"I used to see the way the world could be
But now the way it is is all I see."
Ithaca Dominica Marquesa Sotavento, 18, District One (She/Her)
"Hi."
Ithaca looks up sharply.
"You—looked a little out of it. Didn't mean to scare you."
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Ithaca checks her skirt for creases—there aren't any.
The pale boy glances back and forth at the large sitting room area which has only an opening into the hallway.
Oh.
"You didn't startle me," she says evenly, brushing invisible dust from her coat.
(What gave him the impression she looked out of it? She's not, for the record. She was just thinking...)
"Okay." The boy seems utterly nonplussed. "My room is creepy. Can I join you?"
"Mmm."
He seems to take this as a yes, because he walks—or tiptoes, really—over to where she's sitting and perches a good few feet from her. "Thanks."
(Thinking about the war, and how it gave her parents such profit.
They shipped supplies for the soldiers, and they did it well. But when everything settled, they were out of steady income, still rich but not incredibly so. And they had needed a replacement... they had needed her.)
"Asphodel." The boy smiles shakily but sincerely. "Everyone calls me Del, you can if you like."
"Mmm." Can't he take a hint?
"Want one?" He offers her what looks to be a lemon candy.
She shakes her head. "Where did you get that?"
He points to the hallway. "Table of food," he says, still smiling. "I thought you might want something."
"I'm perfectly capable." She squints at him, unable to understand his motives, but he doesn't seem affected by her frosty expression, which is quickly—and much to her alarm—softening into bewilderment.
"I know." He looks a little ill, now that she thinks of it, closing his eyes for a beat too long. "Want to watch the recap with me?"
She really ought to. It'll be helpful to get a head start on assessing the Tributes, but for some reason it's taking all her willpower to just... exist. She keeps thinking about her parents, and how they couldn't show up for goodbyes because they were still in Four. It's not that she minds being alone, but it suddenly feels like such a lot for only her to hold.
She needs an icy shower, or for someone to slap sense into her. Although, if anyone were to try, she'd give them reason to regret it... maybe that's what she needs? A good fight to clear her head.
But Asphodel Lyceum is fragile and young and unruffled by her refusal to engage, which is simultaneously endearing and aggravating. If anything, she should keep him in one piece just so she can figure him out.
He keeps watching her expectantly, almost owlishly. It's clear he's never caused pain to another creature. Not like she's planning to soon.
And why should that unnerve her? It's what she's made to do. She's not unprepared, she's not ill-equipped, so why should it matter?
She's meant to be here.
"You know what?" She blows out a breath. "That would be peachy."
He smiles, a bit sleepily. "Alright, then."
She watches him search for the remote, fiddling with cushions and murmuring to himself, until she can't stand it anymore. "It's in your hand."
"Oh!" He glances down at the remote and laughs quietly. "Yes, of course."
Settling himself back against the pillows, he switches on the television and the Capitol insignia winks at them from the screen. Asphodel shivers and draws his arms close to his chest. Ithaca watches him for a moment, if only to give her mind something to do, and then huffs. She stands and marches over, removing her coat and draping it over his shoulders. He flinches and she draws back slowly.
"You looked cold," she says, a bit defensively.
His shivering was getting on her nerves. That's all. And—and she's going to be killing him in a few days, probably. If her tactical brain was in gear—which it always should be—she'd know that he is an easy target, an obvious Bloodbath.
She's never been soft like this before. It annoys her, so she stomps back to her seat and tries not to see him smiling gratefully at her.
District One comes first and Ithaca stares down the version of her on the screen, so cool and collected. It reassures her to know that she looks so put-together—not that she ever wouldn't.
Past Asphodel wobbles onstage and smiles that infuriating sweet smile at her, and Asphodel covers his face. "Oh. Tell me when my face is gone."
"No."
Asphodel laughs softly. Laughs. She shakes her head. Will nothing make him angry?
