Judging Books by Covers [D'Arcy x Kristof]
Sept 28, 2024 22:04:57 GMT -5
Post by D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] on Sept 28, 2024 22:04:57 GMT -5
It was the most beautiful place D'Arcy had ever seen. Rows upon rows of books, going up stories through the elegant room. The staircases spiraling their way up to extra levels of imposing shelves all filled with more books than she could've ever imagined before. Just stepping through the threshold into this space felt like D'Arcy had stepped into a dream world where the Games did not exist. Only the sight of the other tributes milling about between shelves or pouring over a book under the lights of one of the tables could keep her rooted to the reality that awaited her back outside of the entryway.
To D'Arcy this was the best thing to have happened since the Reaping occurred. She had always loved to read, even without the most access to readable materials. She had worked her way through the collection of books that had been available to her at school, from the non-fiction to the fiction, historical to fantasy. She loved to read about magic, and princesses in towers, and valiant heroes. She knew many of the tales of heroism at the hands of the Capitol against the Rebels of the Districts, the destruction of the treacherous District 13, the establishment of the Hunger Games. The idea that it had been a necessity for the heroes to keep the villains at bay had been something D'Arcy has understood, accepted to be fact. Now that she was here, though, surely that couldn't have been right. D'Arcy was no villain, after all. Perhaps the line between fiction and non-fiction was less defined than she had believed.
For the next hour D'Arcy busied herself between the aisles of literature, collecting in her arms any books that seemed promising. Her mother had once told her never to judge a book by its cover, but by D'Arcy's experience a book with an exciting cover had never seemed to disappoint. Already she had picked out a small book covered in a soft green velvet, a large square book with a cover of leather and gold, a mysterious yet well-worn book with a silver butterfly the only item to grace the black of the front cover.
It was on the second floor that she spotted her next find - up on the top shelf, a short little book bound in baby blue, with the signia of a familiar flower lining the spine. A forget-me-not. D'Arcy felt a pang of longing at the sight of it. For the meadow, for mom and dad, for Cecily, for Evvie. For one more night at home, one more home cooked meal, one more chance to build the best bouquet her parents had ever seen. They were things that she had been trying hard to push from her mind until the nighttime, when she didn't have to look tough for anyone else. Only with the safety of the covers of her bed around her would she let the tears fall now. There were no tears this time, though, only a certainty that she needed to have this book in her hands.
The question now was how she might manage to reach it. Even on the tips of her toes, arms stretched out above her as if reaching for the sky, her fingers could only graze the bottom of the spine. How cruel, to have this book of all books placed so far out of reach! She looked around for one of those moving ladders she had seen around, hoping to climb it and claim her prize that way. She could see it down at the far end; in use by one of the older tributes, one of the intimidating ones that made her feel so young and out of place. There was no way she would go over and ask to use the ladder, not a chance. She would just have to wait, she supposed, until the ladder was no longer in use and she could snatch it up herself.
So focused on the Tribute on the ladder, D'Arcy didn't even notice the arm that reached out and wrapped the baby blue treasure in its hand until it was already done. Her heart dropped in her chest. "No, not that book, please! Any book but that one!" she pleaded, turning to face the hand's owner. She hoped they'd understand how important it was to her, how much it would mean to her.
The line between fiction and nonfiction seemed to blur. If they did, she hoped heroes could exist outside of fantasies. She hoped this boy would be one of them.
[WC: 761]