—Shell Shock—

When Persephone sat down in a Capitol Hospital for the bullet wound on her back, she realized not once had she cried over Arachne. She screamed and scrambled to help, but not a tear had sprung from her eyes. She did not have to fight the urge to cry like she had with Reaper.

An odd anomaly.

As the Peacekeeper dragged her away earlier, he pointed out that she was bleeding. At first, Persephone brushed off his observation as misguided, for her hands were covered in Arachne's blood. He could have easily been deceived. When she denied it, he pointed to the small of her back where a hole in her uniform resided.

"No," he told her again, "you're bleeding. Must be from one of the gunshots."

She landed right in a medical room, sitting on top of a gurney without a thought behind her eyes. Although a clear-headed version of herself would have had her heart pounding with Coriolanus in the room, Persephone couldn't feel a thing. Not the dried blood on her hands, nor the guilt in her heart for being utterly responsible for the murder of Arachne Crane.

One of the hospital nurses walked into the room, causing Coryo to stiffen up from his position of observing the Ignis girl. She had been easy to read for him, but now she appeared to be an empty shell of the girl she had been just an hour ago.

"Hello, Miss Ignis, I heard we have a gunshot wound today. Where might that be so I can take a look and stitch you up?" The optimism in the woman's voice almost triggered Persephone to gag again. She only kept her gaze to the white wall across from her, not registering a word.

Once Coriolanus realized she either refused to speak or simply couldn't, he stepped in for her. "Her back, ma'am. Lower back."

"Oh, okay." The nurse nodded and set a tray of tools down next to the sitting girl. "Miss Ignis, could you turn around for me and take off your blazer?"

As Persephone began shuffling with a slow pace to shrug off the blazer to her uniform, she made the grave mistake of glancing down at her stained hands. She had been reminded of the death she failed to prevent. That her classmate from her youth, Arachne Crane, was gone.

Her lungs felt heavy. Her heart accelerated. She took short, rapid breaths as she struggled to scratch the blood off her fingers. "Perse!" She heard a familiar voice yell. "Shit, Perse! Stop!" Coryo gripped both her hands and separated them. "What are you doing?"

"Get it off," she muttered and thrashed against the boy's grasp, "please- just get it off me-"

"She wants the blood off her hands." The nurse observed calmly and spoke only to Coriolanus. "There is a sink in the bathroom down the hall, she can wash it off there."

"Thank you." He settled both hands on her waist and lifted her off the bed. She wobbled a bit on her feet before her fingers began to scratch at each other again. Coryo, with every bit of patience in heart, took both her hands away from each other and walked through the door.

He led her down the white hall, checking if she was alright every few seconds. Coryo pushed open the bathroom door and locked it behind them, turning back around to find Persephone racing to the sink to scrub off what was left of Arachne. Water from the faucet rushed down, but did little to wash away the blood. At this point, the girl was only rubbing her skin raw to rid herself of the reminder.

"Perse, stop." She didn't listen, only scratched harder. "Persephone." She was compliant the second time. Coriolanus felt it wrong to enjoy the rush of pride from his control over her at a time of distress. He reached for a pump of soap next to the edge of the sink and smoothed it over one of her hands, washing it himself to prevent further damage to her skin.

If she had been in the right state of mind, she would have freaked out at any self-inflicted injuries she made. Her posture and face were her most perfected attributes. The second best were her hands, which would have dropped many places if she continued her manic reactions.

When he was in the middle of cleaning her hand, Persephone's gaze traveled up to his face and pondered blankly. He mumbled a quick "what?" at her behavior, then glanced at the girl to find her lips parted and eyes squinted the slightest bit.

"Are you not fazed by her murder, Coriolanus?" She had used his full name in absolute seriousness.

"I am," he muttered to her whilst only sparing a few looks at her, "I just need to ignore it and focus on my task as a Mentor. She wasn't killed unprovoked, you saw the way she was toying with her tribute."

"You're not the one who got her killed."

"What?"

Persephone paused, only feeling the sting of tears in her eyes at the idea that everything was her fault. Not over Arachne herself, but of her role in her murder. "It's my fault. I got her attention, I told her to stop, and it gave her tribute the opportunity-"

"No, you told her to stop her taunting. It is not your fault for doing the right thing."

"Doesn't change anything."

The way she refused to listen to him made him scrub her hand just a little harsher with anger.

He moved onto her other hand after practically cleaning off all the blood from it. The boy was clearing away the painful reminder of death from Persephone Ignis, assuring she would not hurt herself. He was not tasked to help her, nor run his thumb over her knuckles in comfort. He was helping her, he realized, with nothing granted in return. He gave her compassionate care.

Out of love or duty, Coriolanus couldn't decide.