Not only that, it seems that her anger is wearing off quicker than the brief spurts of joy she feels after training—not that she'd ever admit that. He is almost impossible to be angry at, simply because he isn't doing anything to actively irritate her.
(It makes her think again. Of sun-soaked summers and buzzy afternoons and moments—moments with Malibu.)
Maybe she can allow herself a moment of lax. It's not as if Asphodel will go telling anyone that he saw Ithaca sit back a few inches and slump her shoulders...
She's going crazy. That must be it. When has she ever had reason to need relaxation? She's fine, always has been. Asphodel lets out a sudden "Ohhhh" as he watches the screen, where both kids from Two are Volunteering.
"There's a lot of people like that? Who train, and who—who choose to be in the Games?" She notices his hands shaking, but he's tucked them against his chest before she can examine him further.
"Yes." She straightens again and attempts to look neutral.
"How long have you been training? I assume you're..."
"Yes. My whole life. I go to a special school."
He keeps watching her, fascinated. "So why didn't someone from One..."
The funny thing is, he doesn't even seem to mind. His face is calm apart from the tremors, and he merely looks curious. She can respect a level head—but no, she can't get attached.
"Perhaps they have fewer willing boys after what happened to Kennedy. His statements on peace and whatnot."
It had shaken her just a little to see Marquis Kennedy refusing to kill, rejecting the Capitol's ideals and finding a joyful haven apart from it all. It was wrong, it was utterly ridiculous... but she can't deny the strange feeling she gets when she sees his undimmed smile, that unblemished innocence.
Asphodel looks thoughtful, not judgmental as she'd expected. She already has a list of defenses against his possible claims—she wants this, she needs this. She's worked for it; some kids feel pressured by their families, but that's not what this is. It's her dream, her porpose.
(It's all she's good for.)
She can no longer look at the gentle expression on Asphodel's face as he plays with his hands, trying to keep her brain from guessing his age—maybe fifteen—but it isn't listening anymore. Instead, she fixes her gaze on the screen in time to catch the boy from Four, who Volunteers. He looks relatively soft, if Ithaca's being honest, but maybe he'll surprise—
Wait. She blinks. Blinks again. Surely they didn't just say what she heard.
But sure enough, a blue-haired figure is rushing up to the stage, looking extremely put-out but still perpetually happy. Those laugh lines, those sparkling eyes...
Ithaca rubs her temples and exhales slowly, quickly pulling herself back into focus. Okay. She can handle this. But of all the twists of fate...
"Someone you know?" Asphodel's voice is surprisingly gentle and Ithaca has forgotten why she wants to hate him.
"Something like that."
Malibu Mokarran is led to the Justice Building, right before Ithaca's eyes, and it looks wrong. They should be by the sea or in the Shanty Shack, serving drinks or laughing in that obnoxious way of theirs... not here. Not with Ithaca.
She'll have to keep them out of trouble, it seems, on top of it all. It's not as if Ithaca will let Malibu run wild all by themself.
Would the others see it as a weakness, a conflict of interest? Well, if they do, Ithaca can set them straight. She'll be the leader, if she can manage it. If there's anyone worth leading.
What's making her so upset, then? Is it the thought of Asphodel and Malibu dying in the next few weeks? It's never bothered her before—but it was never like this before.
(Keep breathing, don't you dare break, not now—keep holding it together because otherwise the business will fall through and her parents won't love each other anymore and everyone will know, everyone will see—)
"I never got your name." Asphodel's voice stops her uncharacteristic racing thoughts, bringing her blessedly back to rationality.
She keeps breathing, steady as a metronome. "Ithaca Dominica Marquesa Sotavento."
(Future Victor. The Sotavento savior. Collector of stray Reaped kids as well, it seems.)
Asphodel beams delightedly, as if that's the best thing he's ever heard. "Sounds like the name of a winner to me."
Ithaca laughs humorlessly. "It better be."
