||Icicles||In||My||Heart||{Wolfe Family}

This is the way the nightmare continues. This is the part where I can't wake up. This is the part where everything I love dies, because I don't deserve to have any of it. I'm a terrible person...right? That's why its happening again and there's nothing that I can do about it."Watching the games had been heart-wrenching from the very moment her two youngest children had been reaped. How was that fair? How was it right? Why hadn't her other boy tried to save her darling Bran? For crying out loud, the boy didn't have the use of his legs. Why had they been chosen? Rajas and Sarita had had a far greater chance of being reaped and yet it was her babies that would be paying the price. This is not to say she would have rathered her older two children get reaped, but that she felt that either of them had a much better chance than..than...someone like Bran. Aria perhaps, had a better chance at survival. The day of the bloodbath, Caroline's stomach was in knots, though the only way to discern any discomfort was by the way her fingers clenched the arms of the chair she always sat it.

She had tried so hard with so few words to impart some kind of wisdom to them both before she was bereft of them forever. Find allies, stick with them, keep your brother safe, don't trust the careers. Her face remained stony, and she said not a word as the bell sounded and she watched twenty-three of the tributes sprint into action on-screen. The twenty-fourth on the other hand... Perhaps it was a boon that he was so close to the ground. Most of the tributes appeared to be ignoring him as they hacked and slashed away at each other. The ground was soon littered with body parts and blood, and when the first canon sounded, her heart leaped up into her mouth. But no, as the shocked commentator explained that the first to perish that day was career from district two, she regained her false calm for a few more minutes. Each pound of the canon was like a knife in her heart, but as the carnage continued, she could see that none of the boys that fell belonged to her. Five dead in the initial battle, but from two, three, four, six and eleven.

Not hers. Never hers.

She almost lost her composure when a group of surly looking tributes decided to go after her children, restraining herself just long enough to witness a group of careers come their aid, killing a female attacker and driving the rest away, their leader, the fierce Dempsey girl seethed that Aria now owed her for her act of charity. That group of careers went on to hunt down two other unlucky tributes before the day ended, but that was not what concerned her. Aria had always been a willful child, but to disobey both of the rules her mother had tried to give her during the first day of the games? Not only had she begun to cozy up with the careers that she had warned her not to trust, but...

She. Left. Her. Brother. Behind.

How could she do such a thing? Friends didn't always last but family was forever. How could you do this us Aria? Why?

A total of eight children perished that first day, a third of the tributes in the arena, but numbered among them her children were not. But she would not sleep that night, not after her daughter had cast her helpless brother to the ravenous lions the way that she had. Dark circles ringed her eyes as she had prepared breakfast the morning of the second day, she had not even the presence of mind to be mad at Johanne. How could she focus on old bitterness when so much was at stake? Though to be honest, she had barely spoken a word to any of her children, if but to remind them not to let Ricky see any of the things happening on-screen. She would rotate them every hour or so, each of them would have to tear themselves away from the screen and play with Ricky upstairs, to keep the six year old away from what he would never need to see, and never understand.

Aria seemed to integrate fairly well with the career pack, perhaps too well. Where was the bright-eyed little girl that played with sticks? This daughter helped six other tributes to kill one, before scampering off into the dark of the underside of the arena. The fight was over almost as soon as it had began, much to her relief and to the dismay of one Claudius Templesmith. Apparently, with that many tributes in one area, they had been hoping for more than a single canon. For Bran, a pair of vicious animals had begun to attack him and his allies, the girl from five and both tributes from seven. Her son surprised her by striking the first blow, not against a creature, but against the five, screaming that she and his sister had abandoned him and that she was not to be trusted. Caroline's heartstrings tugged for the boy, surrounded by people and yet still so alone. But the boy from seven, Curtis, damaged as he had been the previous day, sought to champion him. Most tributes with missing limbs did not make it past the bloodbath, but not only did this boy survive, he agreed with her son and killed the girl, before boosting Bran onto his back and running away from the muttations.

The Grant lad's actions were surprising but welcome. He had to reason to cart her boy around, he owed him nothing and it only slowed him down. From a logical standpoint, it made little sense, unless he simply believed in doing the right thing. Was that too much to hope for? Caroline didn't think so. If Aria was content to run away and play career, then anyone that deigned to show kindness to her helpless child was a fine person to have in his vicinity indeed. She would rest a little easier that night, if only for a few scant hours. The saying went that time flew when you were having fun, but Carol had long since discovered that it slipped through your fingers faster than sand when you were anxious about something coming to pass. Whether it did or not made no difference. Time seemed to be expedited all the same.

