My Cup Overfloweth [D'Arcy x Florentine, Day 5]

the kid sprints fuelled by abject fear. there is a part of me that is glad to run after her, shackled to her by the ritual we are about to perform: it is an excuse to let the nervous energy that bites at my own ankles take over. the people in the room behind us have kept their shaky, fragile vows; the only ones who have attempted to cross me are a man made of stone who is no longer solid and a little girl who poses no real threat -- she is just scared, just needs somebody to treat her as though she is braver than she is. she is not unlike a girl i used to know - quick to lash out, doubling down when provoked, a fine line between what she shows the world and what is really there. 

the others, though, the ones who did not cross their swords with mine today, they are the ones i am afraid of. we balance on a tightrope of trust and well-wishes that we all know cannot continue. for today, it could; thompson and pearl bore the brunt of this collective fever, but there will be a tipping point, in which fake friendship reaches terminal velocity, and something snaps. i always intended to snap first - after all, it was my intentions that were supposed to be the most thinly veiled, the allyship just a cover for the work i wanted to do. each day, though, i make an excuse to myself that delays the inevitable: tomorrow, i will gut andromache, rip her innards from her body and write her name in the sand with them, tomorrow, i will remove eulalie's head, complete with its permanently fixated crown, topple her like she toppled the stone knight, only, she will not have the audacity to bend down and pick it up again. it will be over, then. tomorrow. i am starting to think that my lies even extend to the stories i tell myself. 

d'arcy, though, does not seem to break promises. she is a better person than i, undoubtedly, protesting even before i have spoken: okay, let me catch my breath, and then i'll drink it. otherwise, i'll choke. i don't want her to choke. in fact, i'd quite like her to win the whole thing, sit upon the throne at the end of all this, making a mockery of the baubles and tassels and training that the career districts bestowed upon their tributes -- what greater embarrassment would there be, for this sweet and tiny thing to make it home at their expense? 

she's tamed a horse with wings. it's a classic fairy-princess move. while the rest of them have dragons - horrible, gnarled, violent things with harsh scales - she has coaxed a creature that brims with shimmering magic dust, dances right out of the pages of a fairytale and whispers pretty little secrets in her ear. i smile as she speaks to it as though it understands. of course, the pets of all little girls hear a great deal of very important things. even percival cannot make me forget the potion still quivering in her hand, though. 

alright, i'm ready, breathes d'arcy, gathering up what is clearly all of her courage to take a sip. of course, she stands in an impossible place; quite literally between a stone wall and a monster. 

you're very brave, i tell her, quietly, hoping that the cameras do not catch it. i am supposed to be here to threaten her, not boost her ego, but i can't quite help myself. 

all done, i did it, she says, her face plastered with her pride. 

i watch her for a long moment to see if she doubles over in pain or starts frothing at the mouth. she doesn't, rather, she smiles at me warmly. she doesn't even seem afraid that i'm about to kill her, anymore. 

fuck it, then, i say, raising my own chalice to the sky. cheers, to hearts that can turn to stone and then back again. 

i clink my full cup against her empty one, and take a sip that is almost, but not quite, as brave as d'arcy mason. 


[flo drinks the cure]

_[DARS]