"I feel like my body is here, but my mind is still at the zoo doing everything I can to help her." Persephone choked out, allowing Coryo to realize just how hard Arachne's death had hit her. 

She was shell shocked.

She followed him blindly and ended on facing the edge of the gurney, Coriolanus Snow's gentle touch lifting her blazer off her shoulders as if she were made of glass. "Her shirt, too." The nurse mentioned, then turned back to the injured girl. "Would you like him to stay in the room?"

Persephone nodded, then spotted him catch a glimpse of her pained face as she undid every button of her blue Academy shirt. She winced heavily as she struggled to pull her arms out of the sleeves. Coriolanus quickly noticed, moving to pull off the fabric for her to prevent further pain.

"Thanks," she whispered softly.

"This is going to hurt a little," Coryo warned the girl as the nurse prepared to stitch her wound, "would you like to hold my hand, Perse?" The girl's gaze dropped to the hand he offered her, then placed her hand gently onto his. Their skin brushed together. Persephone would have sharply inhaled and savored the moment if the nurse hadn't chosen that exact moment to stick a needle through her skin.

Her face twisted with pain, poorly suppressing her groan in minor agony. Persephone's hand squeezed Coryo's so tight her knuckles turned a ghostly white. Each time the needle punctured her skin or was pulled out, the pain stayed the same.

And then it was over.

"8 stitches, Miss Ignis." The nurse set her tools down in the tray and pushed it to the side. Persephone weakly loosened her grip on his hand and sniffled with a tight lipped smile. Coriolanus picked up her discarded shirt and turned his head the other way as she covered herself up.

He made sure not to stare too much at her bare skin, though he took a few glances. Coryo observed her for the last time that day before she dressed herself and left promptly. He would think of her the rest of the night, even as he finished his proposal to Doctor Gaul.

In the early hours of the morning, Persephone Ignis returned to her state of perfection. Her expressionless face gave no hint away that she had thrown up four times the night before. The first time was her dinner. The second contained anything remaining. By third and fourth, she just coughed up saliva and the sips of water she took sparsely.

One thing was clear: she felt painfully sick.

She stared at herself in the mirror, noticing the light bruising on her cheek from a punch that felt forever ago. Medicine sped up its healing process, which Persephone felt thankful for. The less questions, the better. And she could easily hide her bullet wound with her uniform. The select few who would know about it would be the Peacekeeper who pointed it out, the nurse who helped her, and Coriolanus.

They hadn't spoken a word to each other until they stood next to each other in front of their tributes. Persephone kept her gaze locked on the large stone window on the other end of the large gathering hall. Two great statues sat beside it, glowing dimly by the sun seeping through. The napkin in her pocket holding a slide of buttermilk bread burned in her pocket.

She fought every instinct to completely shut down.

"Are you okay?" Coriolanus whispered to her, leaning over so she could hear him. He received only a nod in response. "Are you sure?"

Persephone's eyes dropped from the intricate window to her right and didn't miss the way her heart spiked at the sight of his blue eyes. "Yes," she assured him, "I'm fine."

Her stomach churned.

The Ignis girl tried to swallow the bile traveling up her throat. She refused to gag and vomit.

"In spite of yesterday's tragic events," Highbottom stood in the entrance of the hall, "Our President has decided that the Games must go on. Show everyone the Capitol's unafraid of such acts of terror. To which, Doctor Gaul wishes you to preview the Arena this afternoon with your tributes. Later this evening, there will be a special televised presentation of each tribute to our audience to, now, get them. You will have an hour to discuss strategy."

The man turned around to down a vial of Morphling, causing Persephone's lips to form a frown. She glanced at Reaper, already forming a plan for him.

"You may begin."

She took her seat across from the boy and slid the slice of bread to his side. "Eat." Persephone told him, though he made no move to unwrap it. "Would you rather starve, Reaper? That takes about three weeks. If you're gonna die in the arena, you could at least do it without the pain in your stomach from hunger."

Reaper didn't miss the colder tone in her voice than when she visited him at the zoo. "That girl's death really hit you that hard?"

"She was my classmate. It was my fault."

"She deserved it."

"Why does everyone think that?"

"Maybe because it's true."

A cold silence ensued, followed by Persephone flipping open the notebook in front of her and clicking the pen. She scribbled a few bullet points of Reaper's strengths she had seen before.

"It wasn't your fault." Reaper cut the quiet tension between them. For a moment, he wanted to talk to the girl. She was the only Capitolite he ever met, which was a slim number, who ever listened to him. It felt good to be recognized as a human and not a zoo pet in a cage.

Her stomach churned painfully again. "You don't know that."

"I do." The District boy leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. "I know why you think it was your fault. You called her name to stop her, she wasn't treating her tribute right. She was taunting her. Her tribute kills her, not you. Were you the one with the glass bottle, Persephone?"

