✄ .・。.・゜✭・.
another head hangs lowly,
child is slowly taken, and the
violence causes silence
who are we mistaken
━━━

██ 004. / NOBLE STEED

█ ✄ ... / IN DISTRICT EIGHT there was a story — about the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who took children away to die.

    The Piper was a peculiar figure, clad in unusually garish clothing, who had originally appeared to offer the town of Hamelin his aid. A rat infestation, the story said — something only a certain rhythm could resolve. Having witnessed how much the town was struggling, the benevolent Piper had promised to take their troubles away, so long as the people adequately compensated him for his hard work. But the people of Hamelin were not grateful to the Piper, and they refused to give him the payment he was so rightly owed. The town was selfish and thankless, and not a single soul within it had appreciated the Piper for all that he had done.

    They had taken their Piper for granted, and for that, the people of Hamelin deserved to be punished.

    And so, the Pied Piper returned to the poor old town, but this time, it was not the citizens' problems that he took away. Instead, as the Piper played his harmful tune, he led the town's children away to a beautiful land where he left them — one by one, until there wasn't a soul left to take. The innocent children paid the penance for their parents' crimes, and they were never seen or heard from again.

    Many considered the story to be a metaphor for death. But then, that was all it really was...

Just another story.

    As Paisley walked towards the stage, her legs trembled. When her name had first been called, it had felt like a wave pummelling through her chest — the feeling of everything around her, all crashing down at once. Everything fell silent, yet somehow, the world around her was spinning, like her body was floating weightlessly through empty space. Everything had felt entirely numb. And then, every sense in her body had somehow heightened, and all of her surroundings burned strikingly into view. Every sound, and every feeling. Every stifled breath and hopeless glance. Every slither of smoke still lingering in the clear blue sky, and every faded colour — or the coarse texture of polyester, as the breeze lifted her dancing skirt.

There was a high-pitched sound ringing in her ears — the sound of her mother crying. Excruciating in it's volume, and yet for Paisley, the noise felt rather painless. Familiar, even, because she had heard those sounds before. But nobody else seemed pained when Paisley's name was called. Most of the people around her didn't even seem to flinch. They just threw her commiserating smiles and empty stares — compassionately despondent as their faces filled with gloom. Looking at her like she was already a grave just waiting to be dug.

Through it all, Paisley's mind remained thoughtless. She could only remember that story — the one she had known her entire life — as the true nature of its message only now became clear...

The children of District Eight did not come home.

Paisley didn't want to fear the inevitable. After all, she never had been one to fear what she could not control. But mostly, she just didn't want to give them the satisfaction. Those she knew would be watching her — praying for her sick demise. The people that would be laughing at her, because her only purpose was to look meagre and afraid. If she was going to die, she wouldn't let them take away her spirit, too. She had far too much to lose to ever let them see her fall.

And so, about halfway down the cobbled aisle, something inside of Paisley snapped. Her spine stiffened, the small movement making her posture immediately more assured, and the shaking in her limbs grew steady. The brokenness of her breath felt slower — each gasp of air no longer quick or heaving — and her eyes were no longer fixated on the scuffs of her leather boots.

By the time she reached the front of the crowd, Aurelia's eyes were twinkling. The artificial woman still looked bored, but there was a slight elation in her now — just the faintest glimmer — as she watched Paisley bunch up the lengths of her patchwork skirt. Paisley exhaled, draping the heavy fabric delicately over one forearm and freed herself to walk up the stone steps without tripping. The solid flooring felt odd beneath her feet, unnaturally smooth and even, but she managed, the walk getting easier with every step.

Up close, the glittering edges of her escort's make-up were practically blinding.

"Not bad..." Aurelia hummed as Paisley approached her, "Not bad at all." As she looked her up and down, Paisley said nothing, only reaching to flatten the lengths of the flowing skirt. Eyes skirting down to Paisley's hobnailed boots, a smirk twisted on Aurelia's over-glossed lips and she scoffed. "Nice shoes..."

"Thanks", Paisley bore her teeth into a cartoonish smile, nodding towards the words scribbled on the escort's wrist. "Nice notes."

Aurelia's expression dropped into a narrowed glare, but Paisley only flashed the girl another smile. She sucked her tongue over her two front teeth, shooting Paisley daggers before turning herself back towards the waiting crowd. "Well then... Any volunteers?"

To no surprise at all, nobody stepped forward to take her place.

Now in her correct position on the stage, Paisley still couldn't find the courage to find her loved ones in the crowd. She already knew what to expect, but she wasn't sure she could face it without completely breaking. Her family had already lost so much... How on earth were they expected to survive this? Parker — she was already so angry. And Polly — how would she retain that precious innocence that meant faith still existed in her rose-tinted world?

Her parents...

Well, she couldn't bear to think of it, so Paisley did not bid her eyes to focus, instead gazing over the scene as though it were one big blur. As she slowly let herself zone out, the torpid image before her met her eyes with nothing but a sea of light — a bright, impalpable haze. Amidst the blur, she even found herself amazed by the sheer amount of colour. Behind her foggy vision, it was almost like a rainbow, with all its evocative patterns and dazzling hues. The residents of District Eight had always been lucky in that sense — the fabrics they had access to meant they weren't restricted to the drab colour schemes of their neighbours.

