conquest {ree/lux blitz}

I suppose that this is hell.

Maybe it is just what I deserve for living this life; the worse the deeds, the worse the anguish. It is like I have woken up in my coffin and I can hear the sermon above—heart beating through my chest, four urban walls closing in from the sides, the rural landscape fading away, becoming more and more distant with every shaken breath. Throat narrowing, eyes closing.

And that is when I wake up.

I feel like the dark is clawing at my skin. Nightmares were not an unfamiliar sensation; sorrow was the new sun and the darkness feels inescapable. Part of me feels like I have been reaped of my humanity. The memories of my childhood are etched with murder and murder multiplied, the happiness slowly being bruised out of my head. The sea was my only comfort at home; a place to find peace, to find calm and a place to listen to my heart when it is leaking with the rawest of emotion.

Three or so years ago I would have loved being here. The sights, the sounds, the feeling of skeletons against my skin—part of me wishes that I could get my old self back solely so that I wouldn't be suffering now. But the mere concept of not caring, not showing an ounce of morality diminishes me to nothing more than a plaything.

I refuse it, I wanted freedom. Why don't the Capitol care?

I take off from my bed. Light on my feet; it's something they teach you when you are bred to be a career. Sleeping lions stay sleeping and the door only whispers in the night as it closes behind me. 

Faint light trickles from the end of the hall and I know so much better than to follow the light but I need a distraction.

The yellow glow teeters on the edge of power. I turn the corner, sight locked on the ground.

I thought this hell was empty, but devils still walk these halls.

My gaze is met by big feet and I follow them up to find the face of the boy from Three. I don't shake, I'm not scared by his appearance; it's just what they teach you.

No fear, only guts and glory.

He smiles, and I can't help but do the same. There is some relief in the madness, after all, I think.

"Well." He says, eyes flickering over me. "If you're a good girl, you'll probably rat me out for brownie points but if you ain't then you won't be an issue." I tilt my head.

"Honestly, right now I'm way too tired to even try and guess so it'll be way easier if you just tell me." He looks me over, again. "So, Four, you a good girl or a bad girl?"

"When I'm good, I'm good but when I'm bad, I'll slit your throat." I smile. I guess my sister was right when she said that I'm the type of girl who laughs at their own jokes.

Except what I just said—it wasn't a joke.

"You're a bad boy. I've been taught how to end bad boys for good." I tilt my head. I swore that being taught to end was going to stop after the Reaping but it seems to have only gotten worse.

"I take it you don't want that."

I think that this hell is going to break me.

[ dars ]

My words hit like a sword. Iron heart, cold words and an even colder meaning; Three stays put when I tell him the extent of the problem that has been nurtured back at home. Murder is my speciality, as much as I hate it -- and I hate it a lot, I hate the fact that I'll have to use it in a few days time.

I hate the fact it could be him being sent to the underworld.

I hate the fact I would be the one who caused it.

"Good guess, that's the last thing I want." He says. Survival was a given, but the Capitol are going to do their best to steal it away from him, from us when we are sent to war. They will hold their guns, blazing, human skin is no defence for a bullet of blackmail.

Mind spinning, it only slows when the boy laughs in the night. Breaking the dusk and morphing it into a steady dawn; it provides some light in the frail darkness. "Besides, why rush? You only have to wait a few days and then you can end bad boys like me for good on live television where the whole country can see it."

But -- I don't want to. He raises an eyebrow and I'm not willing to turn my heart inside out for him; shout my feelings from the rooftop and into his ear, to cry my worries into his arms because his arms belong to a person who is just a number.

"Would it be too much to ask for your name? I'd much rather if the girl who ended me was more than just a pretty face."

Name or number, both are set to merge soon enough.

"You can call me Lux." I tell him, lips pressing together to form an awkward smile.

"You can tell me your name, if you like. But I'll remember you as the bad boy from the hallway from now on."

It's easier to forget names in moments of madness like this. It's easier to sever than it is to hold on, and even though I've been holding on for ages, for far too long, letting go shows far greater power.

I need to accept what this is, take it at face value and have faith in what will be.

Bad boy meets bad girl; faith in the danger.

[ dars ]