XV. Bloodstained
Red. Everything was red.
Red on her weapon, her clothes, her hands, her soul.
It coated the ground, bleeding out slowly, staining more and more. The ride tide would not relent.
That tide being something of Nymph's own making was not her first, far from it. But this red tide was that of Pacifico, her district partner. She could not help but stand over his body and stare as it lay lifeless. Pacifico had not been her first kill from home, that honour went to Zia. The Rite of the Vicious Tides was what they called it. A twisted new idea. If we could coldly cut down one of our own, then we have qualms about cutting down the other tributes in the arena. We would have no qualms about slaughtering our district partner if it came to it.
Guess they were more than right.
Killing Pacifico had been so easy.
A sword through the back. A moment of shock was followed by a desperate gurgling as he spat out bloody salvia.
Then a thud as he fell to the ground, the sword left buried within now dead flesh.
A cannon.
Then came red. A tide of red.
Just like there always was.
Killing Pacifico had not been Nymph's only course of action.
Though it would have been given time if someone else didn't get him or her first. To kill one's district partner - the greatest and most vile treachery, Two often called. Of course, even they understood that if came down to it, the only remaining Tributes were from two it was necessary but that was just about the only situation that Two would relive the deed for. Nymph never quite fully understood that - even before the Rites. What difference did make, if there were two or twenty-two left? The only way to return home was to stain your hands with blood. Did matter if that blood was home? Did matter the order in which different blood stained your hands?
It stains your soul all the same. Zia. Pacifico. Twelve. In the end, it was all the same. Blood spilt to return home. To forget a better life for herself and if Pacifico was the cost then Nymph would gladly pay it. She'll have plenty of time to cleanse her soul in Victor's Village.
Honour? District Pride? Meaningless. Restrictions that only held her back. Killing was a dirty need no matter how much you dressed it up, each slaying as equally as while as the other. Maybe they weren't so right at all - she may be fully prepared to kill, but each one still weighed heavily on her conscience. But having a clean conscience was never the point, the willingness to do the need was all they wanted.
But her concise would have to wait. She had a Hunger Games, to finish - to win.
It would be straight forward just like it had always been. Yet another release of another ride tide. Ultimately Nymph knew it was a grim fate - she would have to spill more blood so that the blood she had already spilt would not be in vain.
A fate to be bloodstained.