But eventually, Paisley's eyes adjusted, her colourful illusion making room for reality to sink in.

"Alright — onto the boys!"

As Aurelia moved towards the second bowl, Paisley turned her attention elsewhere. She couldn't even begin to think about which poor soul was about to join her on stage. She was far too aware of how each set of eyes were still fixated on her — an army of sullen stares...

This time, Aurelia's hand crept into the bowl painfully slowly, her manicured fingers fiddling sluggishly with the folded papers. Paisley watched as the entire crowd of boys stiffened, just as she once had, as the escort unfolded a singular paper and prepared herself to read out its name.

"Calico Shaw."

Somewhere, the crowd stirred, heads turning towards a sole figure — a short, speckled child, with sickly white skin and tufts of blonde hair. At the sight of him, Paisley's lungs collapsed. As much as she wished she didn't, she knew that name. Shaw, as in Aidan Shaw. And if the name hadn't been obvious enough, there was his face — practically the mirror image of Aidan himself. Paisley could feel bile rising up her throat. She didn't know Calico well, but she knew that he was her neighbour. That he was the brother of her friend... And she had seen him at work. He could hardly lift a finger without shaking, he was always so unsure. He was so tiny. So helpless. She couldn't bear to watch him die.

He was only twelve years old. He had one entry...

    It just didn't seem right.

"Somewhat less promising..." Aurelia muttered underneath her breath, most likely assuming the microphone wouldn't catch it — but Paisley did, and it took every bit of strength in her not to tear the girl apart.

Before she could say anything, Calico was walking towards the stage, eyes still glued to the cobbled floor, and her own head bowed. From such a great distance, he somehow looked even smaller. And scared — so unbelievably scared. Even from her mammoth height, Paisley could see how his feeble body was quivering with fear.

"You come stand right here, babe", Aurelia encouraged as he hesitantly crept up the steps, "A little closer... There, that's it."

She couldn't look at him, not without crying, so her eyes scanned the crowd of boys instead. It didn't take her long to find Aidan, skin now colourless and knuckles turned white, burying his head between his hands. He had four sets of arms around him — those four boys that Paisley knew quite well — but as always, she only cared about seeing one.

Gus's dark eyes were burning — the kind of molten fury that rolled through him like lava, sparking fury in the blood that flowed along his veins. She knew that look. The way that his left hand kept twitching. The way in which his nostrils flared. The fact that his chest had puffed out and his chin had lifted, or the way his fingers were spreading out like claws. Oh, she knew it. As her eyes met his, it was clear as day. She could see his fire brewing. Gusset was about to explode.

She wanted to talk to him — tell him that no matter what, she would be okay — but she couldn't, so all that Paisley could do was soften the metallic glint in her eye. A simple gesture, but one that came with an obvious plea.

Please don't do anything to get yourself hurt.

For the love of Holle, Gus — just don't scream. But he wasn't even looking. If only she could have predicted that either way, it would be Orrice who was reckless enough to call out.

"Man, screw your odds!", he shouted, fists thrusting aimlessly into the air, "Screw 'em. Screw 'em all!"

Beside her, Aurelia let out an audible gasp, but the Square was in too much upheaval to pick up the sound. There were people turning frantically towards the commotion, while others nearby were doing everything they could to turn themselves away, desperate not to look involved. But mostly, nobody really knew what to do — there hadn't been an incident like this in years. Suits were pouring in from every angle, but with the crowd so dense, they couldn't get through fast enough. Paisley wanted to beg Orrice to keep quiet, but he just kept shouting — the same three words over and over, even after the Peacekeepers pushed through the human barrier to drag him away.

    Screw your odds. Screw your odds. Screw your odds.

    The Square fell silent, the kind of unnerving silence that made the air feel heavy. That unwavering stillness of thousands, too scared to even breathe. Suffocating. Waiting for a sign — anything — to tell them that it was safe to move on. And they stayed like that until the Mayor stepped forward, nudging Aurelia's back with the flat of his wrist. At the sudden touch, the escort flinched.

    "Well, I... What an unfortunate display", she stumbled, taking a second to catch her breath. "But, back to business! So — do we have any volunteers?"

    By now, the crowd below had already faltered. Every single set of shoulders drooped, because the question that left Aurelia's lips felt futile. It was laughable, almost — nobody in Eight had ever volunteered. At this point, the question was nothing but another formality. A tiny glimpse of hope, just to make the whole situation sting a little bit worse.

    But then somebody stepped forward.

    So placidly, Paisley could hardly even trace it. His movements were so slow, and his body hunched over, like he was dragging his feet through frozen mud. Trudging towards them with little urgency or emotion in him at all. And he hadn't even said anything — signalling himself only with the rise of a soot-smeared hand. But it appeared that was enough. Four peacekeepers were around him in seconds, cautiously escorting him towards the stage.

It wasn't until he edged in closer, that Paisley realised it was him.

    How had she not recognised him sooner? Nobody else their age had his look or frame. So unnaturally broad, yet still malnourished, with sallow skin so cruddy it looked covered in bruises. The choppy brown hair, so greasy and overgrown, and those eyes — dazzling despite the darkness they contained. The reddish colour of his shirt had faded, the checkered fabric littered with stains, and it dawned on Paisley that it was the same one he had been wearing the night before. Yesterday, and who knew how many days before that. But more than anything, it was his demeanour that caused him to stand out. No other soul in Eight wore his stoic expression, and there were few others that possessed his permanent frown. It made him frightening, and it was unmistakable how the people around him keeled as he passed them by.

