in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth}

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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 27, 2016 2:18:17 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Nov 27, 2016 2:18:17 GMT -5

H

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul, heart with a gaping hole
dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing d e a t h and losing my b r e a t h

”Or they slowly pry the truth from your throat.”

Rotted fingers clawing at her tongue, they could try all they wanted. She had reconstructed herself from the ground up, from specks of blood on the Square to the iron bones of a reborn Mortuus. Their torture would have to be tenfold the licks of a whip. The starvation and terror of the Games were worthy forces, but not enough to unseal the glue between red lips. The truth, for now, was safe, locked away in a cage with her heart.

”I won’t let them.”

The wind carried her knife, swallowing her fire as it sank into the boy’s arm. More blood spilled, and this was the end for him. Home would be in a casket, blind eyes and deaf ears and an empty shell. If he had a soul, it would evaporate. Asha planned to send him home to a graveyard instead of a cozy bed. ”Your body is simply a cage; let me set you free.” Her body was a weapon. The cage was their Game, and glimpses of their corpses lying in the core of the earth was motivation to hunt down the key.

One final swipe and the career ended him, a cannon firing in his honor. It was a lie, the queen of hearts; her only power was in Twelve. Here, it belonged to the careers. It belonged to those who were willing to claw, grab, and steal everything there was to the human life. Celia had been like that, willing to mutilate innocent children if it meant seeing another sunset. It was a strength that she could not respect.

Without a word, she fled into the rocks. There would be no blood trail for Asha to sniff out. She wanted this to be the last day she spoke to him.

Her legs carried her for miles across rocky paths until Buttercup mewled in protest. He bounced around in her leather pouch like a ragdoll, and when she tucked herself away among boulders she apologized. Panting, she scooped him up a handful of food and waited. ”Remember what I said,” she whispered. ”If I die, you find somebody else. Deal?” He stuck his nose into her hand, and she considered it a deal.

Tonight’s faded constellations revealed a familiar face; Jenoah. How surreal it felt to find him among the dead, when only yesterday she had watched him skewer a boy through the skull. His precision must’ve been lost. One question crossed her mind – was it Pillar? After leaving their pile of ashes, had Pillar returned to wipe the granite slate clean of potential threats? It seemed like a signature career move. It seemed like a Celia move. Strategy, that was part of the game. Pillar had flaunted herself as a sweet, lovable child, genuine at heart but still willing to snatch a crown. Was it real, or was it a mask?

She slept on a thousand questions, and discovered no answers in her dreams. She didn’t often have such aggressive curiosities.

A sense of wonder and dread pulled her eyelids apart. Every morning she had woken up, thinking today is the day. How long would that last? When was the final day?

You could win.

She licked her chapped lips and shook her head. It was a possibility, yet it felt out of reach. It felt like a dream. She gulped her water and took another rocky path, grateful that she could see the sunlight winking at her. It was a beauty she wanted to witness one last time.

Silence was a storm, and she always knew when it stopped. Footsteps were louder than her own breaths, her own rapid heartbeat. It quickened in fear each time she heard them. Nothing ever changed here, did it?

She wondered if Pillar thought so too.

Knives alight again, she planned to become the dragon herself today. ”I will not be your next human torch,” she exclaimed, thinking of Bolts and a mourning family, how horrified they would be. And she would never see it – the despair in their eyes, the horror, disgust, the tears, so it could not affect her. She couldn’t care about pain she did not feel. The ache of his death was fleeting – how long had she known him? A few days? Yet their bond was not strong. It was unfortunate how he died, but everyone had to move on. She couldn’t give it another thought.

So, she thought of killing Pillar Fray instead.

lost in the pages of self-made cages
life slips away and g h o s t s come to play
these are the h a r d times
these are the hard times for dreamers

[uses jar of tar to light 4 knives on fire]

[attacks Pillar - throwing knife]
0mGMsKdJthrowing knife
Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage

fire
1-50
moderate burn +4

throwing knife�1-50

Last Edit: Nov 27, 2016 2:20:47 GMT -5 by Python

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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 27, 2016 3:36:34 GMT -5

Quote

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Nov 27, 2016 3:36:34 GMT -5

"You look like a winter night — I could sleep inside the cold of you."

They haunt her for the first time in the arena — a thousand silhouettes set free from their cages. She sees a boy with eyes ripped from their sockets, with scarlet waterfalls pouring down his gaunt cheeks, and there's a girl with a hollow chest smiling at her from across the way. Twenty souls dance dead in the mist that surrounds her, but she feigns oblivion and turns away from their siren songs. Samira lies beside her on the shore, body placed gently on the ground where Pillar had watched until she sputtered her last breath. No words were spoken in tribute of the woman's passing, just shaking hands that removed Samira's protective gear and scavenged through her bag for essentials. She thinks that perhaps Reese has already found Samira in the world that comes after this one, but there's a part of her that isn't so certain. Either you're never truly alive until the day that you die, or you spend a hundred years aching just to finally rest for an eternity — and she's not sure which of those thoughts is more frightening, so she chooses to see only the harsh reality. Samira's gone, and Pillar's still there, so she makes the choice to move on.

She leaves the body behind to be collected, walking along the lake's edge until she reaches a patch of smooth sand and tosses her bag to the ground. The nation's watching, calculating her dried tears and searching for cracks across her being, so she does the world a service and removes her armor. Dented boots are kicked off, chest becoming exposed when she lifts off her vest, and the sound of the arena hits her when she removes her cracked helmet. It's an eerie calm, with a rustling of wind and storms in the distance, but she finds peace within it. Blonde hair flies across her face, and she pulls off her clothing without a spoken word. Bare skin shivers when the cold air runs across it, but she doesn't hesitate to walk into the cloudy waters that call for her. Visible breath leaves chapped lips and her teeth chatter, shoulders sinking beneath the waves, and when she allows herself to drift freely — she wonders if the beasts circling around her recognize her as one of their own. Men and monsters alike watch as the diamond girl breaks free of her hardened shell to show the rawest form of herself, but before they can come to know her for who she truly is

— she sinks beneath the surface with an inhale,

and the darkness and its terrors
comfort her.