...
Rat Laraki, 13, District Three (He/Him)
So it turns out that the gangs almost tried to kill him precisely thirteen times, which just so happens to be his lucky number! And him being... well, Rat, he managed to evade them with cunning and skill, setting booby traps and causing fabulous mayhem in the process. He's honestly impressed that they had the ounce of wit it took to come up with such methods, but they're obviously not intelligent enough to kill him.
To be fair, no one is.
So his name is officially Rat now, which is just delightful, and he spends most of his time in hiding with his moms and Neith as his benevolent guardian. And things have been great.
Until.
"What are you doing to those poor mashed potatoes?" His Escort hovers over him, looking mildly concerned.
"Dismantling them. Just like the patriarchy!" He gives the potatoes a decided squish with his fork.
"Oh, the patriarchy is alive and well, junior. No one's dismantling it anytime soon, least of all you."
Rat looks across the table at Donna Waterloo, who seems to loom over him despite not being very tall. She has shoulder-length black curls and eyes as fierce and untamed as a tiger's. He is instantly enamored.
She claps a hand over her mouth as if she hadn't meant to speak, then she gives him a glower. "Can I join you?"
Without waiting for an answer—though he's already nodding animatedly—she picks up a knife and slams it so hard into the plate between them that it cracks, spraying mashed potatoes everywhere.
Rat grins so hard his face hurts. The Escort leaves the room without another word, looking scandalized.
"Thanks." Rat keeps grinning at Donna, though she shows no sign of mirth. "Hate that guy."
She pounds the table again and eyes a crystal glass like it might be next. "I didn't do that for you. Don't think we're on the same side now."
"The patriarchy is going to be dismantled, you know," Rat says fiercely. "A woman's going to win the Games this year, I know it!"
(Wait... but if a girl wins, that means he'd be—)
"Sure, kid." She huffs, all the anger seeping out of her. He notices cuts and calluses lining her hands. "Nothing's going to change, and you'd be a fool to waste your time."
"Waste my time?" Rat leaps to his feet. "This is my life's confliction!"
"That just sounds wrong," she mutters.
"Conscription."
"Worse. So much worse. Anyway!" Another vicious fist pounds the table. "Isn't it kinda contradictory that you're a man fighting for feminism?"
"No, see, that's my point, is everyone can be a feminist! I'm not trying to save women, I'm just supporting all that they do!"
"So if I murdered someone you'd support it?"
He blinks. "Sure! You're a free woman. You can do whatever you want."
She watches him curiously. "Even crimes. What if I killed another woman?"
"Well—yes, but—I mean—"
(Death is not something he's ever associated with. He doesn't think about it, and if he doesn't acknowledge it, it's not real. He's above it.
But now death is in imminent view, and he can't—he can't reckon with it. It's too much, even for him. And it scares him.)
He blinks away the stupid, good-for-nothing sadness. Since when did he allow that in his safe space? Instead he smiles weakly.
"Look, kid, I'm sorry. I wasn't tryna give littles a crisis today. I just..." She rubs a hand over her face. "Whatever."
She turns to go. "Wait! Wait wait wait..." He runs after her and he hears her exhale, perhaps a huff or a laugh or a snarl.
"Did you know that capybaras are the world's largest rodent and their teeth never stop growing? They're also very strong swimmers and basically unkillable."
She gazes up at the ceiling. "No. No, I did know that."
He hesitates, wanting to pat her shoulder but not wanting to invade her space. He gives her a cheery little thumbs-up.
"Now ya know. And if you ever want to talk about feminism, I'm all yours. Your feelings matter, yeah?"
She smiles bitterly. "Yeah."
With that, she's gone, leaving Rat alone with the lingering presence of death and the startling closeness of fear, something he's never known before and doesn't know what to do with.
...