    Paisley couldn't help but notice the silence, and just how strongly it contrasted with her own mother's screams. Nobody was wailing for this boy. She couldn't spot a single tear. If anything, most people just seemed confused by his sudden sacrifice. Intimidated by his brusque expression. Perhaps before she hadn't believed it, but seeing him now, it was clear as day.

He really did have nobody — the boy who was a ghost.

    "Well, would you look at that? Looks like this just got a little interesting..." Aurelia sounded almost ecstatic, a slither of smugness mixing with her bored expression. Half-heartedly, her hand found Calico's shoulder. "Seems you're free to go, Sunshine — better hope for next year."

He didn't need to be asked twice.

    A Peacekeeper on each arm, Calico passed his saviour seconds later with a timid smile, but the boy didn't even look his way. His eyes remained forward, his manner unchanged, until he arrived on the top of the stage, and he took his position without a second thought. Aurelia stretched out a finger, tauntingly beckoning him towards her, but he took his time, traipsing over with his hands still buried in the pockets of his slacks. It was obvious she was losing patience, but he didn't seem affected by her frustration — scowl remaining firm as she lodged the microphone in front of his face.

    "Well... Are you going to tell us your name?"

    For a second, Paisley was convinced he wouldn't tell her. How could he? All those years and not a soul in Eight had ever heard him speak. But he told her, his gruff voice sounding practically foreign as the words escaped his lips.

    "Dowlas Steed."

    Dowlas. How awful that she hadn't known his name before.

    But then, nothing about the situation exactly felt normal... Eight may have never had one themselves, but Paisley had seen tributes volunteer before. On the television screen, when the harrowing soldiers of 1 and 2 bounded onto stage with valour. When they shouted out they were bombastic, prancing towards the stage with pride. Like champions, their bodies beamed with golden light, and they boasted brashly about how certainly they would win.

    And then there were the occasions — possible, but rare — when Paisley had even seen volunteers from districts closer to home. Typically putting themselves forward for the sake of someone else, on those occasions the words came out as more of a scream, their voices strangled and shrill as they lunged forward to save a loved one from impending doom. In such cases, desperation led those to take the place of a brother, a sister, or a friend.

    But Dowlas Steed appeared to be neither. Paisley wasn't sure why he had volunteered at all.

    "Nice to meet you, Dowlas — and congratulations on becoming District Eight's first ever volunteer. One with ambition, I like it!" Aurelia ushered Dowlas back to his spot, elegantly veering back to her microphone for her final flourish. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present your tributes from District Eight — Paisley Fawn and Dowlas Steed."

    At the sound of their two names together, Paisley shivered. None of it had really felt real until now. Orrice, Calico, and now Dowlas... With so much going on, she hadn't really had a second for it to all sink in. She was going into the Hunger Games. It was happening, whether she liked that fact or not.

    "Alright, well... Shake hands, I guess."

    Paisley turned her head, finally able to study the strange boy standing to her right. She moved a little closer, tentatively offering him her hand.

    His eyes were the colour of sea glass — a kaleidoscope of oranges and blues and greens. But so half-sunken, and so framed with grey that there was something haunting them. Like they were swimming with ghosts. As his hand touched hers, Paisley felt the harsh rush of a shiver shooting down her spine. He was looking right at her, blankly, but his attention wasn't there at all. Something about the whole thing just felt... joyless. Funereal, even. The feeling of his touch felt cold.

    Her mind wandered to what people had often told her about death. That in the moment right before you die, there was a blinding glimpse of clarity, as though you could see every second you'd ever lived flashing right before your eyes.

    That was the first thing Paisley noticed about Dowlas Steed.

    That there wasn't any humanity left behind the fragile shell of a boy who had trudged onto the stage. Instead, she was standing next to a zombie, or a corpse, or a ghost... And beneath his sunken eyes she could see that look — the look of death — like he'd been trapped there for far too long.

    After a drawn-out second, he dropped her hand, and the coldness left her body. Instead, she found herself feeling trapped. There was no escaping it now — it was over. Saying her goodbyes was all that she had left. She thought of how she shouldn't waste it, how she should use her final moment with her district to really take it all in. And then the citizens of Eight did something really strange.

    They applauded. One final gesture of camaraderie as all hope faded away with the sun's golden light.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

    The paper on the walls was peeling.

    Paisley could tell, because she'd done nothing but stare at it since she'd walked into the room. Tracing the delicate shapes of its floral pattern, or honing in on the spots where the navy colour had faded to a murky grey. If she focused her eyes more intently, she could even make out claw marks, or the subtle dents from years of fists pounding against the walls. Forty years worth of scars, strewn across one room, and it was clear to her then — the amount of pain this one room caused.

    And she still hadn't even cried.

    She sighed, pressing her back against the surface of a hard wooden bench. She wished she could cry, but she knew for the sake of her loved ones she couldn't dare. They must have been messed up enough — she couldn't make it worse by freaking out. Not when the timing of all this happening was far too cruel. She steadied herself instead with a grounding breath, letting her anxious fingers fiddle with the hem of her shirt.

