the song of the l o s t // [stella v euley day 7]

e u l e y

She pretends like she doesn't remember.

What he said, how he kissed her — how the snow felt when he pushed her away. And she didn't cry, she didn't pick herself up and run after him. She let go of the anchor between them and watched it sink. She didn't drown; and neither did he. He went to the darkness, to himself, and she watched only long enough to count the days she'd cared for him. Six seconds. Gone. When he turned back one last time, she was looking at her knees. At raw skin. Twin moons became eclipsed, blood in the sky, but neither saw the display. And that's okay. They've seen enough red.

( She doesn't remember. )

Ghosts scratch at her tent, but it's just the wind. There's a voice in her head, but it's just paranoia. She freezes herself and becomes the girl she was at the start — not the wolf, but still hungry. Still feral. Except now she just wants to go home. She volunteered for an adventure, for a break in the routine of her life, and now she's content. She asked for the sun and now she's blind. She doesn't give up; she's not Icarus. She dug a grave, lined it with roses, but she refuses to bury herself. She's not ready. She wants to sleep, but not forever. And she wanted to feel something in this place, but not always. Not now.

Her knuckles are white when she falls asleep, watching the entrance of her shelter and waiting for him to appear. To kill her and Violet like a coward, like a man of cruel intentions. She wants him to be the Aeson that he was at the start. But he doesn't show up — and she's almost disappointed. She doesn't say his name in her dreams. She doesn't dream at all. It's just a black wave; a blink and then she's awake again. Just a handful of hours have passed, but she convinces herself that she's rested enough. She pulls her knees to her chest and waits for Violet to stir. A sleepy smile is offered. "You okay, Vi? Did you sleep well?"

Euley brushes her fingers through strands of silver, craning her neck and spreading her arms like she feels something in her bones. Anything at all. But she's numb. And yet she feels more than ever; she's not actually who she used to be. She's just a hypocrite. She's the same as always and someone entirely new. It doesn't matter. For better or worse, she's still a killer. She still doesn't regret any of it. They exit the tent and they go about their morning like always, but it's quiet. There's tension in the air and a familiar clock is ticking. She focuses on making sure Violet is prepared, items gathered and weapons sharp.

"I'm sorry, but the alliance is over. I think we both know that," Euley begins, closing the distance between them and rubbing at her eyes. There's no tears. And there's no knife in her hand — none in Violet's back. "I'm not going to kill you. Don't worry." She brings a soft hand to her final companion's face, leans forward and places a kiss atop her head. Euley cares. She'll never deny her heart. "Go out there and fight. And just know that you were worth it." She nods, fire in her expression, but it doesn't burn. It doesn't hurt. "Being our ally."

Their shelter is claimed by Euley, her own items packed into the sleigh and she gets inside for a solo journey. She's still a selfish creature. Her bee perches on her shoulder, buzzing a farewell. The muttations just want to travel. She only wants— something. A lot of things. It's pointless to dwell on that now. "I hope we don't meet again." She grips the reins, inhaling through her teeth. "If we do, give me Hell. Give 'em all Hell." And then she's off, one final glance behind her. Her features remain flat. Her lips stay shut. The horizon swallows her and not even a shadow is left behind.

---

A blizzard and red flowers; this is a beautiful place to die. She tucks her bee below her satchel, carefully hiding it beneath her armor and lifting a hand to her eyes. It's hard to see through the storm. And once, she would have claimed to be the source of it — but now she's just a woman on her own, pulling her coat tighter around herself and leaping off her sleigh. She's nothing more than a mortal. Her crampons dig into the ground, inclining her head to the plant-hedgehogs and shouting a command. "Stay here! We're lost. I'm going to try and figure out where we should go from here."

No one's listening, but it's comforting to speak to the silence. She treks alone, tries to peer through all the white and to find a way out. There's nowhere to go. She's careful not to stray from her means of transportation, but when a figure takes shape in the distance, she approaches without fear. It's either a beast that's come to kill her or a man that wants to make an attempt — she just prays it's not him. Not yet. A voice eases her fears, but her body remains tense. Coiled like a snake and ready to strike. "Of course it would be you. It had to be you." And she doesn't blame Stella for all this hatred. She deserves it.

