CW: Mentions of torture.
Sibylline Moore
District 4 Male
82 HG
Wounds leave scars. It doesn't matter the type. Physical or mental, it will rend you open and leave something ugly behind. You can either hide your scars or embrace them, put them on display for all to see as a trophy of your survival.
Sibylline Moore was a wounded boy walking. He had been since his beloved mother was shot dead right in front of him, ten bullets when it should have only taken one. He watched his mother fall to the ground, her blood stain the floorboards, her mouth moving as if begging Sibylline to run and hide.
That never left Sibylline. He was left alone in a world, full of rage and grief, and the only outlet he had was to inflict pain. And so he did just that.
His classmates grew to fear him as the kid that always went too far in sparring matches. His instructors grew to keep their distance after they saw the darkness in his eyes. He never stopped when he was told that the fight was over. He loved hearing his opponents scream in pain as he broke their bones, sliced open their face. It wasn't good enough for him. He knew he could only go so far before he faced harsher consequences, and that knowledge chained him like a rabid beast. He wanted to go into the Hunger Games, the ultimate stage, and show the world his scars. The thought made him giddy with anticipation.
Had Mags still been alive, she would have told the Gym to keep Sibylline as far away from the Games as possible, that it was no place for a boy so wounded he felt the urge to share his pain. She would have gotten him help sooner. Instead, without input from the other victors, he was selected to volunteer and so he did just that.
He put on the charm, put on the relatively normal mask, took part in the various traditions that people of his status usually did, only for his fun to be spoiled.
Barley Wheatstalk did nothing wrong really. However, a bruised ego was enough to for Sibylline to obsess and think of beautiful ways he could share his pain with Little Wheatstalk. A small voice in the back of his head screamed at him that this was wrong, it was all wrong and to stop before it was too late, but the pain he felt drowned out any source of reason. His resolve was strengthened when the Pack was slashed in half in the bloodbath. He had watched Little Wheatstalk kick Casimir to her death. He had watched his district partner take off his district partner's head. He had killed that brat Dismemberment himself.
It was destiny. Fate. His old wounds ached and burned as the Games progressed, so he did the only thing he knew how to do. A burden shared was a burden halved after all.
When he finally fell, a small part of Sibylline felt relieved. His pain was finally over, meaning he'd no longer have to share it. He could finally rest and join his mother. When he managed those last words at his killer, it wasn't a taunt.
It was a warning.
That reasonable part of him knew he had hurt Barley Wheatstalk, and he didn't want another person like him to exist. Never again.
Barley's last words to him gave him comfort that that wouldn't be the case.
"You'll never be free from it though. You'll live with me and with the blood on your hands."
xxx. old wounds
Yeah, Sibby definitely fit this one. He was a monster, but he was also hurt. Had he gotten the help he needed, he would have probably adjusted a lot better than he did. He was one of my favorite villains ever and I kind of missed writing him lol.
Goodness I can't believe we have one more day of this.