-------------- markedbygrief.
She is NOTHING but an urchin in the game of scourge ;
it’s an art that ceases to hush, && it burrows beneath
diffidence && laments. How she has SURVIVED her
own games of sadism is equivocal ; she has become
more than her own worst enemy ! Dark moons are
frailly lingering upon flimsy flesh, reflecting nothing but
crestfallen’s reign. Her resolve is OBSTRUCTED in
lieu of recent affairs. There’s a time lapse between his
inquiry and her confession of lissome grievous nature.
❝ ——I can’t sleep anymore.❞
& he can hardly blame her, can he? for he has spent many
a night gazing up at the sterile ceiling of his room & waiting,
wondering-- is annie alive? & if she is, how much is she
suffering ( for her imagined screams echoing through his
nightmares are still ringing in his ears, so loudly he can
barely hear himself think. ) & even still, in the back of his
mind, he worries for johanna; strong johanna, reckless
johanna, johanna who would sooner talk her way into a
corner than submit to snow's demands. it is because of
this that he finds himself feeling some kind of kinship with
this girl of flame-- she has lost someone too, now. someone
she loves, even if she doesn't realise it-- & he knows she
doesn't as he knows peeta never lied on that stage, so long
ago now. he nods once, fingers scrambling for something
to knot & coming back with nothing.
❛ think anyone here can? ❜
& perhaps the words are somewhat callous, but the tone with
which he speaks is soft, careful. for it's true, is it not?
