Cress & Cat | District Zero + The Funhouse
"The dark tunnel led to a bit of light, and, at the end, the room opened up into a Big-Top style [tent]. The walls were lined with drapery that emulated the theme. Around them all sorts of 'stations' laid with different carnival [...] entertainment; down the corridor there was a person handling fire. Directly in front of them, what appeared to be a strongman stood, holding two trays of ethers balanced on either end of a set of barbells." @catmillers
The Funhouse welcomes you (if you're part of the exclusive few) to a Big Top to top them all. Select your disguise with care, for the mask you wear is what you show the world. Try your luck at games of skill and chance, on the chance it leads you somewhere unexpected. A hall of mirrors. A trick of the light? Look closer, closer, until - at last - you see. What do you want? Who is it that you wish to be?
Cress saw what she always did: herself, unblemished, unmarred. She turned from side to side, slipped the strap down from her shoulder just to admire her skin. As for what came next, what she desired most, the dream of Gamemaker was gone. No grand ball, no violent revenge. Cress saw only herself, standing at one end of a darkened hallway, closed doors lining either side. The last room, farthest down on the right, was laced golden with light, like a holy gate. She wished for greater clarity, for the chance to peek behind. But she could not move the image, could not bring herself closer to the sound of paper rustling. So she lingered for a time, like a phantom, watching from the other side, until there was nothing else to do but resign.
Cat had never done this before and wasn't sure what the instructions of 'just look' meant. Then it started: the lightning-like scars that jet across her temples and down under her eyes faded from existence. Her home from Six – her real home, from before she was Reaped – came into view, an office, dirty and dimly lit, the sounds of a computer terminal thrumming alive, with keys being tapped every so often. Air sucked out of Cat's lungs, not willing to believe she could attach a face to the user. Then a light hum, a song she knew from her childhood echoed from the vision and she knew, her brain chanting for her to run through the mirage and throw herself into the arms of her father. As if that wasn't enough, her reflection saw a pair of familiar feminine arms snake around her midsection and a face like a phantom of Sawyer. All of her ached – to hold, to be held. To fill the hungry void that called out for her father, that called out for her lover.
template by cashwmere (x)