    It was her parents who were first in the room, trailed closely by her sisters. She almost missed the sound of the door opening, she was so occupied by the thoughts swirling through her head. But she recognised the pattern of their footsteps, and the sudden weight of a body clinging at her feet.

    The first thing Paisley noticed was the sight of Polly's lip quivering — a crumpled mess of slender limbs as she collapsed against the parquet floor.

    "P-Pais..."

    "—No. Don't you cry, okay?",  Paisley dictated, but for the first time she could feel her own voice wobbling. Already, Polly's eyes were pink and puffy, cheeks flushed with the gentle glaze of tears, and for once, she didn't seem so grown up. Small and coiled across her sister's knees, she looked like a child again, and all Paisley wanted to do was save her. Protect her from all of the cruel things the world kept throwing their way.

    "But it isn't fair", Polly sobbed into the fabric of her skirt, "None of this is fair."

    Hand shaking like a leaf, Paisley moved to stroke her tousled hair. "I know it isn't, but... It's alright. I'm alright. And you're going to be too, you'll see."

    The words seemed to go over Polly's head, so her eyes skirted across towards her parents. "Mom..." she attempted to say, but the word stumbled out of her like a puppy fit for death. "I know that the timing of this is... unfortunate. But you have to—" Looking at her mother, she lost the strength of the things she wanted to say. Her mother didn't look upset, she looked ill — all life drained from her haggard face. Already, her eyes were bloodshot, and Paisley suddenly noticed how much weight was missing from her cheeks.

    What was she supposed to do? Could Mama Fawn even survive losing another of her herd, if the thought alone was enough to make her sick? For a second, she felt responsible — as though it was her fault it was her name that was reaped. That maybe she hadn't done enough to protect her mother when she had the chance. And then the anger took over, and the fury about the state of their world kicked in.

    "You have to be strong. Do you hear me?", it took a second, but her mother met her eyes, "I need all of you to be strong. You can't let them win."

    Polly lifted her head with a sniff, "You have to promise to be strong, too. You have to try and come home."

    Wordlessly, Paisley managed a staggered nod. She reached up, using her calloused thumbs to dry her sister's eyes, and encouraged her to stand. "I'll try."

    "You have to. You promised next year you'd alter my dress."

    "That's right", she smiled. "Have I ever let you down before?"

    Polly shook her head. Her eyes were welling up again, their hazel colour glassy under the dappled light. "Paisley... Thank you. I've really loved you being my sister."

    Paisley took in another breath. Tenderly, she grabbed hold of her sister's hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. "That's okay — somebody as great as you makes the job really easy."

There were things she wished she could say. Promises she wished she could make. But saying any of it now would just be pointless. All she would do was leave them harsher thoughts to question — deeper scars to burn. They didn't deserve any further pain. Paisley swallowed back the caustic fire building in her throat and pulled both her parents into a warm embrace. The kind she used to give them as a child, burrowing herself in the dark safety of their tepid skin. Polly threw herself in seconds later, nuzzling her way into the centre like she was still four feet tall, and their grip grew tighter — so tight that she could hardly breathe, but Paisley didn't care. She wished she could get even closer. Take in every shred of them before it was too late.

    "You're a good girl, Paisley", was all her father managed to say. The words so subtle and faint, almost like a whisper.

    "Good doesn't get you very far in the arena, Dad."

    And just like that, they were crying again. Her mother. Polly. Even her father had become a blubbering mess. The only person who wasn't crying was Parker, who had been so quiet Paisley hardly noticed she was there at all.

    "Hey guys — I don't suppose I could have a minute with Parker alone, could I?"

    Polly seemed to hesitate but her parents only nodded, clearly running out of words to say. Frantically, she spat out her final statements. I love you. I'm sorry. Goodbye. And then she hugged them — each of them — quickly, but with all the fondness in the world. A final second of attentiveness and familiarity before she bid them all farewell, watching intently until the wooden door flew shut. As soon as they were out of sight, the look on Paisley's face went stiff.

    "Alright, listen to me — we don't have time to mess around, I'm not sure how long we have left", she spoke curtly, veering back towards her sister. "You have to get your act together, Parker. You need to straighten yourself out."

    "W— What?"

    A gutless bewilderment had spawned on Parker's face, so startled that she almost looked wounded. So confounded that Paisley almost felt remorse, but she quickly pushed the thought aside. She didn't have the time to feel sorry. Harshly was the only way to get the point across.

    "All of the shouting. Shutting Polly out. Fighting with Mom and Dad... It's selfish and heedless and it has to stop — all of it."

Parker's nose twitched, "I'm not sure right now is really the appropriate time for another lecture..."

    "Then when is? Because right now is about all we've got", Paisley stressed, the rage behind her voice exploding. "You can't just throw your weight around anymore, spitting in their faces..."She paused, a sudden pang of guilt building in her chest. Her sister was always so tense, she wasn't used to seeing her like this. The fury in her face had softened, and for once, she didn't look like a bomb about to go off. She just looked... lost. With a sigh, Paisley allowed her own anger to ease. "I won't have you becoming another one of those kids, shot dead in the street Parker — alright? Our family has lost enough."