The scent of smoke clings to her form as armored legs march away from the ashes of her morning fire. The sky is a waged war between hues of grey and blue, but the sun still manages to shine with pleasantness despite the slaughter that rages below it. She finds solace in the winding paths of the Rift Valley, and there are ghosts that follow her as she travels. They offer relief and pain all at once — an outstretched hand holding out a poison pill and a vial of its antidote, and they dare her to take the risk. But recklessness no longer feels like home to her, and she doesn't look back to face her demons. She carries them on her shoulders, claws wrapped around her ankles, but they can't harm her until she chooses —
only one person is capable of killing her,

and that blade is already aimed at her heart with caution,

held in her own two hands.

But when she comes across Hyacinth Mortuus, she finds herself wondering if that's the truth. It's possible that the real ghosts to fear are those that are tangible, and maybe Pillar has no control over whether she lives or dies — maybe no one knows anything, and this existence is nothing more than an endless game of guessing. She finds security in the latter, so she latches herself onto it. When dragons clash, it is the aether that decides who rises and who falls. The girl from Twelve wastes no time with readying her blades, setting them aflame with agile fingers, and Pillar does not blame her for her actions. Breaking bread with a murderer does not lessen their threat, and it is wise of Hyacinth to stand her ground. Words are spoken, and in the time it takes for Pillar to take out her own weapons, a knife hits her vest. The flames of it die before they can reach her skin, but she still swallows a gasp.

Narrowed eyes find Hyacinth's own, and she grits her teeth. She catches her breath before continuing, and although her legs shake, steady hands prepare her knives for the fight ahead. She realizes now that victory is not simple to achieve — so many faces were in the stars last night, one with as much blood on his hands as her own, and there is no such thing as certainty in this place. Hyacinth Mortuus proves to be her biggest obstacle thus far, shining in steel and spitting out dry hatred, but Pillar's armor is just as sturdy — and the inferno in her hands burns just as bright. Mirror images clash,

and one of them will surely shatter.

"Then don't let yourself burn," she says with a strained laugh, letting her flaming blade fly free

— and she does not fear the fire.

[ pillar lights four throwing knives on fire using her jar of tar;
she attacks hyacinth with #1 ]
BcRWKIu6throwing knife
[ Knife in Back -- 6.5 damage ]

1-50
[ minor burn -- +2 damage ]

throwing knife�1-50

Last Edit: Nov 27, 2016 12:07:05 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 27, 2016 19:28:48 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Nov 27, 2016 19:28:48 GMT -5

H

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul, heart with a gaping hole
dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing d e a t h and losing my b r e a t h

Fire was power, but she didn’t feel powerful. It latched itself to Pillar’s vest, flames eating away at the metal chains designed to protect her torso from harm. A part of her shell melted, exposing vital points. It was up to her to become a marksmen today, to channel hope and luck and power into her veins so she could set Pillar’s heart on fire. What a passionate way to die.

Fire was power, but it was also defiant. The forces of nature could not always be controlled or commanded by human beings. The sun peered between clouds today because the Gamemakers allowed it. The same could not be said about wielding fire. When she released her knife, she hadn’t known whether it would land, sail past the wind, or spread wildfire like a disease across Pillar’s skin. She hadn’t known whether the fire would vanish or grow wilder, and it seemed to accomplish neither. It sizzled through metal, hissing until the armor was off of Pillar’s body. Stripped of a protective shell.

Then she felt a sting in her back. Fire, hot like a furnace against her spine. She could smell burning metal and pulled the broken piece of armor away from herself. No blood trail followed – she hadn’t broken skin, but she could still feel the heat threatening to scorch the hairs on her flesh. She felt naked and cold without the chainmail, heart vulnerable to burning steel. She was not ready to die. ”Then don’t let yourself burn,” Pillar laughed.

She didn’t understand the joke.

The plume of smoke rising from a crisp corpse was not a choice. Killing was a choice, but dying usually wasn’t. Had she let herself be whipped in Twelve? She imagined lunging at the Peacekeepers, biting into their white sleeves to draw blood for her brother’s sake. She thought of the outcome – a bludgeon to the skull, handcuffs squeezing her wrists, knees scraping cement as they dragged her to the Justice Building. They would make her see red and black all at once – blood filling her mouth, black filling her eyes, blind as they locked her away in a prison. They would cut her tongue out and sentence her to slavery in the Capitol.

Perhaps she had let herself be whipped because that was wise. Endure pain to avoid their worst punishment. Pillar probably knew nothing of that lifestyle, having been cushioned by District One’s resources and popularity. She wondered if careers were ever exposed to death before the Games. Did they let themselves die?

She thought of the other tributes. Had Mordecai let himself bleed to death? Had Drake let himself be crippled? Had Mitchell let himself drown from a slit throat?

No.

They didn’t choose to die; others made that decision for them. That was the Game. Steal as many lives as you can, and become the queen or king of hearts. She wished she could apologize to Mitchell for failing to inherit royalty. She was not a queen, and she did not carve hearts the way people thought she might.

”Did Bolts let himself burn?” she asked, tilting her head. ”I think you made that decision for him.”

And she wanted to make a decision for herself. Don’t burn. It wasn’t completely in her own power. She needed agility to face a career, and she was not trained. She needed to be a marksmen to face a career, but she was a girl who smuggled poison into patients’ bedrooms. All she had was flexibility and otherworldly wishes.

She wished upon the sun – keep them safe – and tried not to burn.

lost in the pages of self-made cages
life slips away and g h o s t s come to play
these are the h a r d times
these are the hard times for dreamers

[attacks Pillar - throwing knife]
ebslsuSKthrowing knife
Shallow Cut on Forearm -- 3.0 damage

fire #2
1-50
minor burn +2

throwing knife�1-50

Last Edit: Nov 27, 2016 19:29:36 GMT -5 by Python

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 27, 2016 20:48:35 GMT -5

Quote

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Nov 27, 2016 20:48:35 GMT -5

"You look like a winter night — I could sleep inside the cold of you."

Hyacinth's features wince when Pillar's blade stabs into her armored back — but the girl's vest is shrugged off before the flaming steel has a chance to burn her exposed flesh. Pillar chooses to keep her own on despite the charred strips of metal that now cling loosely to her torso, and the stinging of heat that radiates from her stomach is only noticeable if she lets herself think about it

— so she doesn't.

