give up my name, take it away, see you again{conrad/catrice}

The bruises on her neck looked like a dead solar system. The devastation began just behind her ear and cascaded across her back, to meet her opposite armpit. Black and purple and blue, it was a raw expression of sheer inhumanity. I have never seen something so disgusting in my entire life. Her denial of it all became so desperate that she couldn't hold back the tears any longer. It was then that I knew I had to come to the party tonight, regardless of my status and place in this world. With every inch of this District twitching at the chance to reject me, I stand little chance of even seeing her, but I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't do something. Not whilst she is tainted with his vile mark.

These four great Devils that stand like sentinels at the entrance, guarding a heavy black door that is enamelled with gold framing and decor. Their diligent gaze flickers from person to person, resting on me for just a moment before they move onto the next bystander. For now, I am just another face in a hot sea of bodies, safe from accusation. I threw together the cleanest and classiest clothes I could find in the lower District - I don't have a lot of friends, but I have enough contacts that could sort me out with something suitable. It's enough to make me look like I belong here, and hopefully enough to get me inside.

A heavy chime resonates through the streets, hanging in the air for a few seconds before another identical clang cuts through the midsummer evening air. I look up, but I cannot see the clock-face. I do not know these streets as well as I would like - I assume it is a few rows down. The entrance behinds to grind open as doormen push back the heavy black wood, and it's as if the whole building exhales, sending me light-headed as the smells of marzipan and party gunpowder waft out into the purple streets.

I drift forwards with the masses, who disperse in various directions as the corridor opens out into a mass ballroom, the like of which I have never seen. Red felt paper and ten-foot tall portraits of bygone ministers cover the walls of this magnificent room. Golden chandeliers crane down from above, illuminating the wretched souls below. On the other side of the room, a confetti canon blasts guests with pink, yellow, and baby blue paper, whilst a grande buffet attracts those who are hungry like flies swarming around a carcass.

The night is young, but the setting is old. Times have changed, these civilised few are just that - Few. District One hasn't seen too many parties like this in times of drought, flooding, and plague. Money is more scare, and those who would once splash are instead saving their money for harder times. These people crave a Victor, that much has been obvious for a fair few years now. The absence of one is like a wedge hammered down in One's society, driving apart these privileged few and the glory-hungry masses. There has always been a divide between families of money and families of honor. I can see things getting livelier the longer we go without a Victor.

And there she is.

My eyes feel swollen as I instantly look her up and down for signs of abuse. There was a time where I would have said she was beautiful, this girl before me who took me in off the streets and kept me alive. An angel in both appearance and character. Now when I look at her, I'm filled with striking concern for her health - not because she looks unhealthy, but because she looks fine. He hides the damage, I fucking know he does, the scumbag. When I look at Catrice, I only wonder where she is hurting.

It's like a chemical reaction starts inside of me, flicking like a fire that I am struggling to keep under wraps. I start to sweat in the sticky summer heat, turning away from Catrice and heading towards a table stacked with bottles of alcohol. I reach for a napkin to dab away the beads of sweat beginning to form on my brow. Nervous? Who wouldn't be?

Get a fucking grip, Conrad. Your friend needs you.

Yes. Okay, I've got this. I need to get her out of here, away from him, and then? Then we run away, I guess. What else can we do? She's fucking tied to him through family agreement. They'll hunt us down, break my legs, and carry her to the church to marry him.

I continue to sweat. I reach for a tumbler and pour myself a glass of something strong. I down it in one fiery hot and licorice tasting gulp, slamming the glass down and turning towards where Catrice is.

Now or never.

I stride towards the girl, but as I get near, he arrives.

And it all falls apart.

I shy into the crowd, and I begin to think that I really am powerless.