Enzo Oivers, 17, District Five (He/Him)
If Enzo closes his eyes very tightly and shuts out the world, he can almost remember. Or perhaps it's just a picture, but his memory has always been immaculate. And there's something comforting about the idea that maybe if he focuses deeply enough, something will come to the surface.
The day must have been rainy, dreary and full of shadows. If he squints, he can make out baby Enzo, fragile and small, likely around six or seven pounds. Draped in a blue blanket and nestled in a basket which hung from the hands of someone... someone mysterious and faceless and voiceless. The harder Enzo tries to concentrate, the more blurry the figure becomes. Perhaps his guardian was cold and hungry, and could not provide for Enzo. Perhaps there had been a mistake, some kind of tragic accident, and it would have been easier to forget.
It was so simple to vanish without a trace and leave someone behind. Enzo wasn't old enough to track fingerprints or footsteps, unfortunately enough. And no one cared, no one thought to wonder. He was just another forsaken child in the sea of nothingness.
His bouncing ball makes a soft thud as it ricochets between his palms. He watches as Sera talks with their Mentor, Rima, asking him a million questions.
"See, I was just thinking about the logistics of Capitol surveillance and how they have cameras everywhere and—actually, what are most Arenas composed of, statistically?"
He's been doing the calculations in his head. Not for the Arenas, of course—he can't access anything before last year. But he's been analyzing the odds. It's therapeutic to sort through the numbers. He can feel the tension of his furrowed brow as he tries, simultaneously, to banish the memories and also to pull them closer.
"Sera." His voice is too soft and low to break Sera's intense fixation and Rima's indulgent answers.
"Sera."
It's suddenly very important that he solve something, and seeing as the train car is woefully bereft—and the jewelry thieving case left unsolved—Sera is at the forefront of his mind.
He can't puzzle out why she'd want to Volunteer. And how they could possibly be thrown into the Games together. But he can't say he's upset about it—the odds of them succeeding will be much higher.
(Not them. Just... just one of them. Her or him, not both. How could he forget?)
"Sera." His ball bounces over the table and skids to a stop against Sera's hand. She glances over at him.
"Oh, hello. Mr. Raevsky, this is Enzo. We'll be allying—we've been detective partners for a year."
He glances disinterestedly at Rima, who is watching him curiously. He wants to talk to Sera and is a bit perplexed by this outside observer.
"Hello," says Rima. "Have you thought about the Games yet?"
Enzo glances at Sera, mildly distressed, though he'd never divulge it. She just shrugs and gestures encouragingly. He sighs.
Now that his ball has been relocated, Enzo finds himself idly fiddling with his hair. "Yes. I have calculated everything in the span of—" He glances at the clock, "—sixty-one minutes and have discerned that the odds of me winning will increase by 30.3% if I make allies and that there is a 48% chance the Arena will be outdoor this year. Also, seeing as District Five has not had a Victor in some time, odds are that we may have a higher intrigue from the Capitol and a greater chance at taking others by surprise."
Enzo frowns as Rima seems to smile, just a little. "Quite the solid head on your shoulders."
He glances away from Rima. "I know."
Obviously, he has a solid head on his shoulders—well, technically, he didn't in his first year of life since his skull wasn't fully molded. He quickly resolves not to trust Rima.
Rima smiles at him—for some reason—and suddenly Enzo remembers a question he's been meaning to ask. He gives Sera a warning look.
"Do you happen to know Blade Cassidy?" He says, very quickly.
Rima smiles wider. "Matter of fact, I do."
Enzo does not miss Sera's stifled laughter. She looks at him and mouths, "Fanboy."
He pointedly ignores her. "I have been following his case for several years." Sera nods for him to continue, but he suddenly remembers how much he dislikes talking to people. "He interests me," he finishes lamely.
"I could introduce you, if he's not too busy," says Rima. "You must understand, he's had a rough go and isn't the most... well, he doesn't meet many new people."
Why would that be a problem? He watches Rima quizzically, lost for words, until Sera pipes up.