Sweat beads on her forehead from the tension of the moment, and she shakes her head in an attempt of letting the cool air run across her flushed cheeks. She blows blonde strands of hair out of her face after steadying herself, and with an inhale, she finds herself wanting to believe that both she and Hyacinth are equally afraid of what is coming — that each of them realizes that the other could be the means to their end;

and it's true that everyone copes with fear differently.

While she pulls out another knife, Hyacinth speaks in response to her words. She brings up a valid argument, one that leaves Pillar visibly stumped. She finds herself forced back into her thoughts from prior — is it possible to decide your life's outcome? Is there truly any way to cheat death? Or is the only safe route through living to give fate the reigns of your existence — to just lay yourself down on the shore and let the waters carry you to wherever they choose?

She ponders further, hand gripping the hilt of her weapon with a hungry selfishness, and the sudden heat that scalds her arm is more of a saving grace than damnation — and when she breaks free from her thinking, she looks down to see a bleeding forearm that throbs from the burning metal of Hyacinth's knife. Pillar jerks it out before more damage can be caused, but she still bites her lip and furrows her brows as she deals with the sharp flaring of pain.

She breathes in and out, counting to ten before lifting her gaze, meeting Hyacinth's eyes with ones that are watery and narrowed. She rises back when the burning fades away to a faint sting, shaking her arm in the wind and exhaling. She finishes the preparations for her knife, holding it out from her body as it is swallowed by the flames of her making.

"I think you're looking into his death a little too much," she starts with a voice that is dry and flat, and this time a laugh doesn't accompany her words. "Bolts made a choice when he decided to get in my way, didn't he? Maybe we don't realize our decisions until we've already made them — and maybe you've already decided that you're going to die today; you just don't know it yet."

She sends the metallic fire flying with a sharp grunt

— "But don't worry, Hyacinth.
I'll help you figure it out."

[ pillar attacks hyacinth with throwing knife #2 ]
nX1PIe_Wthrowing knife
[ ~~miss~~ ]

1-50
[ extinguished ]

[ rolling again for accuracy; day 7 ]
throwing knife
[ Deep Gash on Bicep -- 8.0 ]

throwing knife�1-50�throwing knife

Last Edit: Nov 27, 2016 21:32:22 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

Python
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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 27, 2016 22:38:33 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Nov 27, 2016 22:38:33 GMT -5

H

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul, heart with a gaping hole
dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing d e a t h and losing my b r e a t h

The blade scraped against Pillar’s arm, burning and slicing in one glide. An accident, but it could be interpreted as a warning. A taste of her possible future, because one of them would be devoured today. Perhaps not by flames, but certainly by darkness. Death would wrap its heavy cloak around her skeleton and she would be unable to feel how cold its hands were. What happened afterward was life’s mystery. They could descend into nothing, think or feel nothing – or maybe they would be dragged to hell like the ancient religious books claimed. If there was a paradise, she wondered who decided their worth. A supreme being, a court of supreme beings, or an intangible force such as fate? A mindless, matterless existence. It was difficult to believe in such entities.

She didn’t want to know if this was her destiny, if her death would have “meaning.” To her, it meant disaster for her family. A building could not hold without its foundation. A train could not function without its tracks. The world would crumble without its crust, and she didn’t want her family to collapse from her absence. ”I think you're looking into his death a little too much,” said the career, and she was probably right. Hyacinth was a girl surrounded by death, and the meaningless deaths were the worst. She had to wonder why Bolts, and why fire? There was always a reason, and she wanted to claw her way to the truth.

She hadn’t seen Bolts that day. She had abandoned him in the night, leaving him with a religious fanatic who preferred the company of rats over humans. She hadn’t seen any sign of Ansgar that day either – had he also abandoned Bolts, leaving him to fall into Pillar’s clutches? She had no idea what happened that day, or if Pillar’s words reigned true. Had he gotten in her way somehow? Taken the first lunge? Did that justify such a brutal death? Or was it an accident? All she had were the words of a career to rely upon, and she didn’t trust them.

Especially now.

”Maybe we don't realize our decisions until we've already made them,”

She ignored the temptation to shake her head. Her decisions were calculated, even in the heat of the moment. But an unpredictable career like Pillar and Asha – maybe they were susceptible to impulsivity. She wondered if career schools knew the meaning of discipline.

Every decision she made was backed by a reason. Sometimes the reason itself was the problem, but she knew she was an immoral person. She shared a womb with Celia Mortuus, after all. She could not be perfect. She would never be perfect. Her knives would sail short, and she would trip over pain again and again until one of two endgames occurred – she lived, or she died. One crown or one grave.

She realized her decision before she made it; duck.

Her body reached for the shadows, but steel hissed across her arm. She gritted her teeth. It could be worse. The scars on her back pulsed.

It could be worse

”When I’ve decided that I’m going to die,” she grunted, rising to her previous stance. ”You’ll know.” She gripped her third knife tightly.

”Because I’ll do it myself.” She pointed the knife and its embers toward her own heart. When she wanted to die, she would carve it out herself.

She had signed the papers for Eirlys, promising the family her organs, but nobody could have her heart. Not even a queen.

lost in the pages of self-made cages
life slips away and g h o s t s come to play
these are the h a r d times
these are the hard times for dreamers

[attacks Pillar - throwing knife]
V5acowtqthrowing knife
Miss - 0.0

fire #3
1-50
extinguished

accuracy
throwing knife
Miss (knife lost) -- 0.0 damage

throwing knife�1-50�throwing knife

Last Edit: Nov 27, 2016 22:40:35 GMT -5 by Python

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 27, 2016 23:37:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Nov 27, 2016 23:37:54 GMT -5

"You look like a winter night — I could sleep inside the cold of you."

Death stands between them with his arms outstretched — one hand wrapped around Hyacinth's throat, and the other around Pillar's. He begs them to stop killing the other, choking them as he softly whispers the words, but the both of them break free from his grasp in an act of shared rebellion. The shadows whisper in their ears that the world is ending, but they're too busy screaming at the clouding sky to hear the thunder that's looming in the distance. Lightning cracks, and they don't realize that they're burning until they're already making love to the flames.

