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i am the shape you made me. filth teaches filth. sophokles, elektra
‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿
IN A DREAM, Aphrodite Krasnova saw her mom with the love of her life and no children. It was the happiest she'd ever seen her.
Her mom never hugs her. She doesn't know what to do with her. She's got a sort of domestic rage, she learned it from her mother before her. Aphrodite's got it, too. Her legs shake under her own weight. Under the weight of her mom. Under the weight of her mom's mom. She wilts under the weight of her own family. Too heavy a burden. Still. She tries.
In Aphrodite burns the most religious of longings; to be loved. But love is so, so difficult when god bore you starving.
This brings a childlike rage and a childlike loneliness. Teetering at childhood's edge, desperate to earn her mom's blood, Aphrodite Krasnova volunteers herself for the Hunger Games. She will destroy herself so others cannot. She will become her own devastating god. She will make her mom like her.
But when a ruthless god abandons you to the mercy of the Capitol, when you are still flesh and blood, when you are still unloved, it is impossible to believe in the divine. Aphrodite doesn't believe in gods. Aphrodite doesn't believe in her mom.
All Aphrodite has is herself.
‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿
aphrodite krasnova, marie agveropoulos.
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