"Could you just... give us a minute?" Sera says quickly. "We need to strategize."
Rima blinks and nods. "Yeah, of course."
As soon as he's gone, Sera smiles weakly. "What did you need, partner?"
He watches her skeptically. "Why would you do such a foolish thing as to Volunteer?"
She gets that fierce, far-off look in her eyes, the one he's begun to associate with the murder of the Velascos, her parents. "I know we thought we caught the killer."
"We did." Enzo reaches forward and motions for the bouncy ball, which she tosses to him, giving him a brief smile.
"We caught someone—I can give you that. But it might not have been—it just doesn't feel right."
He wants to tell her that it doesn't matter how she feels—these are cold, hard facts. Everything is settled—it shouldn't plague her so much.
But he'd feel like a hypocrite. Not that it matters, but Sera is pleasant and good and not at all deserving of being scolded—at least, not most of the time. Besides, Enzo knows all about parents and the emptiness they leave behind, like losing a tooth and forgetting that it's gone and searching for it over and over, even though you know it will never be the same. A kind of desperate, childish hope that transcends logic and cannot be explained away.
If you were to ask him about his parents, he'd say he doesn't care without missing a beat. But their absence leaves an undefinable ache. There's something so staggeringly wrong about feeling unknown.
"And what are you hoping to achieve?" Enzo asks, tossing the ball to Sera. They bounce it meditatively between each other's hands, back and forth. A tentative truce.
"I could find the real answer in the Capitol," she whispers. "I could finally understand, once and for all. I think the culprit was wrongly accused, Enzo. I think we've got it all wrong, but there's no way to know unless I come to the Capitol."
"I see." He gazes into space again, missing Sera's throw and listening to the bouncy ball skitter away.
"I'm sorry for going against the plan." Her voice is soft and earnest. "But will you help me?"
He glances back at her. "What have I told you about unnecessary questions?" He doesn't really feel the need to smile, but he bends and tosses the ball back to her, feeling a fondness for Sera that spreads through his chest and silences the futility of memories. "Most especially ones you know the answer to."
She grins at him—Sera has never had reservations about showing her emotions in full force. "Is that a yes?"
He raises his eyebrows. "Don't make me say it."
(It's hard, sometimes, for him to express appreciation for Sera, and sometimes he wonders if all the love that was robbed from him in the orphanage caused him to forget what it was. But then he reminds himself that, just as all puzzles have slightly different mechanisms, so do humans—as difficult as that is to wrap his head around. And he doesn't fault puzzles for their unique machinery or their scattered pieces. To do so for himself is highly illogical.
Besides, it's not hard to doubt his fondness for Sera in these moments, as he remembers their friendship—stark and bright against the backdrop of his abandonment and the trail gone cold.)
"Thank you." Sera grows serious again. "I doubt the case will take long to crack—not with our combined forces."
They'd be unstoppable. Still, he can't help but be a little pensive.
If only all cases could be so easily tackled.
...
Blade Cassidy, 19, District Six Mentor
Loath as he is to admit it, Blade has no earthly idea what he's doing.
What cruel irony, that he can defend himself without flinching and end someone's life without a sound—though the thought sends nausea through his stomach even still. But as he's confronted with the daunting task of priming two children for a Games he can barely escape, he's worried. Even afraid.
After losing his parents and his best friend, carrying the weight of his sins on his back, and balancing the delicate beginnings of a revolution, one would think he'd be ready for anything. And yet he's still pacing the length of the dining car and forgetting what it is to be normal. To coax back the shadows of all he's lost and attempt a semblance of calm. The scar from the gunshot wound, recompense for his disastrous attempt at killing the President, pulses in rhythm with his frantic breathing.