    Reluctantly, her sister nodded, "Yeah... Yeah, alright. I get it."

    "Do you? Because I'm serious. Even if—", her voice wavered, forcing her to steady herself with another breath, "Even if something happens to me in that arena... Just don't do anything stupid, okay? And cut Mom some slack. They're all going to need you now. Promise me—"

    "Alright, I promise. Now, could you stop acting like the hero for once and just be my sister? Please?"

    Begrudgingly, Paisley sighed, pulling her sister into an averse embrace. They hadn't shared a proper hug like this in years, but it wasn't long before the nerves died down, the familiarity kicking in — the same security she had felt with the others, allowing her to bask in the comfort of her touch. And then Paisley's ears deceived her, because she was certain she could hear crying — rasping sobs bleating into her already dampened chest.

    But it couldn't be, because Parker didn't cry.

    "I-I'm sorry, Pais. For everything", her voice muffled against Paisley's cotton shirt, "I've been such a lousy sister. Preston died and I—  I've just wasted so much time."

    "Shh, it's fine. You were always there. And besides, you're not getting rid of me that easily. You think I'm not gonna haunt your ass for the rest of your sorry life? Fawns stick together, remember?"

    Parker lifted her head back upwards, using her dress to wipe the snot away from her chin. Shakily, she managed a light chuckle, "Seriously?"

    "Through hell and high water."

    Parker scoffed at the phrase, "Little good that did us now."

    There was a moment of silence as both sisters pondered on the frivolous oath that now seemed wasted. Clearly it hadn't saved Paisley. Perhaps their family was just cursed, and no amount of prayer could ever save it.

    "I know I've said some awful things to you over the years, but I never wanted to see you die."

    Paisley's eyebrows raised, "That's... reassuring?"

    Her sister huffed, placing a hand on either of her drooping shoulders. "Just tell me you'll fight. Don't go down unless you go down kicking."

    "You have my word."

    "And if you don't make it..."

    "Make sure that one day, it's them who goes down screaming."

    There was a fiery assertion in Paisley's eyes, a sudden flicker of determination that wasn't there before. It came quickly, but it was there — flashing in just enough time to meet Parker's before the door burst open. Her sister gave her a brusque nod — the most dispassion she had shown in weeks, and calmly allowed the Peacekeepers to usher her away.

    Left again to battle with the quiet solitude of her own thoughts, Paisley collapsed back down onto the bench. Tremulously, her eyes to fluttered closed, hands pressing against her chest in an attempt to catch her breath. Perhaps her mind could wander somewhere else — anywhere else — so that the image of her family fading would finally leave her head. Seconds later, the sound of another slam cut the feeling short.

    At the sight of Meryl in the doorway, Paisley jumped to her feet.

    "Orrice? Is he—"

    "Alive", Meryl said, though there was a touch of hesitation in her words. "For now, anyway..."

    Paisley breathed an instant sigh of relief. "Thank God... And Aidan? How is he?"

    "Aidan is fine, he's with his family. I think they're all still a little shaken up. But, Pais—"

    "What about—"

    "—PAISLEY!"

    She paused, glancing blankly at her friend from behind her blinking lashes. There was a sense of urgency in Meryl's voice — an unusual sobriety that so rarely graced her bubbly disposition. Her shoulder's rose with an elongated breath, followed shortly by an anguished squeak, and then she was launching across the room to swaddle Paisley in a tight embrace.

    "Enough about everybody else. Are you okay?"

    Perhaps it was the sudden impact of her weight, or the smothered feeling of her best friend's touch, but Paisley's lip began to tremble. Perhaps it was because, despite everything that had happened that day, nobody else had actually asked her that yet. Was she okay? Truthfully, wasn't even sure.

    She took a moment to take in Meryl's scent — that heavy smokiness the pollution left on her skin, blended with the fragrant linger of lavender shampoo. One thing she hoped she would remember. Something that her fragile body was desperate to take in. And she clung onto her a little tighter, bare skin grazing against the scratchy wool of her worn-out dress. Meryl seemed to get the message, strengthening her grip with a hearty squeeze.

    "I'm okay", she croaked.

    "No..." Meryl whispered, "No you're not. And you don't have to pretend to be anymore. Not for me."

    And just like that, her dam broke — the fortified wall she'd held for years sent shattering, letting loose an entire lifetime's worth of tears. Before she could stop it, the water was pouring, cascading in rivulets from her cheeks down to the very base of her chin. She choked on steady, heaving sobs until the taste of salt danced across her tongue, and eventually, her eyes had grown heavy, the inside of her skull throbbing with pain. It was then that she noticed her body swaying, feeling the vertigo from exhaling after years of forcefully holding her breath.

    "I'm s— scared, Mer. I'm really, really scared."

    The admission should have stung, but there was something strangely cathartic about the feeling of finally giving in. Admitting to the fear that she had spent so long determined to defeat. There was nobody to be brave for, anymore. Nobody that she had the power to protect. Meryl's hand moved to pat her back.

    "A wise person once told me that fearing the inevitable only worsens the pain of the thing itself. Don't get me wrong, they were totally fucked up, but still — really wise."

    Paisley managed a snicker, finally removing her head from the crook of Meryl's shoulder. "You're such an ass."