( "Do you remember him?!" )

She remembers a lot, painful as the memories might be. They dull in comparison to the agony that soon grips her kneecap, experiencing a broken bone for the first time in her life. She cries out, a raw scream, and she clutches her leg. She falls like a wounded animal. She has to be more than that. Euley's tired of just being a wolf. She pulls herself up as best she can, unsteady and shattered. But not destroyed. "His name was Alejandro. I remember." She steps closer, careful not to trip and gasping with each movement. She lifts her feet and shows off her weapons. "These were his. I've been carrying him for seven days. I've carried everyone that I've killed."

No thunder, no flash of lightning;
she just lunges and shows her teeth.

"I won't carry you."

---

( euley attacks stella; spiked blunt )
JNi3wcQqspiked blunt
( miss )

accuracy — day seven

( euley attacks stella; spiked blunt )
spiked blunt
( MISS -- 0.0 damage )

OOC:
Alex and I have agreed to fight without armour.

e u l e y

Her kick misses its target, unable to aim with her wounded leg and spiralling to the ground. Snow burns against her cheek, hair in her face, and she bites back a growl. A god-empress falls from her throne, but Euley's not a holy woman. She's just a girl. And she's always known that, somewhere deep within herself, but now it can't be ignored. Her knee cries out, shifting beneath bruised skin, and sweat begins to trail down her temple. She's not beautiful. She's not without death. Her promise will be kept, the wind can have her soul and the mountain can claim her strength, but she's not ready. To die is not to give up; your heart has to be beating for it to stop.

And hers is still screaming.

She pulls herself up and leaps to the side — dodging Stella's attack at the last minute, hitting the ground once more and grunting in frustration. She's tired of this. And she catches Stella's gaze when she rises up on her arms, but there's no fury in her eyes. In either of theirs. It's an emotion that she can't name, so she doesn't. It just is. All of them, all of this, they just— are. Existing. She makes it to her feet and rolls her shoulders; all that's left to do is fight. There's no use in pageantry at this point, no reason to cry and weep and devour spirits that don't belong to her. She sets them free, looking up at a blurred sky and seeing nothing. Alejandro and Mercy and Maisie.

Stella.

Euley listens to what she has to say. Nods along to the passionate words and admires the sentiment behind them. She'd never deny a tribute's final request. If Stella wants her soul to remain trapped in flesh, festering under the soil, then so be it. There is power in death. It is the dying who choose their afterlife, not the killer. All Euley has are memories, and ghosts on her shoulders, but those are much the same. Just illusions. Temporary. Not a body, not a spirit; just a shadow. That's all there is now. She looks around her and there's only white. It could swallow her, but her jaws stretch wider. "I'll leave it all behind, I promise. Everything that isn't useful to my survival."

Stepping forward, a wince across her features and she ponders what she wants out of this. Do you have any requests? She's not sure. Her tongue weighs heavy in her mouth, brow furrowed, and she shakes her head. All she wants it to live. How can she ask that? Why would her life be worth more than Stella's? It's not. And she accepts that, she embraces her morality and feels another wave of pain wash over her, but she's more than her undoing. Her birth and childhood and all her teenage years exist on a single thread, slowly creeping closer to the end of her life, but she gives it to the breeze and watches it spin. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, or it could be many years from now. Alone in her bed and with many ghosts watching with sad smiles. She has no right to know.

"I want nothing. Just give me nothing."

Do not give her death;
she's not ready.

---

( euley attacks stella; spiked blunt )
lnLtnVRDspiked blunt
( DEEP GASH ON CHEEK -- 8.5 damage )

e u l e y

She's sent backwards by the force of her kick, landing on the ground and gasping from the still fresh pain that shoots up her right leg. A wiser girl would take the crampons off, swinging them wildly with curled fists and hoping for a decent attack to follow, but Euley is nothing if not traditional. Her bone is shattered — but she's not. And her body writhes in agony against the snow, but she still pulls herself up. She still has to live. She still has to fight.