It's all in his head, this fragile phantom of who he was and what the Games brought out in him. But something about watching two children undergo the same tragedy—and even encouraging them to follow in his bloodied footsteps—feels entirely wrong. He breathes the way he used to on the street, when the nights had no end and his targets were only shadows—in, out, in. It brings everything back into focus, and suddenly he feels so utterly ridiculous.
Out the window, Six comes into view and the train settles into the station. He's alone but for his interpreter. Melinda is stationed in Four, filling in the gaps of their patchwork influence. They need all the eyes they can get, especially when there's so few of them. And Blade has never minded being alone, but he's starting to wonder if he's going crazy.
What is he supposed to do with them, exactly? Yes, he knows that the end goal is for one of them to win. But he wouldn't wish such a burden on anyone—as sad as it sounds, he wonders if dying early would be more of a mercy for these kids. But he's tried to stay away from such dark thoughts lately, something about recovery and healing and coming to terms with it all.
Still... how could they expect him, of all people, to do such a job? Blade, who made an attempt on the President's life and was nearly executed for it, a secret which still burns a hole through the fabric of his existence. And beyond that, he has no idea what to do with children, never mind that he was one not so long ago. The first real friend he made was a glum, mournful boy who dwelt in darkness, and they'd bonded through matching injuries and—
And it still burns like cold iron to think of him. Some days, it's gentle to remember, but today Blade can hardly bear it.
Anyhow, if he made friends with—with Alessio... then surely he can handle two kids, right? Even if the position is ill-fated and frankly absurd.
All this to say, he's been through far worse, and he feels silly getting so worked up. It should go perfectly well, as long as they're not too—
"Hi!"
A girl bursts into the train car, her curls puffing out like a halo around her sun-kissed face. Her fingers fidget at her sides and she grins broadly at Blade as she rapidly crosses the car to the seat beside him. "Can I sit here? Thanks so much!"
She plops herself beside him and leans back like it's a luxury four-poster instead of an upright chair. And she's awfully close... Blade inches away, already planning an escape route. He could leap across the table and run down the hallway, barricade the door and find the emergency lever, they wouldn't be able to stop him...
Right. He's not that boy anymore. It's a sad medley of loss and relief. He tries to remember what the normal response is, falling into the easy mask he wore back in Six in his daytime hours.
"Hello... you must be S..." Too late, he realizes that he can't remember her name.
"It's chill!" She tosses back her curls. "Scout! And you're Blade!"
She leans closer and he eases back. "I've been waiting to meet you! You've been so cool to watch. Can I give you a hug?"
He holds up his hands instinctively, a surprising rush of terror making him jumpy.
"Sorry, sorry, of course..." She leans back and gives him a bright smile. "I didn't mean to be invasive. People say I come off a little strong sometimes. And to that I say, 'that's your problem!'" She juts out her hip defiantly. "But not with you, obviously. What am I doing? You're supposed to be giving me advice, right?"
Blade just stares at her for a minute, briefly overwhelmed. What possible advice could he give to this girl with sunshine bursting from her fingertips and fire glinting in her gaze? He could tell her what not to do—killing the President is certainly off the table, as well as sleeping without taking shifts and forgetting that humanity is stitched in contradictions, especially where you least expect it. He lifts his hands and then lets them fall again. Surely something this simple can't have him frozen. That would be ridiculous.
"Good grief, Scout, you're fast."
Like a parachute dropped from the sky, the Six boy enters at the last moment, liberating Blade from the awkwardness. He strides across the room and seats himself across from Blade, his sky-blue eyes brimming with feeling.
"I thought I'd lost you!"
He leans back as well, like this isn't causing him any stress whatsoever, though if Blade looks closely, he can see the frantic light sparking in the boy's eyes.
"Your fault you're not as fast as me." Scout flicks his arm nonchalantly as she leans forward and snags a cookie from the plate.
"That's literally false, I could've beaten you but I was—Oh. Hello."
