❣ queen of hearts ❣ Cassia / Salome / Rio

Your heart beats loud enough to sound in your ears. The world does not wait for you, still rattling on as boys and girls slam fists into one another. You have chosen your path, body hurled down and over the side of the tiled roof, slipping into a waiting chute. The darkness blocks your vision, but you tuck your arms and legs close together. You have to keep moving. The world spins, and out you come—dropping hard onto a waiting staircase. You steady on hands and knees, dusting off your silver shorts as though now was the time to worry about modesty. Above, the staircases catch your eye. Over and under they weave, opposing the world as it were. You take a step forward. Instead of moving downward, you’re pressing up. A shrimp swims by your face, and you turn to look over across the way.

A metallic mutt whirs into motion, its side illuminated in a pale white glow. There are the faces of the fallen—the boy from one, the victor’s child from five, a girl from nine, and a boy from twelve. You take a breath, unsteady as you are, not because you feel pain for those that have fallen, but that you never had a moment to know any of them. Your heart still beats through your ears, but now your stomach twists and turns. That magic pulsing through your veins in the bloodbath has disappeared, and you are not the brave girl leaping into the unknown. You stand, turning forward and backward, not knowing where to turn. “Molly? Gentian?” Your throat is dry now, and you can barely hear the sound of your voice. You feel your breath grow short and the lump build in your throat.

What makes you think you can do this?

Sampson’s words burrow into your head. Is he watching you now, too frantic to do much of anything? A screech sounds through the insides of the cavernous house, and you cover your mouth to stifle yourself. Would that a blobfish were floating you down to the earth now. You look over a handrailing to spy a set of doors down below, with a window the size of an apple above. Overhead are more floating fish, with upside down doors (or are they right side up?). You close your eyes and let out a cough. Did you think this would be easy, that the world would bend to you as though the good and kind were the worthy?

The sound of footsteps comes from above. There are no voices, only clatters of feet against wood and stone. You step backward (or forward?). Supposing that there was a way out, how would anyone know the difference from where they came? Perhaps it’s Benat watching over you that drives you toward the three circular wooden doors. Was it better to face those that were in pursuit or drag further into the unknown? You take another breath. Even with hands shaking, you’re still not completely undone. You wrench open one and dive into the waiting sunlight.

Perhaps it is the familiarity of the roses, or the sweet scent that fills the air. You are all tears, shedding the skin that had protected you so gracefully in the bloodbath. Here you are not the older sister making pains to take care of little Molly or sweet Gentian. You are not the martyr of district eleven, nor the wise old spirit giving advice to hurt boys with hard luck stories. You are a girl of sixteen. Small, alone, and worst of all—guided only by fear. You press through the rows dripping of roses and avoid all the sculpted bushes (taking careful pains to step away from la chupacabra and the teddy bears). You press on and on, until at last you slide down to your knees. How much easier would it be to cram yourself between the rows and hide until this fear has passed? Yet your stomach still turns, and jumps at the sound of a voice in the garden.

W-who’s there?

You spy the boy from six—Rio? There are so many names, and your head aches trying to remember them all. You let out a muffled cry and it’s then you lock eyes with him. Would he take pity on you? Did you want him to take pity? There could be no love lost for you, dear child. Already four have fallen; their ashes will be scattered before the stars take to the night sky. And yet with his fists raised, his towering form doesn’t press closer. He turns at the sound of another voice, this one giving you a chill down your spine.

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

She’s gorgeous. It’s the first thing that you notice about her—the haunting blue eyes—enough to bore right through you. She is a child of the games, a Shaw, a girl from a family that came so close to victory before it was wrenched away. You know well enough that a name does not serve as an anchor. Iago was no more you than Benat. Still, the shadow of the past would hang overhead, no matter how many years had passed. But what type of life was it to live in the shadow of those that had come before you? You swipe away the drops of tears and mucus that has dribbled down your cheeks.

I don’t want any trouble.

You have been a child. Crying at the thought of having to face another, you had run from danger. Yet even then you did not face the world with strength, instead to find a way to tuck yourself away. Rio was standing before you, though he owed you nothing. Cassiopeia was all fury, ready to do what she had been taught. In truth, it was what you all would do. She was only more honest with the fact that death had to come. A cannon shot sounded to remind each of you that the home was through one another—whether or not you wanted to raise your fists.

“Cassiopeia?” Your heart beats fast as you manage to stand. At your side is a mallet shaped like a long legged pink bird. Are you not the one to push herself to the edge? To stand for others? Somehow the thoughts don’t stop your hands from shaking. You were always the big sister, taking care of others. Now was not the time to play child. “I—I’m here because I thought it was safe. It’s—there’s no one else here. But there’s a lot out there and—I thought…” Did honesty ever work? “I thought I would tuck myself away here, until I found the people I was looking for. And let the rest take care of themselves.” You twist your hands around the shaft of the mallet. Are you bold?

“Why are you here?” As though you didn’t know the answer.

The flowers bleed like the ones in his nightmares. Arms within reach, but he's not strong enough. He's never been strong enough to grab them. Tears used to soak his sleeves as he would cry from the dreams when she passed. The violin playing in the background as he shakes himself off remembering where he was. A Shaw and a Izar staring at each other. The whisper in the back of his mind only adding to his fear and bravery.

No one will remember you.

No one will remember him, even if he was standing before two forces of nature preparing to possibly collide. A wall of emotions on the outskirts of two storms, ready to take blow after blow from either of them. Everything was frozen in that moment as Cassiopeia steps forward with amusement in her eyes. Heart beats ring in his ear. He's been in the same battle time and time again. He's gone through so much already, just not facing someone who was trained to kill him. He's been beaten, broken, and burned time and time again. His job was standing tall. His job was creating something for everyone to love. His job was to deal with frightening people like Cassiopeia, screams and tortuous bouts of anger and jealousy. He's seen it all, as an actor and as the owner of an opera house.