A scream sounds — and red meets white. Stella clutches her cheek and Euley doesn't smile. There's nothing prideful about this. It's just murder. She admires that the young woman is still standing; split skin isn't less of a wound than a broken kneecap. Agony is agony. This is not death. This is only the prelude, an introduction to their undoing. Many chapters are yet to come, an epilogue buried beneath a garden of roses. It is for their eyes alone. This is an elegy for the damned.

Tears fall, but she does not mock Stella. There's no shame in crying. It's in the coding of a human to weep, to pull open their ribs and to display all the rot that's clinging to their organs. To be alive is to be a grenade. Euley's comforted by the ticking in her ear, the rising heat in her stomach. Detonation approaches. She doesn't look at the timer to know when it will come. Her rival lunges, but she takes hold of her advantage and moves to the side. This time, she stays on her feet.

"I'm here to take everything from you."

Euley narrows her gaze, lowering herself into a familiar stance and preparing to charge. "No," she starts, and it's a biting sound. She presses her hands against cold earth, feels the wind whip through her hair and claims its strength as her own. Hypocrisy — she's tired of being mortal. She wants to be a storm again. "I am everything, Stella." Both a blizzard and a girl and so much more. "And you can't take me. I'm not going." She launches; thunder roars without lightning.

"I refuse to die."

---

( euley attacks stella; spiked blunt )
rsxgo|IOspiked blunt
( MISS -- 0.0 damage )

e u l e y

An avalanche —
and she crashes.

Her breath visible and legs shaking — but still standing. She rises and falls with one movement. There's too much in her body to be contained. There's not enough to ease her selfish heart. It screams against her chest, clawing at the skin, but there's no blood. She takes hold of her pain and wraps it around herself, shattering and healing and glaring at her rival. Two lives on a scale, a perfect balance, but one has to fall. Stella picks herself up from the ground, raging like the snow.

Euley is unable to dodge the attack, managing only to lean awkwardly to the side. Her wrist takes the force of the kick, bone snapping out of place and her scream fills the air. The wind does not steal the sound. It's shrill, furious, and she's tired. Tired of breaking, of crashing against the earth and tasting iron. She doesn't. She lands on her knees, but she doesn't collapse. The ruins of an empire form the length of her spine, burning and crumbling, but still there. Still alive.

"We both want to survive."

That's all she wants. She just wants to go home. Her eyes sting, but she rubs at them furiously. She doesn't want to cry. And it's true that funerals are for the living, to mourn and to repent, but she's not ready. She doesn't want to be in attendance when they lower her casket. "It's not just us," she spits, but her expression is vulnerable. There's no anger. "Two is here, and so is Twelve. Watching us. The entirety of Panem, even." She points a finger, hissing through her teeth.

"All of the dead are with us." Just memories, reflections and shadows, but they're here. "Their blood, their fears, and their dreams, too. It's all buried here. We're never going to be alone again." Her voice isn't bitter, just sad. Just wanting this to be over. "Do you think I'm a monster, Stella?" The question surprises her, but it needs to be asked. She thinks herself a survivor, just a girl playing a game with sick rules, but she agreed to them. She didn't fight them.

She wants nothing.

"I want to be more than that." And she stands, hair whipping around her face and her limbs on fire. She steps closer, a misty gaze and dry cheeks. There's so much inside of her, too much, but she refuses to expel it. She allows it fester, veins black and organs rotting. Still, a flower takes root in her stomach, and suddenly she's a garden. She's poisonous, but blooming. This is the nature of a woman. To burn away to ash and to rise from it. To keep going.

To charge forward —
an avalanche.

---

( euley attacks stella; spiked blunt )
Zxe8VbRIspiked blunt
( DEEP GASH ON LEFT BICEP -- 8.0 damage )

e u l e y

A forest burns — and she runs. This is a dance of wolves and falling trees. And Stella is a wildfire, but so is she. Ice across her skin and flames roaring in her chest. It's just frozen tissue, the fatigue of a tired heart. She names herself after many violent storms and steals their strength. Euley; blizzard and inferno and hurricane. She's a thief. The wind takes her voice away, but she wields its strength. Its fury. There are so many different ways to howl. Feral and sad and silent. She sings of the latter. A quiet inhale and chapped lips.