Hyacinth claims ownership of her life, and Pillar finds her match in the older girl — silver tongues crash together as sparks fly from their union, and neither show any signs of relenting. She admires the strength of Hyacinth's words, and she's not able to hide the smile that spreads out across her features. Her victim or her killer — it doesn't matter which role Hyacinth will be cast in; the woman is sure of herself enough to play either equally well. False memories hit Pillar once more, of a relationship that could have been, but this time she shrugs it off before the mental picture can take shape.

When Hyacinth sends her blade soaring, Pillar takes advantage of the tension that surrounds them. She flies to her knees and rolls out of the way, rising up on crouched legs to see that she's successfully dodged the knife and its flames. She exhales, nodding to herself in pride. She stands tall once she regains her composure, taking out her third weapon, and she inhales until the insides of her nostrils burn — but she pauses right before she lights the blade. The last one extinguished before any fiery damage could be caused

— and she prays that this one will char Hyacinth's skin black.

"I'd like to say the same," she begins with a sigh, chuckling with a tone that's caught somewhere in the horrible place that lingers between hunger and desperation. "But it doesn't matter what we want in the end, does it? Not here, at least. Either you're killing me, or I'm killing you — we have to come to terms with that. And I'm not asking you to give up, and I'm not telling you to make this easy on me—"

the knife is ignited,

"— but if you're so ready to go, then just stand back and let me finish this. I have more blood on my hands than you ever will,"

and she sends it flying.

[ pillar attacks hyacinth with throwing knife #3 ]
VlOujD6Uthrowing knife
[ Miss (knife lost) -- 0.0 damage ]

1-50
[ extinguished ]

throwing knife�1-50

Last Edit: Nov 27, 2016 23:39:59 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

Python
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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 28, 2016 4:23:05 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Nov 28, 2016 4:23:05 GMT -5

H

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul, heart with a gaping hole
dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing d e a t h and losing my b r e a t h

Dying.

The thought crossed her mind casually in Twelve; what would it be like, when would it happen, and does it hurt? There were a thousand ways to die and all of them had to feel different. Children froze in the winter or burned in the summer. Families starved and dehydrated. Men died from collapsing mines. Runaways were captured or devoured by wildlife or succumbed to deadly forces of nature. Every death was unique, but the ones who died in the Mortuus hospital suffered heart failures. Poison – unheard of in Twelve, but a necessity for the black market. Surrounded by endless death, she had to wonder when it would be her turn, and how it would happen.

The future was clearer now. Tributes slashing at her with sharpened pieces of steel, her blood spilling into the earth like it had in the Square. If it wasn’t Pillar, it could be someone else. Ansgar and his pet rat perhaps, spitting blessings above her corpse. Or it could be Asha, his obsession with blood drawing it out of her slowly. They would not be painless deaths. With wealth and power, she had hoped to outlive every citizen in Twelve. Then the world reminded her that she was not immortal nor immune, because Celia was reaped two years ago. She died a monster, and now it seemed she was part of the curse as well. Again, her pain would be made public. Humiliating.

The career was spry, rolling against rocks to avoid her flames. She seemed satisfied with herself, as if this were final time she would be attacked. But there was still plenty to come. Hope was not something she cherished but it was not something she would lose either. She had to hope, or else Pillar would be right. She would want to leave this earth, heart carved out of a hollow shell.

It didn’t matter what she wanted in the end – not to them, anyway, and certainly not to Pillar. The Capitol wanted entertainment. Pillar wanted a crown. Hyacinth wanted her family to thrive. Would anyone care other than herself? Probably not. ”Either you’re killing me, or I’m killing you.” Those were the facts. One wish today would not be fulfilled. Instead, it would be left in ruins.

Giving up was not an option. Making this easy was not an option. It didn’t matter what they wanted in the end – this fight would be a living hell regardless, but what she wanted would drive her blades forward every time. What did Pillar want besides a crown? Life was the immediate goal, but what else? Glory? Fame? Careers were born of a different culture, and it was obvious in everything they did.

”You’re proud, I can tell,” she said, noting Pillar’s blatant misunderstanding. ”I have more blood on my hands than you ever will.”

Oh, the secrets she could tell.

Pillar’s knife soared quickly, but two could play the defense. She ducked and managed to avoid another scrape. She didn’t feel a sense of pride, only relief.

She wondered what blood Pillar was referring to. The blood of fallen tributes, or was there more to her story? Either way, she had doubts. Every other day she was sealing open sores and carving her scalpel into human flesh. She held organs in her hands, feeling how fragile and warm they were. Every day her gloves were soiled with blood, and every day she remembered Olive’s blood bathing the Square. Like paint, they said. Red everywhere. Whips were an evil type of paintbrush.

She thought of Asha and his claims that the truth would see light. Not today. This was no time to share deadly secrets. She would not endanger her family anymore.

”I’m a nurse,” she replied dryly, ”I drown in blood.”

What’s your story?

lost in the pages of self-made cages
life slips away and g h o s t s come to play
these are the h a r d times
these are the hard times for dreamers

[attacks Pillar - throwing knife]
3sL7F4XEthrowing knife
Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage

fire #4
1-50
moderate burn +4

throwing knife�1-50

Last Edit: Nov 28, 2016 4:24:53 GMT -5 by Python

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 28, 2016 7:48:38 GMT -5

Quote

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Nov 28, 2016 7:48:38 GMT -5

"You look like a winter night — I could sleep inside the cold of you."

Hyacinth dodges her attack just as she had moments prior, and she finds herself grunting in disapproval. She doesn't mean to act like a spoiled child not getting what she wants, but the thought that this is all she's ever known chills her to the bone. Because loved or not, it doesn't matter in One — she believes that not even Justice was truly loved by their parents, but he was raised just the same way as she had been. Monsters aren't born from kisses placed on cheeks and small bodies being tucked safely under blankets. Pillar stood in the fire and damned herself the moment her surname was pronounced as Fray.

