where the heart rests; violetta, day 1.5

oh, my mind's getting violent
it only multiplies in the silence
give you a fist full of violets and
watch 'em blossom underneath your eyelids

A sheltered pearl cast into a storm where she didn’t belong; Violet was withering by the moment, cold winds whipping her cheeks until her teeth chattered. She had known she was unfit for every droplet of suffering the Hunger Games had to offer, but from the courtesy of a well-planned strategic decision she had reigned victorious with powerful allies that had eccentric tastes for blood. Her privilege followed her like a hungry stray during troubled times, yet she knew everything had its limits. This alliance was strong, but it was also dangerous. Should any of them decide she was unworthy, she knew she couldn’t fight them off.

However, a lonesome journey through the snow – suffering at the hands of Mother Nature – frightened her too much to lead her away. She had to stick with them, especially after witnessing their triumph in the Bloodbath. Four corpses were scattered about and she tried to pay them no mind. She stepped over one, faintly aware of the arrow jutting through his neck, and swallowed tightly. As she joined the others, hiding her bloodied knife in her rucksack, she spotted the “wealth” inside the cabin. A Salazar with wealth was not uncommon; how she utilized it was most important.

Aeson, perhaps the most untrustworthy one of the pack, claimed the armor. Violet decided to pick through it carefully, weighing every option to her benefit. There was a mutual agreement that fire was a friend rather than a foe in this climate, so she slid three jars of black tar into her bag. Medical supplies were an obvious choice, as well as armor to wrap around her vulnerable form. Then came her personal tastes for comfort, hands nabbing a heavy pair of pants and a stylish hat that would warm her ears. By the end of the search, she felt like a turtle; shells of armor and warmth cushioning her from the worst of everything.

It felt as if they were feasting from a silver platter. More and more supplies revealed themselves as essential. There was a tent to guard their resting bodies at night, and a sleigh pulled by miniature-tree sprouting creatures that made her smile. This might as well be the Games equivalence to a horse-drawn carriage, and Violet approved.

She climbed into the sled awkwardly. Her body was still shaken with fading adrenaline, but she began to feel the small stings of pain where an arrow had sliced her hand. It was all bandaged up now, bloodstains decorating the fabric as if to mock her. She didn’t recall it happening, not until the blood dripped from her fingertips hot as magma. Gently, she held it to her chest and kept her expression neutral. She could not deny the pain even if it was considered insignificant, but the others didn’t need to know how fragile she was. The sheltered little pearl from a house of serpents.

The sun passed overhead, a giant flame in an otherwise frozen wasteland. Perhaps it was unfair to call it a waste, but Violet was not used to the scarcity of trees and infrastructure. It felt like they were treading through an endless white mass, and the chill was already settling in her bones. The winds screaming past their sleigh did not help.

Her uneasiness never passed. Even as they stopped for a rest, Violet did not want to step foot in the snow again. She hadn’t felt so dangerously on edge before. Her blood turned cold at the thought of anybody finding them here, and she was not prepared for a second battle.

Trusting her company was an even more complicated dilemma. Isaac seemed unstable, Euley was ferocious enough to claw somebody’s eyes out, and Aeson looked ready to backstab her at any moment. They were her best bet for survival, but it was quite the gamble. She had no idea where her odds stood.

”I want to look at something,” she chimed abruptly, pulling out her knife as if to prepare for danger. It would be her luck to wander off and step into something threatening, like a bear. ”I’ll scream if anything goes wrong.”

She smiled at them as if it were a jest, but it was honest.

It was the flowers that caught a curious eye; colored bloody and eerie, they were scattered about melted snow and reminded her instantly of the Bloodbath. Cautiously, she knelt down and touched one of the petals.

”Beautiful,” she whispered.

She remained within earshot of her allies, but cherished the silence that set like dust. She wondered if Jacinta was watching her, judging her every move. Was this the right idea, or was she arranging the flowers for her own funeral?

Only time would tell.

She stood up and stared at the glowing horizon. It was a splash of wild colors behind a white, snowy canvas.

For a moment, her fear abated.
.

i've been running from the moon
since i got burnt by the sun
your face is brand new
but your smile is gone