Her body stilled, pen unmoving.

"Were you the one who stabbed her in the neck? Did you have any part in it?"

"But I took her attention-"

"She had that shit coming for her." Reaper's nostrils flared, brows drawn down with his eyes narrowed. "With or without you, she would have still been killed. None of it was your fault. You didn't kill her, Persephone."

"Then why does it feel like it?" Her voice cracked, looking up at Reaper with her head tilted down through glistening eyes. Her stomach felt horrible, now. Like a bottomless pit.

"'Cause you won't let yourself believe anything else. Even if it's the truth." His words resonated uncomfortably with her. Like a song she didn't want to hear. A color she didn't like.

A reality she wanted to ignore.

After a pause, he nodded to the napkin in front of him. "What's in it?"

"Buttermilk bread." Persephone felt the corners of her lips perk up at a distant memory. "My mom used to make it before the war. I even forgot how her's tasted." Her head snapped around to the entrance of the hall where Dean Highbottom once stood. "Apparently, she died in 8 during the war."

"You an orphan?"

"Not exactly. I still have my father to thank for that."

Reaper was as precise as he could when he unwrapped the bread slice, careful to not ruin such a precious thing. He hadn't had bread in 11 for a long time, much less buttermilk bread. Another luxury she was granted in the Capitol. By the first bite, he couldn't help the satisfaction of the sweet taste. "I ain't never tasted buttermilk bread before." He admitted as he took another bite. "My sister would love this."

"Your sister?" Persephone asked before she could stop herself. "Older or younger?"

"Younger." He said as he chewed his food. She swore she could see his eyes soften as he thought about the young girl. "Her name's Barley, like the grain. And I got another sibling on the way, Sickle. Boy or girl, it doesn't matter. My dad named 'em."

"You have a full family? Mother, father, siblings, everything?"

The boy nodded in agreement, and it suddenly became so odd how a Capitolite with everything could have much less than a District tribute with nothing. Here Reaper was, one of the tributes prepared to die, with a family back home and love in his heart for every single one of them.

Had Persephone truly been alone all this time? For what is accomplishment without those to celebrate?

"Mention them." Persephone blurted out, pen scratching away at her paper. "There's an interview you have to do. This whole Mentor purpose is to make you only a great performance and right now you need to win their hearts over. If we do not give, but show your motivation to win the Games, there will be more supporters—we can have the upper hand."

"I socked a Peacekeeper in the mouth, Persephone," he shook his head, "nobody in the Capitol could ever support me."

"If we can somehow tell them you were fighting to stay with your unborn brother, that changes things." Persephone's gaze flickered from his face down to her notebook and paused for a few moments. She mulled decisions over, then scrambled to jot down her ideas. "Show your strength. If we don't win their hearts over, we can get them with your greater ability to fight. You killed a Peacekeeper, these tributes don't have half the strength of one."

"Snow, Dovecote." Her gaze flew over to Coryo at the mention of his name, eyes connecting when he stood from his seat across Lucy Gray. Persephone could only watch as he and Clemensia followed Highbottom out.

Reaper's eyes narrowed as his stare lingered on the two students. "That guy, Snow. He's the one that protected you when bullets were flying at the zoo."

"He didn't exactly do the best job." She retorted, reminded of the wound on her back. "A bullet grazed me just enough to break skin. I got stitches yesterday-"

Persephone made the grave mistake of finding a speck of blood, which she knew wasn't hers, under the nail bed of her thumb. Her throat closed up again. Her fingers curled with a deathly grip on her pen. Worst of all, the churning in her stomach was worse than before.

Without excusing herself, she jumped from her seat and rushed out of the hall entrance. Her hand clamped over her mouth as she tried to stop her audible gags. Just as she flung open the last set of doors, she tripped over the stairs to the ground and keeled over to empty her barren stomach. Tears sprung in her eyes.

She let herself vomit out nothing but spit. The sensation was horrible. Persephone dropped to her knees and scraped away Arachne's blood from her finger. Something so simple could be such a deadly reminder.

The Ignis girl stayed there, stone cold, and pulled yet another disposable napkin out from her blazer jacket to wipe her mouth. She sniffled and steadied her breaths, just as Coryo once told her before. "Ignis endures," she whispered to herself, "Ignis prevails."

But there was no way to ignore her heavy heart and the murder witnessed before her eyes. Persephone scrambled to her feet and wiped any tears on her face. Her back straightened. "Ignis endures," she whispered louder this time. She would endure her guilt and never let it eat her up. Arachne Crane was asking for it. None of it was her fault. She only tried to help. Blame the tribute who murdered her. Once the thoughts degrading and blaming herself faded from her mind, she finished the mantra with truth.

"Ignis prevails."