And part of her wonders how differently people would view her if she had been in Hyacinth's place. If they were still the exact same people, just their numbers switched. She swallows dryly, and a mere thief never enjoys being called a murderer — he tries desperately to make the world know that there are other crimes bigger than what he's committed; so how can he possibly be the worst thing to crawl out of the earth's core? Pillar opens her mouth to find a reason to think herself innocent, but then she remembers the blood that she's claimed so proudly

— and her hands are weighed down so fiercely that she nearly falls to her knees.

She catches her breath, steadying her footing before looking in Hyacinth's direction. "I have to be proud," she spits out, and it's not something that is commonly heard, but pain can be found in her voice. "Because if I'm not, then what did I kill them for? I just want to live, Hyacinth — crown or not, that doesn't matter to me. We're all afraid, aren't we? Each of us. I slaughtered innocent people just because I want to get out of here. And if thinking of me as nothing more than a ruthless career is going to make you sleep any better, then fine. I'm vicious and I'm bloodthirsty — I spent my entire life training for this."

She pulls out her fourth blade, tired of the process and not taking the steady preparations that she had prior. If the knife wants to tear and burn flesh, it'll do so on its own. She waits for Hyacinth's next attack before speaking, feeling a knife slice the charred remains of her vest. The cut is merely a sting, but the fire causes her to clutch at her chest and fan the flames away with her gloved hand. She pants, legs shaking and lips quivering. Hyacinth speaks once more, and maybe Pillar doesn't know who she truly is. Maybe Twelve breeds worst beasts than spoiled and desperate brats

— or maybe, she should just stop trying to define someone who isn't herself.

"But the sad thing is that I actually didn't," she goes on with a weak laugh, continuing her words from earlier. "I don't know what I wanted out of life, but it was never this. I'm just good at pretending, I think. As long as I tell myself every bad thing I've done will get me home, then I can do it. Maybe I think I can sleep all of this away in my own bed — pretend it never even happened. Maybe this'll haunt me for the rest of my life if I make it out, but I guess there's no way for me to know." She gasps at a sudden flare of pain, ignoring the urge to scream and getting into the stance to throw her weapon, holding it away from her. "But I don't know you, do I? I clearly don't get it. I don't know what it's like in Twelve, what it's like to be a girl from a place where everything you do is a gamble for survival — a risked chance. I have so much more than you, and I recognize that." She inhales, shaking her head.

"But we're equal here — I understand that now. I'm not better than you, and you're not better than me. But if you're not going to see me as someone who's just as human as you are, then I only have one request

— don't think me the same as every other career.

Because I am a lot of horrible things,

and maybe you're drowning in more blood than I ever have,

but we're both so much more than our foundations.

You and I don't have much,

but we have both have black hearts beating in these hollow chests of ours."

{ She waits to hear a pulse,
but none can be heard over the sound of her blade breaking the sky. }

[ pillar attacks hyacinth with throwing knife #4 ]
lt6wFZUnthrowing knife
[ Knife in Stomach -- 6.5 damage ]

1-50
[ moderate burn -- +4 damage ]

throwing knife�1-50

Last Edit: Nov 28, 2016 7:50:57 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 28, 2016 14:43:24 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Nov 28, 2016 14:43:24 GMT -5

H

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul, heart with a gaping hole
dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing d e a t h and losing my b r e a t h

She struck gold this time, knife drawing more blood and burns from within Pillar’s core. The disheveled remains of her armor had broken to dust and worthless fragments. She was one step closer to carving the girl’s heart out before she had to destroy her own. She wondered what a heart of pride looked like – was it bigger, stronger, painted in blazing gold? She had never dissected a career before. All hearts looked similar, that much was certain, but some were weaker than others. Some were colored different shades, scarred in subtle ways by the strain of living in Twelve. Those were either discarded or sold for a cheaper price. She didn’t know the true nature of the market itself – she simply wielded the scalpel.

It felt as if her own heart had shrunk. An ice case melting around the edges, and now a fire threatened to burn every last piece of her shield. She did not want to be vulnerable, physically or mentally. Her conscience was surrounded by reinforced steel, lipstick made of glue, so the truth Asha had spoken of would forever remain inside of her in life or death. It lived to haunt her or it died buried in a corpse. Either way, she would not be weak or stupid enough to unveil her life’s story. She was a nurse, that was all. Her life of prostitution was hushed behind callous eyes. Her family’s legacy of murder was silent and dormant in her chest. Not even ripping her heart out would help the world discover her secret.

She was not proud of any of it. It was just her life. What she had grown up with, and what she would die with.

The concept of pride was foreign, but she could somewhat grasp an understanding of it. Pillar was a career, having trained her entire life for this. A trained killer; who wouldn’t be ruthless and bloodthirsty if it meant surviving? Her own experience had not unfolded in such an extreme manner. She had Mordecai on her side, amputating body parts left and right to extend all of their timelines. Then, she had tried to cut Deja apart bit by bit until someone else delivered the killing blow. Yes, she had been ruthless at that moment. Uncaring, cold, wishing she could sentence a girl to death for her own sake. Was she proud of it? No, but she did not regret it.

She listened intently, wondering if this monologue was rising from a place of justification. Did she feel the need to explain herself to ease her own tension? Was it a weight she needed to lift off of her chest? A catharsis? It was not unheard of.

If these were to be her final words, Hyacinth would not interrupt.

Pillar had simple understandings, simple requests.”Don't think me the same as every other career.” How could she? After Mordecai, she knew every Career was unique. They were all part of the same chain of pride and killing for sport and glory, but not all of them were to be labeled monster. She had witnessed Pillar’s gentle side; how she stroked Buttercup’s fur, how her eyes had burned bright with embers of joy. The career had respect for such creatures. Perhaps in that way, they were equal.

”You talk a lot,” she admitted, mind abuzz with every word Pillar had pounded into her skin. ”And I have to disagree. We can’t be equals.” Nobody is equal. They were all divide; by district, by privilege, by jobs, by name. They were all destined to be vastly different. Why else would there be one victor? The one who is most divided, most superior, would win. Perhaps with only a bit of luck did that happen, but people didn’t have equal amounts of luck either. The Reaping proved that year after year.

”We have similarities, that’s all.”

Black hearts, hollow chests, blood-stained fingernails.