    "I know", she teased, using her sleeve to dab away her tears. And then, something triggered Meryl to perk up from behind her sadness, a glimmer of intrigue sparkling behind her own mist-filled eyes. Playfully, her eyebrows rose. "Hey — so what about Ghost Boy, huh? What do you reckon that was all about?"

    Paisley shrugged, "I don't know. He must have been feeling selfless, I guess..." Her voice trailed off, as though she was trying to comprehend herself why a self-proclaimed outcast would do something so brave for somebody who didn't even know his name. A loner who had never been treated with anything but fear. "And he has a name, Mer", she added quickly, "It's Dowlas."

    "I know — I heard him say it, same as everybody else. But that doesn't make it any less... strange."

    "Maybe we've all misjudged him."

    "Maybe. Or maybe, he's been harbouring this dying love for you this entire time. Oh, and he volunteered to save you!"

    "Mer!" Paisley shrieked, "I don't even know him. Besides... You know that I'm—" She stopped, cutting the words short before they could even leave her lips. What was the point? Words meant nothing when they came around too late. Dismissively, she shook her head, "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

    Suddenly desperate for distraction, she began to scan the rest of the room, counting how many peculiar items her eyes could place. It wasn't difficult, considering the room was so upscale. There were those ghastly velvet curtains, draping unnaturally across the flooded tiles. And another ticking clock, this one lined with a shining silver frame. There was even artwork on the wall — a painting of some kingly landscape whose location Paisley couldn't place.

    Beside her, Meryl rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, that you're in love with Gus? Yeah, I think everybody with working eyes knows that one, Pais. Everybody apart from the two of you, anyway."

    "Whatever — what does it matter anymore?"

"It matters because he feels the same way, and you'd admit that if you weren't so terrified of letting people in!"

Paisley took a step back, the last three words alone already more than she could handle. Before she could control it, her back was turning, icing out her friend for whatever seconds they had left.

Meryl took in a sharp breath, "You're so incredible, Paisley. So selfless and creative and kind, and you've got more pluck in your pinky finger than I could ever show. Even standing on that stage, freshly reaped and all... You were enchanting. I just wish you could see yourself the way we all see you."

Her? Enchanting? Now Meryl was just being absurd.

And then there was a click of a handle — a sign the door had opened again. As she turned back, Paisley's eyes immediately met the cold shield of the Peacekeepers masks, as soulless as ever as they bundled through the door. For once, it seemed they were feeling peaceful, informing Meryl patiently that her time had run out. But Paisley felt like she'd wasted it. Hastily, her fingers fiddled with her ears, freeing the dainty silver droplets hanging just below her lobes. She reached for Meryl's hand, dropping the earrings into her palm and clasping her fingers shut.

"You should have them. You've always been my better half."

Meryl tittered, "I'll see you soon, okay?"

Paisley threw her a regretful nod, but she couldn't be so sure. Above everything else, she couldn't help but notice how resolutely each of her loved ones were saying goodbye. Even when they told her to be strong, the certainty in their voices wasn't there. Nobody, not even those who loved her most, believed she could come home, and it wasn't difficult to see why. Even through all of the brazenness and the feigned self-assurance, she couldn't hide how little confidence she had in herself, as well.

The children of District Eight did not come home.

"I love you, Meryl Spindler."

By now, Meryl had let herself be walked away, already more than halfway through the door. She stopped, blonde hair whipping as she peered over her right shoulder, popping her hips into an elegant pose. Theatrically, she gushed, "Doesn't everybody?" The final words she purred before the door had closed.

Paisley shook her head. It was Meryl who was enigmatic, she had far more attractiveness and personality and wit. From the first day she met her — six-years-old, all skin and bone — she could tell what a force that bright girl was. Already, even so young, she seemed like she had everything all figured out.

Standing quietly, she began to reel off what visitors she might have left. She thought about her close neighbours, families like the Spindlers or the Shaws, but she knew they wouldn't come. They had always been kind, but none of them really owed her anything. And it was always so depressing, wishing a familiar face goodbye. She wasn't sure she would be here, if it was any of their names that had been called. No, nobody else would come — she was certain. If her thought process was right, that only left just one.

"Before you say anything, there's something I've needed to tell you for a really long time—"

"Woah, there. No need to get hasty..."

Paisley's head shot upwards, the surface of her cheeks flushing red, and then —brows furrowed with confusion, she stopped.

"...Emory?"

"Paisley", the girl before her mused, a slight glimmer of amusement splashed across her earnest face.

In the atypical embellishment of Reaping clothes, Paylor was almost difficult to pin down. Her usual crown of ruffled curls had been scraped back, her practical clothing swapped out for a plain green frock, and the entire assortment made her unrecognisably blend in. Another reminder that no matter who you were, on Reaping Day, everybody was the same. Still, even then, the mightiness of her aura remained astounding. She wandered past, perching herself casually on a plush velvet couch, and ushered Paisley to sit down.

"Come, sit."

Warily, Paisley situated herself on her adjacent seat, but her perplexed expression stayed. "What are you doing here?"

She didn't mean to sound rude, but they had only spoken for the first time yesterday. Emory Paylor was the last person Paisley had prepared herself to see.

