinkles aren’t desirable. A round belly isn’t a sign of success.”
Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games
In our first-world culture, we equate youth with health and beauty, and we see youth as something that ought to be preserved, at all costs. Likewise, we see age as something that ought to be avoided. Women especially are encouraged to avoid ageing, for not only are we seen as less beautiful as we age, but society also tells us that the very thing we are most valuable for is our beauty, not our creativity, intelligence or strength of character. No, if you identify as a woman, forget all that, for it will not matter if you are not beautiful.
Continue reading “Mother, Maiden, Crone: A New Perspective On Ageing”
A man with hair black as ebony stood at the top of a tower… his tower. He gazed triumphantly through the tall arched windows at the Full Worm Moon—she was big and golden. The black-haired man was working right in line with the Cosmos; tomorrow was Ostara, the day of new beginnings, and, thanks to him, New-Camelot would be brought into fruition. He had done nearly everything he needed to do in order to manifest this.
All but one final task…
The man turned to a female elf who lay on the cold citrine floor. She had dark green hair and bright green eyes, colours so similar to the forests his men had been cutting down.
She gave him a look that begged for mercy, but the man paid no attention. (He was going to have to get used to ignoring such looks.)
As the man adjusted the hogtie in which she was bound, he simply let her scream—though she could not form any words, for he had her in a witch’s bridle as well. This was a nasty-looking cage for the face, often made of iron—but of course, his was made of gold—that prevented the wearer from talking. He reminded himself that he was doing all this for the benefit of the common folk. They had begged him for help, begged him to save them, begged him to protect them.
Saved them, he had, and protect them, he would; he was creating the new world they had dreamed of, a world where no folkian would ever have to live in fear of the monarchy.
This world, however, would require some level of sacrifice.
Continue reading “IV: Aurora and Luna | Prologue: A Near Thirteen Suns Prior”