Sharp pains in her stomach – she gasped and tore the blade out before it could scorch her insides. The flames cauterized most of the wound, but blood continued to leak through blackened flesh. Her fire had been swallowed, her knives cast away into the rift. She unsheathed her sword and pursed her lips. Close combat scared her, but she would not let it show.

”I won’t think of you as a ruthless career,” she continued, monotone. The calm before the storm when their steel blades would clash. ”I’ll think of you as a corpse. Maybe that will be easier on both of us.”

And maybe it would become truth.

lost in the pages of self-made cages
life slips away and g h o s t s come to play
these are the h a r d times
these are the hard times for dreamers

[attacks Pillar - sword]
3|G8wHRksword
Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage

sword

Last Edit: Nov 28, 2016 14:43:55 GMT -5 by Python

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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 28, 2016 16:03:05 GMT -5

Quote

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Nov 28, 2016 16:03:05 GMT -5

"You look like a winter night — I could sleep inside the cold of you."

Her words are not greeted with gentle reassurance — there's no light of understanding that sparks behind Hyacinth's eyes, and in truth, she had expected no such reaction. Her chest feels warm despite its hollowness, and whether the words were spoken for herself or for the crowd watching, she's proud of them. Maybe she's trying to justify the red that's caked underneath her fingernails; trying to tell the faces that burn in the sky each night that she's sorry — but she's never been known for her social grace, has she?

Kellan had told her once that she speaks a mile a minute when her emotions grow strained, losing herself in a frenzy of trying to justify her faults and venting her self-hatred onto anyone foolish enough to get too close — and maybe that's exactly what this is, or maybe she's just simply tired. Maybe she just wants someone to finally see the little girl that she's been hiding inside of herself ever since she was locked inside of the arena and told to fight for her life.

But then words are just words, aren't they? And Hyacinth seems to understand a secret meaning of life that Pillar Fray can't grasp — that nothing's ever perfect, that this world is gritty and unforgiving, and that the only right way to exist is to make it to the next day. Part of her wishes that she could be like the girl from Twelve, that she could have known a tangible Hell before this one ever got the chance to consume her.

A girl can grow beyond being unwanted once she learns to love herself, but being an outcast has nothing on the perils that Hyacinth must have faced throughout her life. The woman owns her burdens like a black cloak that drapes down her pale shoulders, whereas Pillar looks down to find her gloved hands scrubbing nervously against one another. It's a terrible thing when a beast and a child inhabit a body together

— when a girl is both feral and soft,

but hates both sides of herself.

When Hyacinth unsheathes her sword and lunges, Pillar lifts up her leg and bends backwards in defense. The metal reflects off of her shin guard without harming her, and she sighs in relief. She decides to follow Hyacinth's actions, bringing out her own sword with a faint smile. The blade is held comfortably in her hand, and she trusts in it more than the knives. A war is raged in her head, sparked by adrenaline and the guilt building inside of her, but she shrugs off her thoughts.

She catches her breath, willing herself to forgive what all she has done. Samira's eyes let loose blue waters that choke her, and the scent of Bolts' burning flesh still clouds her lungs — but she's tired of suffocating. She can speak a thousand words, scream a hundred reasons why she's not just some monster awakening for the first time, but it doesn't matter. Not here. If they're going to think of her as someone horrible — see her as nothing more than the rotten meat lurking behind her smooth flesh — then so be it. Her words have always been safer kept inside.

"I do, don't I?" she confesses, not hinting to the revelations that she has just dealt with. "I guess it's a habit of mine — maybe it's the only way that I can try and justify all of this. But I guess there's really no point in that, is there?" She sighs, moving closer and extending her sword. She narrows her eyes in calculation, inhaling. "Fair enough. We're not equals — just similar. We both loves cats, for one. And we're both scared for our lives right now, aren't we?"

She smiles at Hyacinth's next words, chucking to herself

— "Oh, Hyacinth. Don't you know that fighting the dead is far worse than facing the living?"

[ pillar attacks hyacinth with her sword ]
Wg4yjXHQsword
[ Stabbed in Chest -- 9.5 damage ]

sword

Last Edit: Nov 28, 2016 16:04:49 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

Python
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last seen Oct 27, 2024 23:26:22 GMT -5

in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 29, 2016 1:36:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Nov 29, 2016 1:36:00 GMT -5

H

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul, heart with a gaping hole
dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing d e a t h and losing my b r e a t h

They could never be equals. They traveled from opposite sides of the spectrum – Hyacinth from the poorest and the starving, and Pillar from the wealthiest and the proud. She had a victor for a brother and a name decorated in glory. Crowds were probably cheering for her crown, holding celebrations in her honor. She had the skill and determination to win, and that was why they couldn’t be equals. Hyacinth was determined for different reasons, but her skillset did not apply here. She was not a warrior or a trained killer. She operated in the shadows, safety in secrecy, and weaved her way between laws and morals to protect her family. There was no glory in it – just survival and wealth, the only way to thrive in Twelve. She would sell her soul to keep it.

Even their similarities were weak. They enjoyed the company of cats, they were both afraid of losing, and they both had wicked hearts. What else did they share but a battlefield and bloodied weapons? Hyacinth was a woman of few words, but Pillar spoke a thousand. Hyacinth did not make monstrosities out of corpses, but Pillar turned bodies to ash. They were two girls from two different homes, cast into an unforgiving world. The difference was if Hyacinth died, the whole country would know, and perhaps some would mourn and care. Those who died alone in Twelve had nobody.

But she didn’t want to think about dying.

Rose buds blossomed from her chest, steel stinging against her nerves like a fresh burn. For an excruciating moment, she thought Pillar had punctured her heart. She expected to feel the life force drain out of her, and for the world to turn black. Instead, she felt nothing but sharp pains. She grunted and tore herself away from the danger, the last fragments of her armor scattering around her feet. Her hand clutched at the wound, blood hot like a steaming spring. Frustration boiled in her veins. How could they be similar? Pillar could wield a blade, and she could not.

She had been an inch away from death. Blade sheathed so close to the heart and lungs, it was a miracle she could still draw breath. She considered running to save herself, but Pillar was a trained killer. She could outrun a wounded doll from Twelve, and she did not want to be stabbed in the back.

