house so empty, need a centerpiece / i|c #explorestiltedm

The voices traveled – pain, sorrow, the grunts of battle, the mumbles of lost tributes, they bounced across every gravity-defying portrait in the corridors. She had learned to drown it out long ago, trapped between screams in the confines of her prison chamber. One could not truly make the voices fall upon deaf ears, but she could muffle them into irrelevant background noise, desensitizing her to the endless suffering. It was no different here. She was only listening for Jano, and everyone else would have to suffer through their own turmoil alone. She had no control over them, she never would, and she never wanted to. There was not enough room in her conscience for apologies.

Empathy could only be stretched so far.

She felt it like guilt squeezing its way between her ears. What she had witnessed at the staircases was forever haunting – one twin dying as the other watched, powerless. It was not her duty to care about a family that was beyond helping, but how could she not? She shared a womb with Jano and now they would perhaps share a deathbed. Everything about the crushing of the twin’s skull was ominous. She didn’t believe that death, as a physical entity, was taunting her, but it sure as hell felt like it.

The rest of the voices did not push past her focus. Instead, the pitter patter of their hurried footsteps added a sense of optimistic determination to her mission. There was only one voice she wanted to hear.

”I don’t know what they did, but he’s here somewhere,” she said.

Jano, please be alive.

Cannons continued to fire, anchoring her optimism. There was only one voice she wanted to hear, but instead a different one crashed harsher from behind. ”Shut your fucking mouth, think I give a shit.” And she clenched her jaw. Ingran reminded her of the soulless Peacekeepers who were in charge of her captivity. The easiest way to endure them was absolute silence. So, she bit her tongue.

Their exploration led them to an isolated room of windows, light streaming in to illuminate a forest of tangled vines. It consumed most of the rotted items scattered about, but it was not the mystery of this place that captivated the eye – it was the treasure she recognized in the corner. Bundles and bundles of familiar herbs, the type she would find in the forests of Seven and use for cooking. After nothing but empty hands and crayons to baffle the mind, they were finally onto something.

She plucked at the lemongrass and rolled her one eye upon Ingran’s aggressive comment. Yes they needed weapons, but what was the point if they didn’t have food? ”These aren’t weeds, they’re herbs. Edible herbs. Do you want to starve?” she said.

Then again, he seems like the type who wouldn’t mind cooking human flesh over a fire.

Herbs in hand, she turned around to look him in the eye. He was intimidating – and everything horrible Jano had promised – but she would not fear him. His golden crayon traced against the grimy windows panes, shaping into the outline of a weapon. Was there a point to this? Drawing disturbing art on windows while they could be collecting food rations? She continued to watch, curious of his intentions, until the golden lines quivered. Alarmed, she backed away before the glass could break but it never did – instead, the monstrous weapon materialized as if sliding out of the glass and out of thin air.

Her eye widened.

”How did—“

She shoved her hand into her bag and withdrew the vibrant orange crayon, a flurry of color that reminded her of sunsets. There was no questioning in this dream world, only doing, so she pressed the tip of the crayon to the glass window and traced. Lines connected into the shape of a large club, and toward the furthest end she carefully arranged lines of sharp, deadly spikes. If this mansion had the beating heart she had seen in its living portraits and breathing walls, she would not waste her time with something small or delicate. She needed a weapon, and it needed to be lethal. It needed to be as terrifying as Ingran’s wild eyes.

She stood back and watched.

One blink, it was simply a sketch. A second blink, and she could hold it within her two hands. Heavy, wooden, and deadly, brandishing the beautiful colors of sunset. Nothing about this monstrosity could remind her of home, but it wasn’t supposed to. It resembled a torture device and its purpose was equally treacherous – to stain the sunset red and build new life out of the bones of innocents. Although she had volunteered to die, she would not lay down her life as if she did not have a chance. If she could kill for Jano’s new life, she would. If they both had to die, she prayed it would be quick.

New weapon in hand, she dropped the lemongrass into her bag and followed Ingran out of the glass jungle. Once again her eye darted from shadow to shadow, searching desperately for any signs of life. Voices sang in the distance, too muffled to be deciphered as anything but incessant chatter. She wouldn’t mind straying as far away from those other tributes as possible. She had this weapon, but using it was another story entirely.

They stumbled into another room, air hot and suffocating. A pool stretched beyond an expanse of bright blue tiles and rising fog, the water as clear as the sky on a summer’s day. Ingran knelt to the floor and sketched another drawing, this time a jug. Not a bad idea, she thought. If this was free water, she would not refuse.

Her second crayon was pink, another soft color to complete her sunset collection. With her best effort, she copied the outlines of Ingran’s drawing as it writhed like a living creature and danced into reality. A jug with a cap at the top, that was all.

When it slid into her palms, she followed Ingran and scooped the pool’s soothing waters into its empty belly. She filled it to the brim and twisted the cap shut. She didn’t know what the bathrobes were for – if not for atmospheric decoration – but she didn’t protest, and folded them into her bag neatly.

There was something untrustworthy about this place, as rich and pampered as it appeared. Still, she did not want to separate herself from her only ally. Even if his ideas were impulsive and strange, they had worked so far. Why not experiment?

She slowly stepped into the waters.

The warm water did not soothe her tension. Her muscles were taut, mind stretched thin, and within a few minutes of wading through the water she let her impatience guide her out once more. There was nothing to be found here, nothing but empty extravagance. It meant nothing to her if Jano was not here, but she would keep her feelings about that swallowed up. Ingran was clearly not the type of person to worry nor care. It was easier to work in silence anyway.

Their next destination was behind a curtain of golden hairs, loose against her fingers as she parted the way through. This room was perhaps the strangest – two nostrils gaping at her with fires kindling in their caverns, and a pair of lips to match. She paused to admire the oddity of it all, noting the bundles of firewood in the corner. Supplies were hidden so cleverly in this chaotic maze. Although she appreciated it, this ordeal was becoming a headache.

Something hard brushed against the back of her head, triggering her reflexes. She backed away until she noticed that it was a box suspended from a parachute. Sponsorship, she thought. Out of all these bodies, someone was on her side? How optimistic.

Inside were more crayons, which meant more supplies. But what to draw? They had weapons, water, food, and firewood. The essentials were all collected. What else was there?

A thought occurred to her as she watched Ingran by the fireplace. Pulling out a red crayon, she approached him boldly. ”Hey, let me try something.”

His eyes reminded her of a threatened predator, but she proceeded without fear. ”Hold still.”

If crayons could create art upon glass, then perhaps they could create art upon human flesh.

She traced his torso with the color of blood, which she imagined was his favorite. The wax began to deplete as she anticipated, and the shadow of a formation appeared around his chest. A bulk of protective armor, fitted to his body almost perfectly. She grinned.

”How about a helmet too?”

This time she traced his head with a black crayon, taking the time to inscribe one important detail – a little skull on the front of his helmet.

It suited him.