"I thought maybe you could use a break from all the crying", Emory explained, gesturing to the wet patches scattered across Paisley's skin. "You don't have to look so disappointed."

She blushed again, violently rubbing her puffy eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just... I thought you were somebody else." Not just any somebody, but with her third visitor already with her in the room, she was certain now he wouldn't show. "There wasn't anybody else waiting out there, was there?"

"No, there wasn't. I'm sorry."

Then she was right. He wasn't coming.

"It's okay..."

Emory sighed, placing a comforting hand on Paisley's shoulder. "I'm not here to give you any of my pity, Paisley. I don't see what good that could possibly do. But I haven't come to say my goodbyes, either."

"Then why are you here?"

She leant forward. "Because I pride myself on being a good judge of character, and I see too much potential in you to let you just give up. You don't have to die in that arena."

Paisley straightened herself up, determined to look like she was listening, but honestly her mind had never felt hazier. Just minutes ago, her family had sat in this same room weeping, talking to her like her fate was set in stone. By now, every soul across Panem had probably thought the same. And here this girl was — somebody she'd hardly even met — telling her she thought she had a chance. Paisley wasn't sure which was worse.

But she didn't want to shut her out entirely, so she paid attention as Emory listed off the small fragments of advice she had. She should appeal to the cameras, because selling yourself to the audience is the easiest way to gather help. Prioritise finding food, water, and shelter. Use whatever surroundings you can to your advantage. But most of all: don't show them any signs of weakness, even when you are afraid, because that only gives them permission to eat you alive. The other tributes or the Capitol, Paisley had to ask. Both.

"You have to fight back."

Paisley wavered, "What if I don't know how to fight back?"

"You've got plenty of rage, Paisley", Emory affirmed. "Use it."

That was when Emory's words started to make sense. Not just those subtle few, but all of them — each and every part of last night's rallying cry. All of the pain inside of her, and the suffering they had put her through, the anger and the sadness she had spent so long determined to suppress. Maybe they didn't have to be signs of weakness. Perhaps they could be signs of strength. And then, even if she did die in that arena, she wouldn't have to die in vain. She could die knowing that she was part of something bigger. A sacrifice to help a higher cause.

She remembered what she had said to Parker. That if she didn't make it, to make sure one day their entire system was burnt down to the ground. And she thought of people like Orrice and Preston, who were brave enough to throw away their lives for the things that they believed in. More of Emory's words began to swirl  around her head.

Are you a tribute, or a martyr?

A worker, or a fighter?

And finally, her thoughts were crystal clear.

"I should probably get going, but you remember what I said." Emory stood, straightening the creases in her olive dress. She smiled, a touch of softness loosening her ardent features, and Paisley took the cue to hug her.

"Thank you", she said quietly. Emory threw her a thoughtful nod, making her way back towards the door, before Paisley called out again. "Oh, and Emory? About that sister of mine..."

"The one who guards you like a dog?"

Paisley laughed, "Yeah, that's the one. Look out for her while I'm gone, would you? See if you can get some of that fire of hers contained? She could use a little guidance..."

"You got it."

When Emory had left the room, admittedly she felt a little calmer. She wandered over to the window, pushing the curtains aside to get a final look at the home she was about to leave behind. By now, the crowd had mostly scattered, the Square as barren as the morning before — so ominously void of life. But from her added height, her eyes could see much further than Old Hamelin's streets. She could make out the distant image of the surrounding towns, its chimneys protruding into the sun-lit sky.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure if she would miss it. Whether she could lose her life and feel sorry that she would never be able to come back. There were parts of her district that she loved, but there were parts of it she hated too. All of those memories that kept her up at night. How could she possibly mourn for a place that reminded her so cruelly of everything she had lost?

The door opened for a final time, but this time, it was Peacekeepers who were waiting in the hall. A sure-fire sign that her time was up. She nodded, readying herself to follow them when they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps thundering down the hall.

"Wait! Wait!", a voice pleaded, and she could feel her heart pounding. "Just a few minutes? Please."

Though reluctant, the men who had been waiting disappeared, allowing a new figure to walk into the room. Paisley couldn't help but feel confused — she had already come to terms with the fact he'd decided not to come. And now he was stood there, breath still heaving from sprinting to the door, and she had lost all the words she had wanted to say.

"You weren't outside", she spoke bluntly, "I thought you weren't coming."

"I wasn't sure I could." Still only a foot away from the door, Gusset leaned his back against the wooden frame, burying his head between his hands. "I've just been standing out there, trying to figure out what I need to say."

"You don't have to say anything..."

"I should have volunteered. You shouldn't be doing this on your own", he cursed. "I would have, but that goonie kid got in there before I could." At the thought alone, Gus began seething, using the heel of his boot to thud against the door behind him. He turned, mouth twitching with a growl of frustration, and sent his fist pummelling into wall, flakes of plaster crumbling to the floor.

And there it was — a scar of her own to add to their collection. Something that would be ingrained forever, as a reminder that she had once been here.

She rushed forward, desperately reaching for him as his fists kept punching. "Gus, stop it... Don't be stupid, okay?" He allowed her to grab his hands, pulling his attention away from the peeling wall. "I'd never want you to do that for me. Think about Twyla, Chenille, your mom... They need you here."