He seems to notice Blade for the first time, hands folded stoically in his lap as he convinces himself that this is completely fine. Their eyes meet for a moment, and there's this peculiar kind of pull in Blade's chest, like one of those moments that feels commonplace but lingers with the unusual weight of significance.
Blade blinks. He nods to the other boy. What's his name... Conrad? Blade scolds himself—obviously his mind has gotten lax over the months.
"Are you Blade Cassidy?" The Six boy leans forward, looking intrigued.
Blade nods. "Were you expecting something else?"
"I guess not." He shrugs, grabbing a slice of watermelon. "You just seem so... normal."
Blade laughs humorlessly. "Oh, do I?"
The boy's eyes flit away as he plays with his hair. "Mmm. You're so calm."
"Not on the inside. Trust me. I guess I should ask your name?"
"Concorde!" The boy smiles at him, but there's an undercurrent of steel to it, a strength in his movements. Maybe he's not hopeless after all.
He can't decide whether that's a good or bad thing. The space the Games inhabit in his mind is too cramped to fit another Victor. That's awful, isn't it? He's already messing up, but Concorde doesn't seem to mind.
Concorde stands and begins to play with the lights. On. Off. On again.
"You'll start a fire," Blade signs absently, not looking up.
"Really?" Scout bounces around the room. "Can I try?"
"Um..." Blade shrugs. "The Capitol would probably notice. And if they don't come in time, we'd probably burn. But it's a nice idea." He'd like to see the Capitol's velvet upholstery in charred ruins.
"Nah, I can't die yet." Concorde slumps down against the seat, looking thoughtful. "I've got a baby to come back to."
Blade looks up sharply. "What?"
Concorde smiles sadly, and there's this glaze in his eyes as he twists his fingers together... Blade pulls himself free of the memories. "My girlfriend is pregnant. Everything was going to be perfect. And then... what?"
Blade blinks. "What?"
"You're staring at me." He looks at Blade with fierce challenge in his gaze. "Something on my face?"
Scout has disappeared somewhere, so it's just them in this room that suddenly feels full of ghosts. Blade remembers a boy in love, framed by snatches of sunshine and struggling with the heartache of what might have been. It feels like the story is being retold before his eyes. He's not sure if he's ready for it to begin again.
But there's something beautiful in it, too—in the half-smile on Concorde's face, that familiar dreamy gaze...
He shakes his head. "Nothing. You... remind me of someone. That's all."
He blinks away the deja vu, rubbing his temples.
It's just a trick of the light. Still, the memories stay with them through the remainder of the train ride, and for once Blade does not want to forget.
Pandora Roche, 12, District Ten (She/Her)
There is so much wonder outside of her window.
It's almost like home; she can press her nose against the glass and open her eyes really wide and everything is moving, fast as lightning, but if she really looks... she can pick it all out. The storybook villages look so cute and quaint at this speed, like the world is taking flight. And Pandora wants to fly, so badly. Has wanted to for a long time.
Yes, it's almost like home... but not quite. Because Amity and Althea aren't here, they can't gawk and point out the oversized clouds like she's doing now. Her vision blurs with tears and she has to look away, has to remember to breathe.
Why can't they be with her? She's never been so confused.
(Except when... but she doesn't think about that.)
When they called her name, Pandora saw something in Althea fold and crumble, like the princess Samira whose father was lost in the woods. And if Thea is worried, Pandora is worried, she's afraid and she misses them so much already. Once, Pandora had longed for the world. Now, it's too big for her to hold, and soon it will swallow her up.
She's never been so lost. Not since...
(Pandora had hoped her mother would reappear to say goodbye. Even Papa had been there, though he hadn't said much. His eyes were all sad and blurry.)
Where is Mama? Why hasn't she come back?
"Hello..."
Pandora sniffles, realizing her face is all wet. She looks up to find a boy looking down at her. "Mind if I..." He gestures at the hallway, where she's sitting criss-cross apple-sauce. "I think this is my room."