And her crampons slice through Stella's bicep, the force of Euley's kick flinging her forward. Her knees hit the earth, pain rising up the length of her body and settling in her bones. It's familiar now. A monster asks of her humanity, spilling blood in the seconds that follow. This is hypocrisy. This is the survival of lambs raised for slaughter. An axe is raised and two begin to scream; only one may return to the meadow. She looks around herself, at red flowers and furious snow, and they're already here. They've escaped to find another butcher.

This is the irony of the dying.

"No, I really don't." And this is the forgiveness of the living. Sharp and hesitant, but also real. Enough. She listens to what Stella has to say, feels every emotion and accepts all the blame. The girl from Twelve has every right to spit at her feet, cursing her name and reprimanding her murders — but then she'd be a hypocrite, knife slit across another tribute's throat. She'd be Euley. "I should hate you for what you did to Allie." Euley should hate herself, but she doesn't. She can't. "We all just want to go home."

She's too lost in her thoughts to dodge the attack that follows. Metal spikes rip across her stomach, blood rushing from the wound in a hot wave and staining the fabric of her shirt. There's a clap of thunder and she's brought back to the third day, when Pillar Fray drove a spear through her core and forced her to realize what it meant to truly hurt. She remembers the sting, the agony, but this time she doesn't cry. She doesn't scream. She spits out iron and chokes back a howl. Silence takes root — somehow loud and deafening. Somehow so strong.

"Thank you," she starts, and there's no bitterness in the sound. It's gentle and warm. "For letting me have that. For saying that." She doesn't deserve it — but she doesn't deny it, either. To be selfish is in her code, wired into her being and commanding her to keep going. To keep fighting. And a war zone can become a garden, but there will always be corpses beneath the beauty. Beneath the lies. "Alejandro deserved better. All of us do." She rises and steps closer, hand against her gut and fingers slick with regret. With her destruction.

"Go home, Stella. If I can't." It's a genuine request, spoken through teeth that are tired of biting. Of killing. "Can you promise me that? Give me nothing, but go home. For all of us that can't." She lowers herself to the ground, digging her crampons into the earth and preparing to contradict herself. That's all they can do now. "And if you die here, I'll leave your body alone. I'll leave everything behind that won't keep me alive — but I'll go home for you. I promise." Static in her ears, she lunges and crashes like lightning.

A storm;
Euley Sarasin.

---

( euley attacks stella; spiked blunt )
hYUUszANspiked blunt
( MISS -- 0.0 damage )

e u l e y

Icarus flies, wings against the sun —
and Euley knows what comes next.

( The fall. )

Her leg cuts through the air, but it misses flesh. And the blood on the snow is now black, aged and dried and fading fast. She wants it to be fresh. She wants the bleeding to stop. Thrown off balance, she crashes against her side and gasps at the shock of pain that shoots across her stomach. There's iron in her mouth, but this time she doesn't spit it out. She accepts it. Let her tongue become silver, a weapon slashed across the throats of her enemies. She's tired of wearing nothing but her skin. She misses the weight of armor. The shelter of steel.

To be free is not to be safe. She knows that now. It's easy to pick herself up, body on fire and organs failing, but she rises too quickly. Her thoughts swim, vision blurred, and a fur coat is useless. She's still dying — the blizzard is still raging. She shakes her head, holding a hand to her abdomen and gritting her teeth. There's nothing feral about her movements, she just wants the pain to stop. She wants it to keep her going. Stella speaks, catching her balance after dodging Euley's attack, and the girl from Two listens to what she has to say. "We can't all be as brave as you, can we?" And Euley almost laughs, but she can't force the sound. The warmth.

"I don't know if I'm brave, Stella," she starts with a shrug, looking to the ground and running a hand through her hair. It does nothing to remove the crown of snowflakes that has formed there, but she knows that she is a queen of nothing. A regent of death. "I want to be — I think I am — but not because I volunteered." She lifts her gaze, a weak smile on her lips. The world is still frozen. "That had nothing to do with bravery." She just wanted an adventure, a break in the routine of her life. Part of her wishes she could take it all back.

The other part wouldn't change a thing. This is the song of a hypocrite. The lyrics never quite match the music that's playing. You're not meant to sing along to the words. Stella's request is spoken, to which Euley nods and looks forward with a determined expression. "I will." It's as simple at that, no strings attached to the agreement. The dying owe their killers no favours. "What's his name? Is he your only family?"