"There are people that need you, too!" he erupted, hands flying upwards in an exasperated rage, and Paisley took a stumbling step back. His fingers clenched around his cheeks, "For god's sake, Paisley — I need you! Don't you see that?"

"I know", her voice cracked, "I know that... But there isn't anything we can do. If I die in that arena—"

"No", Gus interjected. "No — stop it. Don't talk like that."

"I'm being realistic, Gus! There are twenty-four of us in there, and most of them have far better prospects than me. Even if I try, the chances that I get out are slim to none..." She paused, stunned by just how calmly the thought slipped out. She wasn't scared anymore. Somehow, she had found her peace. "But I'm fine with that. I know that's just the way it has to be."

"And what about me? Am I supposed to just be fine?"

"No, of course you're not. But you would be, in time..."

"Would I?", he retorted, his anger now melting into weakness. It struck her suddenly that he was crying. Not the forceful wailing of her mother or sisters, but the soft kind, his dark eyes steaming with the steady flow of tears. There was an incredulous vulnerability to it that she found astounding, a stark image that her mind couldn't quite translate. This was not a Gusset she had seen before. "Pais... I don't think you're understanding me — I don't know how to live my life without you in it."

She let out a shaking breath, falling gently as his hand met her cheek in a hankering embrace.

"Please..." he bleated, a certain desperation in his voice. "Please don't make me say it."

It was then that Paisley realised what they were, and why it had taken them both so long to figure it out. They were two entirely broken people, too burdened by pain to truly comprehend love. The feelings were too intense — too all-encompassing — for them to really understand what they might mean. And they'd never had to say it. They couldn't, because they knew that words alone would never be enough. But they knew. They had always known.

And so, knowingly, she pressed her forehead against his and whispered, "You don't have to say anything."

She wanted to open her mouth to say more, to tell him all the things her wave of clarity had brought on, but she didn't know how. It was all that she had been able to think about before — just how many things she wanted to say. A million and one questions circled through her head, begging to escape her lips. And for a while, she had felt so empty, because she was certain that he wasn't going to come.

A million questions, she thought. If she could only muster up the courage to ask just one...

But it didn't seem to matter, because Gusset was kissing her before she had the chance.

Hand slipping beneath the curtain of her copper waves, he kissed her — so delicately that she couldn't know for sure if it was real. If it wasn't for the sudden rush of his rustic scent, or the wetness of his cheeks brushing against her skin, she could have made it up. But she knew him, and she knew when he was real. She knew, because the sheer electricity she felt couldn't possibly be inside her head.

And then, thread by thread, she came apart. Every thought that she had ever hidden; every feeling that she felt she needed to suppress. In that moment, shielded by the tenderness of his touch, it was all unravelling, shattering into one beautiful and broken mess. Perhaps it was because her thoughts were no longer obsessing over all that could go wrong, or maybe it was that she couldn't think at all, she wasn't sure. In that moment, she could only be. For a split second, it felt safe enough to come undone.

Gusset pulled back, eyes still frozen shut, and let his nose brush across Paisley's skin. She thought about the way that he was holding her so gently — staring at her so softly — like she was made of glass.

"Gus", she faltered, "the drawing that you did of me, it's in a wooden box beneath my bed. If I don't make it, I want you to have it."

"What? But I drew it for you."

"And it's beautiful, but I need you to take it. Promise me—"

As soon as the words left her mouth, the door flew open, welcoming in a stampede of men who no longer felt the need to be peaceful. Almost instinctively, Paisley clung onto Gus so tightly that her nails pierced into his skin. She couldn't let him go now, not when she had only just found him in the first place. But that didn't seem to matter — not to them. Gloved hand on either arm, Gusset was being torn from her and lugged across the room like a rag-doll.

"GUS!"

"It's okay", he told her as he scrambled beneath their callous touch, "You're going to be okay."

This time, it was Paisley's turn to start crying, the image of his body blurring into a misty haze. She tried to call out again, but her words crawled out like more of whimper. "Please — I need you."

"You're Paisley Fawn", his head shook, "You never needed anybody."

Paisley lunged forward in her final attempt to steal him back, but he was already falling through the open door. Now only several feet away, her eyes were able to focus again, allowing her to make out every detail as he struggled to be set free. That was all she could do, because everything else was out of her control.

"I LOVE YOU", he called out frantically, seconds before the door slammed violently in his face.

And alone once more, the feeling hit her — so roughly that she almost toppled to the ground. He loved her. At least in that she could be certain now. He loved her.

    And she loved him too.

But she couldn't say it back.

❛ another mother's
breaking, heart
is taking over ❜

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AUTHOR'S NOTE... WELL. parker's crying. paisley's crying. gus is crying. I know I'm fucking crying. What an absolutely agonising experience. it hurts, it really really hurts. perhaps the only redeemable part of this chapter is that we finally, FINALLY get to see dowlas! my son — my beautiful, emo baby boy. I honestly can't wait to explore him further, he's so complex and his relationship with paisley is probably my favourite part of this story.

i'm mostly depressed because this is the last we get to see of the side characters for a while. no more Gus, no more meryl, no more fawn sisters :( NO MORE EMORY PAYLOR WHO OWNS ME. I will miss them all very dearly.

lots of love, dani x