She wanted to see death coming. If it came, she wanted to conquer the fear before it took her.

”I prefer the company of the dead,” she admitted plainly, imagining the silent bodies rigid against a metal table. ”They don’t talk, and they don’t feel.”

And she dissected them, plucking organs like petals from a flower. They were innocent people with names and families, but ceased to exist once their corpses were opened. They lost their humanity in that moment, their organs becoming property, and their bodies an empty shell. Fighting the dead was not worse than fighting the living because they were not humans. They were soulless, and she would feel nothing as she carved into them.

She wanted to feel nothing as well, but she did not want to die.

Life was painful like that.

lost in the pages of self-made cages
life slips away and g h o s t s come to play
these are the h a r d times
these are the hard times for dreamers

[attacks Pillar - sword]
TcHKlXtWsword
Stabbed in Thigh -- 8.5 damage

sword

Last Edit: Nov 29, 2016 1:36:28 GMT -5 by Python

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 29, 2016 8:11:35 GMT -5

Quote

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Nov 29, 2016 8:11:35 GMT -5

"You look like a winter night — I could sleep inside the cold of you."

Death and life dance hand-in-hand — they've made a deal today. One gets Hyacinth, and the other gets Pillar, and it is the darkness that calls most strongly to the both of them. He caresses their cheeks with the tendrils of smoke from their extinguished fires, and he runs his fingertips down their flesh in the form of trickling blood. Life only sings in the distance, begging her children to stay with her, but she doesn't realize that they cannot hear over the storms that they've created. The lightning screams, thunder rumbling through their cores, and death feels safer than life ever could.

Watching as her blade sinks into Hyacinth's exposed chest, she finds herself wanting to shout in pride — but the woman's heart is shrivelled and frail, so what is there to damage? She should know better than to think that Hell has been conquered — there are still so many more flames to walk through. And she wonders who the dead will accept with more fondness: the spoiled child desperately trying to validate her existence, or the red woman who has waterfalls of rust and salt pouring from her lips?

Maybe they don't want either of them
— and perhaps it's true;
that the world beneath ours can never become a home.

Hyacinth steels herself against the pain, and Pillar has to fight back the urge to nod in approval. She had always been the child cheering others on in their successes, watching murderers create themselves without knowing what they were truly doing. But Hyacinth's stamina, admirable or not, brings no smile to grace Pillar's features. She feels her insides churn, coming to terms with the thought that no matter who wins the fight, the victor will be wearing the outcome of it on their skin for years to come.

And she screams when she feels the metal digging into her thigh, flailing backwards and crashing onto her back. She wails hoarsely with shaky breaths, clutching at her bleeding leg. "Fuck," she whispers in a voice that breaks to a point where the word is hardly audible, but the outcry is written all across her features. She lies there, catching her breath as her chest heaves, but she refuses to be anything other than standing when Hyacinth strikes her down

— nether of them want to kill a corpse,

no matter what the other says.

"I'm flattered," she starts with a sharp inhale, rising to her feet with slow movements, gasping as the skin of her thigh tears open further. She stabs her sword into the earth and clings to it, breathing in and out until the pain fades into a sting that she can more or less handle. "That you want to kill me, just so we can be friends. That's really sweet of you, Hyacinth." She laughs, lifting her sword out of the ground and faltering.

She catches her footing, preparing to lunge with a snarl

— "But I have a better proposition:

let me kill you.
If you like the dead so much,
just die."

Her sword swings, and she wonders if death will guide her

— "I think you've outlived the life expectancy for Twelve more than enough already, don't you?"

[ pillar attacks hyacinth with her sword ]
5LcSganlsword
[ Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage ]

sword

Last Edit: Nov 29, 2016 8:13:40 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

Python
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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 29, 2016 14:44:01 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Nov 29, 2016 14:44:01 GMT -5

H

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul, heart with a gaping hole
dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing d e a t h and losing my b r e a t h

She wished death could be painless. When Jenoah claimed that Mitchell hadn’t suffered, she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. The dead could not describe their pain, or the meaning of their last moments. Ripping open someone’s throat did not seem painless. She remembered the sharp sting on the back of her own neck, claw narrowly missing her spine. Her life could’ve ended right there and then, and she wouldn’t be standing here today with tattered bandages around her neck and a gash leaking from her chest. Maybe it would’ve been a painless death. Sever the spine, and everything turned numb.

Death was not courteous. It did not care who suffered and who didn’t. Drake and Mordecai had slowly bled into the earth, Bolts had been melted alive, and her own twin sister was hacked to death by a tribute who couldn’t win. It all meant nothing. Meaningless deaths for empty, brainwashed entertainment. Were Capitolites immune to pain, or were they simply all born of sadism and ruthlessness? Hyacinth did not want to inflict pain. When she slipped poison into beverages, she hoped their insides did not burn. She wanted them to drift into a deep sleep until their hearts stopped. Simple, painless, and pure.

Now she was twisting her sword into Pillar’s thigh, trying to tear what vessels and muscles she could reach. It squelched when she pulled it out, releasing spurts of blood into the endless rift. Finally, she had struck a weak point. Pillar was momentarily startled, but she was not the cute, porcelain doll the Capitol could paint her to be. She recuperated in seconds. Hyacinth wasn’t surprised, but she had to color herself impressed. It took a long history of determination and abuse to become so sturdy. Was that the infamous career training everybody worshipped?

The scars on her own back writhed. If she somehow survived this ordeal, she would return home a new piece of violent artwork. Sculpted by beasts and savage careers. Could she wear the scars with pride?

In another life, perhaps they could’ve been friends. Not as tributes pretending to care in front of a fire, using one another for resources, but as true “equals.” Unfortunately, she preferred the company of silence. The dead were not untrustworthy, and they were not unpredictable. They could not betray her. They could not hurt her. The few people she trusted were gone or in danger.

”If you like the dead so much, just die.”

She narrowed her eyes. ”You become a brat when you’re in pain,” she mused, and if that was a weakness then she would exploit it. This fight meant everything; all or nothing. The few people she trusted could not afford to watch her die.

Yes, she liked the dead, but she did not envy them.