Spurs sound to the beat of his heart, decorative in style, but obnoxiously loud in practice. Surprisingly, he hadn't caught the attention of anyone within the mansion as he snuck around, getting lost. Flowers bleed at the sight before them. Mutts made of leaves daring to scream from his imagination. Salome was scared. He could see it in her. He could see the emotion as she had looked over him. He wasn't a killer. Not yet. Hopefully never. His heart wouldn't let him kill someone like Salome Izar who had thrown a party to celebrate the dead siblings of the past. A low sound threatens to escape his throat, but Cassiopeia smirks as him as she speaks.

A predator ready to strike her prey.

"Easy on cowboy."

The teasing words strike through his body. Hand reaching to his snapback, pulling it off for a second to allow his other hand to run through the dark curly locks. Straightening the snapback to have Jequirity's death staring straight at Cassiopeia. Her looks were frightening, but he wasn't afraid of death like most. He wasn't afraid to fall to the hands of anyone, as he'll be reunited with them all. Zanita. Jequirity. Naveen. Theseus. Glasses move to the top hat resting at the top of her head, the smirk still clearly plastered to her face. Eyes stare at her eyes, unguarded by the glasses protecting Rio and Salome from the terror that the Shaw could cause to the both of them. Her words come forward again like a death's own hand reaching for him. Something in his heart felt like he should listen to Cassiopeia, but he didn't want to. He wanted to take death by the arm and embrace everything that was coming for him. The pain and slow death that he deserves coming to him.

“I think you might be too big for your boots. Plus, I am not here for you.”

She was there for him. Not yet. His own demise would come sooner or later anyways. The grin that sends his brain into flames, screaming for him to run while he still had the chance, but he couldn't. He didn't know why. Cassiopeia was supposed to be frightening to anyone. Unless you had a death wish coming or were someone who could hold their own. He was one of those, but still, he should be afraid of a career who has possibly broken too many bones of others to remember. Atlas Lumiere's name is still burnt upon his tongue like a reminder of the type of careers he's seen. Daria Staite. Asha Lumiere. Careers of names that were to be remembered by the blood they had shed.

No one will remember you. You will die alone. Forgotten by the ones that you claim love you.

Just as quickly as she was at his throat with small words, she follows to Salome who had spoken her end. Confusion stuck upon his skull for a second, until Cassiopeia's words spread like wildfire throughout his body. Why did he volunteer. Why did he sacrafice himself for something that will end in only pain. It's not that he's asking death to take him away. He's accepted the idea of it. He's afraid. Afraid of his own bone and flesh giving up on the life he once had. A life that was rough and had hard cliffs that he fell over, but there had been moments of praise. Moments that he didn't want to vanish. Selfishness was still in his bones. Try and try. He worked to get rid of it, but he can't. Why did he give up? Why is he still fighting? What is there worth fighting for at home? Nothing. Nothing at all. Why was he still fighting the embrace of death? Only time could tell.

Eyes catch his own with a glare.

"Stand your ground, boy. Don't let them hit you."

His father's tactics of standing up to the bullies in his class coming to his mind. It had been such a long time since he's even heard from his father. It's been such a long time since he's even been bullied in school. Once people died around you, it was almost like you had a plague. A virus that could spread to anyone else. Stand your ground. The words ring in his head as he stares back at Cassiopeia, who was speaking. Blonde locks sneaking through the top hat. Blue eyes staring into him. Hands clenched as he was ready to defend himself from a career's cards.

“You better move out of my way in 10 seconds cowboy, then maybe I’ll spare you too. Ten…...Nine….”

A step forward. Eyes closed, he stands tall, fearless of the career who would tear his blood from out of his skin. A grin being the last thing he can see before hands would hold him up in a field of red and purples. The bleeding roses seem to laugh in the garden as he hears himself speak for a second.

No. I won't move..."

The last number falls from her lips, until she falls. Falls into a pit of nothingness and relief washes through his body for a second, but also worry. Worry that she could be injured at the bottom of the opening. Instinct to help washes over him, but even then he can feel the smile Ivar had given him. Why help others when very few have helped him? Ivar had a point. Ivar Hammerfell, the career had a point that struck a chord within his heart. He shouldn't help Cassiopeia Shaw, just like he shouldn't have helped Salome Izar. A sigh escapes his body as he turns back to the raven haired girl. A frown plastered upon his face as he speaks up slowly.

"Sorry for getting in the way, but I think I have somewhere to be. Stay safe, Izar."

And with one final look at the raven haired girl, he steps forward to look in the hole to find the Shaw girl who had just threatened him. Ivar was right, but his instinct was telling him to follow. Just to make sure Cassiopeia was going to be alright. No one deserved to die by falling to their death in a hole that led to nowhere. A deep breath fills his lungs as he thinks of Anarchy when she dropped. His head screams for him to leave, but he can't. He can't leave after seeing someone fall through a hole, even if they were someone as vicious as Cassiopeia Shaw. A person that he shouldn't judge based on the little information that he carried with him.

Figure it out.

And instead of doing it on his own terms, he tragically trips. Arm flying to grasp whatever he can before he falls, but only cuts his arm. A bit of pain fills his arm, but he lets go. Into the darkness of a pit that appear out of nowhere. Figure it out. Anarchy. Cassiopeia. He needed to find them both. Even if Cassiopeia was a monster like the careers he's met before. There was no turning back now, only madness that filled his head with fake logic. Either way, he had made it into the pit falling, like he had done before. Only a thought upon his mind.

Don't be afraid to fall.

[Riordan Einfallen trips into the rabbit hole]