The morning of the third day, she had not even bothered to make breakfast, simply pulling all of the food out and ignoring everything else, making a beeline for the screen and gritting her teeth in anxiety. Every tribute this day was hounded by abominations of nature, one of her children facing off against a monstrosity, and the other becoming stuck in the grasp of a convincing facsimile of the fifty-seventh hunger games victor, Heron Kimberling. These fearsome birds ignored him, but pecked relentlessly at his protectors, the children from seven, one as silent as the grave, and the other a motormouth with words for every occasion. The fowls were slain in record time, but after Bran had been freed from the statues stony grasp, his allies seemed to weaken, stumbling dizzily as if suddenly exhausted. The commentator announced that both of seven's tributes had been poisoned, and that unless sponsors could come up with the money for vials of anti-venom, the little Wolfe cub would be left all alone in the world.

As advertisements for various Capitol organizations and products began to fill the screen, Caroline had hurriedly made her way to the bathroom to check upon the state of her face. She was a total wreck, blush faded, mascara leaking, and eyes beginning to look bloodshot. It took several minutes, but she managed to pull herself into a somewhat more presentable manner. Slipping on a pair of shoes, she had told Rajas to prepare dinner while she went out to take care of some business. It was a long walk to her destination, made to feel longer still by the chill in the air, but she did arrive at the place where money was sponsored or bet concerning the tributes. It was here that she donated her entire paycheck towards the pair from seven. it was but a drop in the grand scheme of things, but every little bit helped, and even a single snowflake could mean the difference between a snow mound and an avalanche.

Imagine the respite she found in watching not one, but both of district seven's tributes cheat death that night. And yet, dark thoughts lurked in the back of her mind, chief among them the disconcerting grin the announcer had adopted before saying that with the lack of cannons today, tomorrow was sure to be interesting. But besides that, she had either begun to perceive or imagine the looks that each of her children had begun to shoot at her. Perhaps it was nothing, or perhaps it was the fact that she had started to seclude herself from the rest of her family. It was the nagging reality that she was not being there to comfort them or simply be there at all. She knew she was being selfish, but maybe she was sparing them her own grief by letting them deal with their own on their own. A half-hearted life she told herself that didn't make her feel any better at all, nor could a restful sleep find her, knowing that every parent that lost a child improved her own childrens chances was enough to keep her awake for several hours, and that wasn't counting the anxiety that arose from a thousand macabre images in her head, each leaving a hole in her family that could never be repaired.

But it had been much the same for her almost two decades ago, when cruel fate had decided her brother was meant to perish in the arena. Her parents had never been the quite the same after Branden had died at the hands of a career. Was it wrong of her to bless one of her children with a derivative of her brothers name? Had she unwittingly cursed her son? Her own mother had become a shell of her former self, slowly wasting away as she subsisted on nothing but hard drink and harder words. Carol refused to let that happen to her. If seclusion was the only way to ensure that her words didn't get the best of her, then it would have to suffice, as meager a placebo as it may have been. It wasn't until the first creaks sounded on the floorboards outside her door that she realized that she had fretted the entire night away, and that the cameras would be whirring into action even now.

But Bran was safe. Even though one of allies had left during the night and gotten killed, He and his remaining protector wandered an area in safety as an odorless and colorless gas referred to as The Morpheus Strain was pumped into sections of the arena, causing most of the tributes to have delusions and hallucinations. Why they were doing this wasn't apparent until the first blow was struck. In this state, the tributes were unable to differentiate between friend and foe, and in some cases, even attacked themselves. Aria screamed and sobbed, shouting and wielding her weapon most imprecisely. Carol heard names that she knew come forth out of her daughters mouth, which almost caused her to start tearing up. Almost. The proud Dempsey girl died in that fight, ending out the day with the small amount of three canons. The fifth day had been the worst for her, her hair had begun to look unkempt and she had not been taking care of her appearance at all. But she couldn't care about that, not when through a ploy of the Gamemakers, her child was left alone to face three vile vixens while Curtis pondered how exactly he had wound up an area way from his foes and his friend.

However ,they had turned upon the one Curtis had weakened after his inexplicable disappearance, even deciding to leave her son with a few supplies. Their reasoning she could only guess at, but as the number of remaining tributes continued to shrink, she guessed that everyone still left was finding themselves in need of a look at their individual morality if not their very mortality. She would not have to fret the following day. Aria and her careers found Bran, but they also found a massive creature that took their combined efforts to bring down. Curtis had found his way back to Bran as well, only staying around long enough to grab Bran and flee as the careers attempted to slay him. Always one step ahead, this tribute was. But once more, not a single tribute died, leading Caroline to fret about the Morpheus Strain making a comeback, perhaps this time to turn Curtis against Bran.