"Oh, gosh! Sorry." She pulls herself up, hoping to smile again, but the tears just keep coming. "This was the perfect spot for spying. Wanna see?"
He looks at her all scrunchy-eyed, the way Thea looks when she's reading an important paper. Pandora turns fully to face him. "Your eyes look like Petunia's."
The boy blinks. "Whose? Don't tell me you're comparing me to a flower."
"No, silly!" Pandora finds herself giggling through her tears. "Petunia, one of my cows. She has these really nice brown eyes that look just like yours..."
She never got to say goodbye to all her animal friends. She squeezed Amity in the biggest hug, and she watched as Althea pretended to be happy, but all her friends were left behind.
("Why can't you all come with me?" she'd whispered. "And maybe Mama could be there too..."
But Thea had only shaken her head and sighed like the wind through the willows. And Pandora had known that she could take no one with her. That she would not be coming home for a long time. Why would Althea have tried not to cry otherwise? Why would the sky have looked so sad?)
The boy with Petunia's eyes keeps squinting at her as she starts to cry again, feeling the tears slip down her cheeks like a storm that never stops.
(When will the sun come out again?)
"Hey..." The other boy steps closer. "You want some cake or something?"
She sniffs. "C-cake?"
"Yeah... the Capitol really loves to give us all cavities before we—" He cuts off quickly and frowns.
Pandora blinks at him. "The Capitol does have dentists, right? And I've never had a cavity."
The boy gives her that paper-thin smile she knows so well, as easily dissolved and airy as cotton candy. The smile that never really lasts at all. "You're all set, then."
"Are you grumpy? You look grumpy!"
His expression grows stormy again. "That's one word for it." His voice has gone all gravelly, and it scares Pandora a little.
"Why?" She peeks up at him, concerned.
"I... I lost my sister," he whispers, after a very long pause.
Pandora takes his hand. "My mama's lost, too. But I'm gonna find her. Maybe I can help you find your sister!"
His face is a swirl of colors, so confused she can hardly stand to look at it. It reminds her of a long, cold night in the barn, where she slept four years ago. Her sister told her not to look, not to listen, just to sleep. She was going to get a baby sister, but it was very important that she not disturb Mama.
She remembers plugging her ears while Mama screamed. Another tiny voice took her place, but never did they exist in the same moment. Always, they were apart. Mama's scream, gone, and Amity's, everlasting.
The boy keeps staring at her. "I'm not going to find her, kid." His voice is very gentle, so much it hurts.
"Yes!" Pandora stomps her foot. "People who are lost can always be found! That's what my book says, and books don't lie! We just have to believe, and never give up..."
The boy begins to step back, very carefully. He looks upset.
"We'll find them! Don't you believe me? We'll find them, and everything will be beautiful. Everything that leaves can always come back..."
The boy gives her a smile, very brittle. Then he turns and steps down the hallway, silent as falling leaves.
Pandora listens and tries to forget. She can't. It's harder this time, because it hurts to see the boy hurting. And it hurts to remember her older sister cracking, and the seasons dying, and her mother always wandering.
Things will clear up. They always do. Pandora has only to wait. And try to keep believing. As long as she keeps looking, keeps hoping, nothing bad can ever happen.
...
Doubt Comes In- Hadestown
How many times have I quoted Hadestown now in fics? Is anyone keeping track? I've lost count lol! Anyway, heyy everyone! Happy early Valentine's Day! Your present is some lovely little interactions, you're welcome haha! Seriously I love all of you guys, just in case you didn't know! I thought it fitting to post Chapter 13 on the 13th, especially since it's Rat's lucky number lol! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, sorry it was a little long! It took a bit longer to get across what I wanted but I guess that's how it goes! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed nonetheless! I don't have much to say this time, other than to thank you all as always! See you next time with the Parade, where we will visit Ava, Flint, Sammy and Nylon! Love you allll! Have a lovely day,
Miri