She dove away from Pillar’s swinging pendulum, and chewed her lip when a new cut spliced her arm. It wasn’t deep, so she didn’t care.

Suppress it. Her chest ached, but she had to ignore it.

”I’m from a wealthy family. By Twelve’s standards, at least.” She gripped her sword and fixed her stance. ”We have longer life expectancies.”

She thought of the hyoid bone in her bag, detached from Celia’s wicked throat. Speak no evil.

”..Usually.”

lost in the pages of self-made cages
life slips away and g h o s t s come to play
these are the h a r d times
these are the hard times for dreamers

[attacks Pillar - sword]
FpiYB0cGsword
Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage

sword

Last Edit: Nov 29, 2016 14:44:41 GMT -5 by Python

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Nov 29, 2016 15:50:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Nov 29, 2016 15:50:00 GMT -5

"You look like a winter night — I could sleep inside the cold of you."

Her sword only manages to graze Hyacinth's arm, and there are no signs of pain that show on the other woman's features. They are one in the same — neither of them wear their agony for the world to see. It is kept hidden under scabbed over flesh; buried beneath the galaxies that linger on their skin — and no matter how fiercely you press against their ribs, you'll never see either of them crack. Because girls are all the same, no matter where they come from — they're all beautiful monsters who eat knights for fun, never once screaming when blades pierce their diamond scales.

She views Hyacinth with a subtle fondness, she realizes, but the girl's not likeable enough for Pillar to lay down her life. She breathes in through gritted teeth, applying her weight to her undamaged leg. She relaxes for the few seconds of calmness that she has, though her arms shake and her fingers twitch. She's not sure if she even knows what it feels like to catch her breath anymore — but she inhales, and her chest burns from it, and the knowledge that she's still alive is all that she needs to keep going.

She smiles with a laugh, planting her sword into the ground and leaning against it once more. "I do, don't I?" It's a brutally honest critique, one that confirms her thoughts about her negative traits, but she's too tired to try and dismiss the claim. "I guess being a brat was the only way for me to get noticed, y'know? That's how it works back in One." She sighs, bringing up a hand to push a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face. "What are families like in Twelve? What'd it take for yours to become wealthy?" She bends forward, voice soft. "Do you have a happy family, Hyacinth? Y'know — smiling parents, loving sisters and brothers? Is that a thing in the lower districts?"

She bites her lip, swallowing

— "Or is there really no such thing as that?"

Her hip stings from Hyacinth's next attack, but she manages to leap away quickly enough to dodge a severe wound. She pants, catching her footing with a grunt. She gets into stance, calculating her next movements. "Longer life expectancies? Hmm," she says, musing inwardly as a silver tongue runs itself across chapped lips.

"What were you to Celia, again? Little sister? Older? Twin? Not that it matters, I guess

— look at you! You outlived your sister. Congratulations!"

She prepares to lunge;

— "But it's time for us to end this, Hyacinth. Celia misses you, and I've always been one for charity work."

[ pillar attacks hyacinth with her sword ]
0C5ePbjHsword
[ Block -- 0.0 damage ]

sword

Last Edit: Nov 29, 2016 15:51:48 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

Python
Retired Staff

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last seen Oct 27, 2024 23:26:22 GMT -5

in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth} Dec 1, 2016 0:22:47 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Dec 1, 2016 0:22:47 GMT -5

H

dig up her bones but leave the soul alone
boy with a broken soul, heart with a gaping hole
dark twisted fantasy turned to reality
kissing d e a t h and losing my b r e a t h

To become noticed in Twelve, one had to be successful. Run a bakery, own a bar, wear a white uniform, work in a family hospital – however, these successes came with a cost. Envy slithered into starved brains desperate for knowledge and nutrition. It sparked hatred within the hearts of those who wanted what the successful owned. She was an object of scorn, curves well-fed and a body healthy enough to flaunt. Bystanders often asked, ”Why don’t you share some of that wealth with the rest of us?” Jealousy and desperation resided in sunken eyes, but their money was blood money. Blood money was not meant to be shared.

She didn’t know how society functioned in District One, but brats were worldwide. When she had a heartbeat, Celia was one to flaunt their wealth to the envious eyes. Fur coats, expensive boots, perhaps the only ones imported to Twelve. They had the money and connections to afford these luxuries, and people hated them for it. As if they were brats, and perhaps we are.

”Families are usually broken.” she said matter-of-factly. People died, children and adults alike, family members forced to live with ghosts and memories. Not even the wealthiest were immune to tragedies. ”We own the biggest hospital in the District, so people need us.”

Until they killed off the ones who could be forgotten. Harvested for their organs, documents forged to tell a false tale of heart failure. A believable tragedy. Some people blamed them for the supposedly accidental deaths, and they were right, but there were plenty of lives who were saved by their working hands. The people should’ve been more thankful, but sometimes envy was stronger than gratitude.

Her blade had grazed Pillar’s side, and it was not enough to weaken her. The sun was bearing down against their heavy wounds, boiling blood as their hearts pumped wildly. Hyacinth could hear her own breaths escaping in huffs between tense lips. Pillar was prying, and for what purpose she couldn’t understand. Was it a distraction? A search for weakness? She did not flinch at the sound of Celia’s name. It meant nothing here.

”Yes, it’s a thing,” she droned, “”And she was my twin.”

Yet they were nothing alike. One was brutal, the other gentle. She had been selfish in every way, risking her family for a pointless training session. Hyaicnth remembered what the Gamemaker said to her, how cruel she was. And for what purpose? She hadn’t even survived. It was all for nothing. Scars for nothing.

Are you sorry, Celia?

And if she could laugh in this moment, she would. Blades clanging, she tensed her arms and stepped back. ”Celia doesn’t miss me,” she said. In fact, she would probably think nothing of her twin’s death.

”The dead don’t miss anyone.”

lost in the pages of self-made cages
life slips away and g h o s t s come to play
these are the h a r d times
these are the hard times for dreamers

[attacks Pillar - sword]
yk2DPPZRsword
Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage

sword

Last Edit: Dec 1, 2016 0:23:16 GMT -5 by Python

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in these hollow chests {pillar vs hyacinth}

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