But a different gas was pumped into the arena on the seventh day, marking an entire two weeks since her two children had been whisked away by the Capitol. It blinded and choked the tributes, forcing them to run around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off, driving them all to the foreboding area labeled Tartarus. Cold apprehension gripped her once more as Curtis dropped Bran and though fumbling for him, was unable to find in the smoke. Bran would a majority of the day held captive by a strange form of mutt, leaving him completely safe. Aria, on the other hand, had to face the only remaining vixen from the three that had accosted bran two days hence. She felt a growing sadness intertwined with a grim sort of satisfactory pride as her daughter whittled the tribute from eleven down to nothing. Aria could fight. A stifled shriek had erupted from her throat before she clamped a hand down on her mouth as Aria lost that very limb on the screen. A hundred things that she Aria had done as a child flashed through her mind as she realized her daughter was now unable to do most of them.

Another cause for sadness had been the demise of her son's champion Curtis. He had faced off against a crazy girl from district six (How very often the tributes from that place had something wrong with them) and though jabbing at her with both his sword, and his unerring sense of humor, the stitched lipped girl had broken his skull with her devious looking weapon, sending him flying off his feet and onto the floor. She rummaged through his stuff and departed, but the fact the canon had not sounded told Caroline that Curtis still lived, though likely not for much longer. An hour or two passed, and a camera showed Bran escape from the beast and crawl aimlessly around the pit until he spied the prone form of the boy from seven. How her heart ached for son then, as he cradled the brutalized head of his only friend, sharing a last conversation before the older boy's spirit shed the mortal coil. Bran wept openly, and Caroline had to retreat back to her room to avoid joining her son in a teary fountain of her own in front of the rest of her children.

The eighth day had been abnormally cold, as if the blankets she used could not warm her in the slightest. As cold as her heart some would say. There were only five tributes left in the arena now. One last career, the girl who had slain Curtis, both of her children, and a boy from the other neighboring district. It was nothing less than astonishing that both of them had made it this far. Their odds had not been good seven days ago, but just look at them now. Caroline had long since abandoned the pretense of attempting to make meals, leaving that for Rajas or Sarita to attend to for Jon and Ricky. She herself had barely eaten a thing during the week, and she had begun to look rather gaunt, especially as she hadn't changed out of her thin nightgown in four days, nor slept in three. The first fight that occurred ended in the death of the stitched girl, Drummond severing her head in a single blow, and thus ending another threat to her children. Caroline let out a shiver of relief. She had been most worried about Naveen seeking out Bran and ending him as well. One could never tell about the ones from six. There always seemed to be a cannibal among them every few years or so.

The cameras panned to Bran aimlessly moving about as both his sister and the career came into view. She breathed easy once more. With both her children together again, they could hope to make a stand against the career. How good it was that Bran did not come across the Drummond boy. How fortuitous. And Aria had proven herself a capable fighter the previous day.

The room exploded.

Her illusion quickly shattered as among the cries of her family she witnessed Aria bring down her sword, not on the career, but on her little brother's useless leg, severing it from the knee as her partner moved in and sliced the foot on his remaining leg clean off.


No.

No.

NO.



Frozen to her chair, she watched mutely as they both continued to hack away at Bran, he himself, weakly stabbing at the other boy, refusing to harm his sister even as she spilled more and more of his precious blood onto the obsidian tinted ground. She struck again and again, her eyes wild but haunted as she drew her blade back. Bran started towards her weakly, but bleeding as profusely as he was, simply collapsed to ground. Caroline's heart began to beat faster than a hummingbirds wings as Aria and the career examined him. The canon that fired then was a heartbeat, fluttering and then stilled, it seemed to echo throughout the room, the house, her mind as the announced the names of the final three tributes.


She made sort of a squeaking sound as she fled the room, eyes brimming with tears as she pounded up the stairs, throwing herself into her bedroom and slamming the door shut, locking it even as she sunk to her knees, resting her head upon the frame.


Be strong. Be strong. BE strong. Your children need you. Don't, don't let them see. Don't let them see. Oh Ed, why did you have to leave me? Ed, ed, ED. Bran. Aria, Bran, Aria. My BABIES!

The sobs began then, huge heaving sighs that constricted her chest as though she had forgotten to breath. Her daughter had just slain her son. Her little brother. The one she was supposed to protect. A cry of anguish escaped her lips as she knelt with her head in her hands, trying to will herself not to feel it, to lock it away the way she had done ever since her husband had died.
But how could she? As all the ice she had carefully layered around herself over the years had melted away, it was impossible not to drown.