Gates fly open, a flood of emotions filling the space between them. They don't drown. "I have sisters. Three that are identical, actually. A younger one, too." She grins at their memory, but it's a fleeting gesture. "I have nothing for them. But, if you ever meet them, just— be there. Hold them and treasure them, just for a moment. For me. I was never there enough."

A hand rubs at dry eyes, red and raw and on the verge of tears. It's just snow — just the melting of a woman that sold her soul to become ice. To become all at once stronger and more fragile. She's not ashamed of being vulnerable, of showing a less destructive side of herself, but there's no use in it. Not here. And Stella's right, one of them won't survive this war, but Euley isn't ready to think about that. She can't bring herself to accept what's coming. A kick hits her gut, further tearing a wound that's still fresh, but she hears the familiar crack of bones. Twice. It's agony. All of this.

"That is the future, isn't it?" She contradicts Stella's statement, holding on to a thread that's about to split and begging it to stay whole. To not break. "We're not dead yet. Let's live, Stella." She's not ready to go.

"You have to be alive to die."

---

( euley attacks stella; spiked blunt )
0pm3Gd65spiked blunt
( DEEP GASH ON BACK OF HEAD -- 9.0 )

e u l e y

The eclipse —
of twin moons;
of twin deaths.

Of a dying girl.

A skull fractures beneath Euley's boot, torn skin on the blades of her crampons — and this is a slow undoing. There's no joy in the song of splintered bone, but she wishes it would be over. That it would reach its crescendo and for silence to arrive soon after. A clap of thunder and the soft whistle of winter rain. Her features twist, caught somewhere between a sad longing and a hunger for the end. For the unbecoming of Stella Blakesley. For the survival of herself.

She rolls across the ground, landing on her knees and holding herself up by her arms long enough to catch her breath. Everything stings, her limbs are shaking, and there's so much blood. It's difficult for her to realize how close she is to the darkness, to becoming nothing, so she sets herself on fire and calls it mercy. And the flames have to die and her body must burn, she knows, but to be ash is not to be a shadow. A memory.

The wind can scatter her soul. The mountain can cradle her spirit. There will be birth in her ending. Just not yet. She doesn't want it to be today. A clock ticks in her ears, her lungs are screaming, but she doesn't let go. She has the thread of her life wrapped around a broken wrist, fabric stretching and a lifeline at its final stage — but there's so much more for her. She wants another day of being destroyed. Of fighting.

Rising on unsteady legs, she looks to Stella and brushes a strand of silver out of her face. "It's just me and him." Cameron, but they call him Cam. She wonders, for a moment, what he must think of her. Of the tribute that is at war with his only daughter. She can't bring herself to be ashamed. It is the nature of a man to be selfish — and a woman is the same, but her cruelty is graceful. Almost gentle. A knife in the heart of the sleeping.

"They can hear you, you know?"

And she's not sure if that's a blessing or a curse. She just shrugs. A weak smile, a nod of understanding. She's grateful for the kindness, but she's too busy thinking of Stella's heart. Of how she wishes it would just stop beating. Desperation sinks in, but she doesn't sob. She doesn't fall against the snow and cry. She inhales, looking at the blizzard around them. "Yeah, you're right, but I wish you weren't." She laughs, a true hypocrite. "They deserve better than to be here with me. In this horrible place. Watching me die."

Watching her be a wolf,
decay on her teeth.

Stella says that it needs to be over, and Euley agrees, but that one statement has two meanings. She can't accept it. Even as another kick slices across her stomach, too lost in her thoughts to dodge the attack, she refuses to come to terms with the inevitable. She's not afraid of dying, of becoming one with the world, but why does it have to be now? Why here, in the arena, after seven days of proving herself? Of doing everything she can to get home? It should be her. She can't bring herself to consider otherwise. Her victory is just on the horizon. She doesn't stop running.

"I don't want it to be over, Stella.
I don't want to die."

The eclipse —
of a soldier;
of a war that can't be won.

---

( euley attacks stella; spiked blunt )
rPpCzOYjspiked blunt
( MISS -- 0.0 damage )