remainders {kass & mycellium}

The air settles, crusted in ice. A single slip of steam toys with the edge of silence. Herbs and pieces of plants flow through fingers of stone as a tiny pouch plunges into a cup of warmed water. Another handle rests nearby, untouched, unneeded. She nearly fills it on instinct, her actions' natural compulsion to account for her other half. But the kettle drops and the cup remains empty. Mycellium walks away from the reach of its shadow. She is alone, just as always now. A singularity born from the death of a duality.

She was not born to be alone.

However, a dropped hand reminds her that such thoughts aren't entirely true. He lives completely unaware inside the confines of her body. Each day he grows and brings with him founts of happiness and weights of sorrow. His life is both a burden and a blessing. He will bring to life a new hand to hold and a face to love, but he will welcome the reminder that he will never have the chance to confuse his Mommy for his Aunt. Mycellium's hands tremble as several sips of tea trickle onto the floor. She can still remember the last words she ever got to tell Red.

"We can name him together. I love you."

The tears of a lonely twin stain the soil of the earth.

But the water dries quickly, wiped away by fragile fingers. Today is not a day of sorrow, but a day of strength. To stare into the eyes of the divider, the wearer of the crown of blood. Today Mycellium will be anything other than weak when she stands before her sister's killer. What will it be like when eyes of the survivor stare again into eyes of the dead? Mycellium finishes her tea. Only time will tell.

Her dress is grey and meant for summer, but Mycellium has to make style choices based on the demands of an eight month old baby bump. The actual ceremony is appalling, shattered souls clapping for another kingdom's Queen. But still Mycellium is enthralled with Kassandra. She watches every second of her speech, stares straight into her eyes as Red stands shimmering on a screen behind her. Myecellium can feel her son kick, yet her hands settle him softly.

Patience, I can feel it too.

Perhaps it's the hormones of pregnancy or perhaps it's the Seam girl within her, but Mycellium doesn't even wait for the crowd to clear before pushing towards the Justice Building. Inside are countless amounts of insignificant workers and Capitol reporters, and all they are is noise. Mycellium cuts through their clamor with surgical intention. She doesn't stop until she's standing only steps away from her, from Kassandra Nerys the Victor of the 82nd Hunger Games.

She stares at her with the same eyes as her sister. Maybe she'll feel the same chill that they shared in the arena.

"I'm not going to be scripted or adherent to societal expectations."

A fire begins to burn deep within Mycellium's core, beneath the beating heart of her soon-to-be son. Her hands hold her stomach as though absorbing the heat.

"You killed my sister. I fucking hate you."

Mycellium's fingers tighten.

"But I'm not mad at you. I'm mad that my son will never know her. I'm mad that her sword didn't bury itself in your chest like it did five other times. "

Suddenly everything releases, a tone of sorrow escapes.

"I'm mad that because of him," her son kicks as if he knows what she's saying, "I can't follow her."