Ears are buzzing.
Fingers tickle, a sound of warping electricity slowly infiltrating the cotton filling her ears.
Eyes twitch, need to fight against the lull of half-wakened numbness that lock them. Slowly peering out finds white tile white floor white wall.
One clear edge, reflective and too far to discern detail through watery eyes.
Bed. Scratchy sheets against a twitching cheek, flattened under the weight of her head. One wrist fixed via manacle to the edge of metal. Fingers curl, slowly, try to form a fist.
Useless.
A sharp snapclickwhoosh and the clear pushes inwards, the reflection nearing her, then reverting.
A fuzzy image stumbles in, handcuffs preventing the body from stopping its own fall completely.
Annie stares. The click shutters the mirror once, before the room stills.
The electrical buzz and suddenly a shriek filters in, not from either person in the room, but from above. Eyes try to rove, try to find the source.
Air vent.
Numb throat aches, and lips slowly shut. It hurts to swallow.
Medication.
"For your own protection," they had said.
The figure starts, slowly managing to get up on their knees. Green eyes blink, once, but it's not enough to push the warped lines into focus.
She hears her name. Swallows again, hurts again, blinks again.
The figure is rising.
Another shriek. Mind isn't numb enough to block it out, but body is too numb to keep the sounds at bay.
"Annie?" comes from inside the room, and gaze drifts back, settles, tries to focus again. Slowly, as the figure comes to her, she can bring it into perspective enough.
"Oh," she hears her own groggy, scratchy throat letting the words out like they've been trapped; like that is all she has been aching to say. Swallows again, hurts again.
Another shriek.
Lights flicker.
"Oh, God," the voice frays at the edges.
Librae.
But when did Librae lose all of her hair?
"Annie, I'm so sorry," the voice is saying. A hand, or two (it's hard to not have a double-touch when you're hands are tethered together) presses against her shoulder, squeezes. "You're not supposed to be here."
Annie stares again. Librae wasn't home.
This isn't home, though, and the memories seep in, overtaking like a storm surge, washing over and everything begins to tilt, become shadowed.
Tears spill out.
Quell. Arena. Finnick. Arena. Katniss. Arena. Arrow. Arena. Forcefield. Blackout. Home. Door smashed. Hands grab.
(The high-pitched ringing and suck of gravity against a rising hovercraft before black, black, black).
Words can't form in numbed lips, instead she cries, and the not-tied hands tries to block it out. Ear presses (hurts!) against the sheets as it keeps going.
Another shriek. And another.
Not me, isn't me, she tries to convince herself. It's just in my head, this isn't real.
"I'm sorry," Librae repeats.
And she kneels, revealing what's been done.
Because something is very, very wrong.
Because Librae has had her head shaved and been beaten.
Someone is screaming, cursing. It doesn't stop at one or two shrieks.
It's a duet.
The world is screaming, she thinks.
Annie wasn't supposed to see her fellow Victor until she was done mentoring.
Until Finnick came back again.
Came back to her.
No matter what.
had this is my head from a dream last night and I just am terrible. I'm just leaving this as a one-shot, it *may* be developed further when I get to this part sequentially in my Odesta series! xoxo 3