Dawn was almost upon them, she hadn’t been able to sleep. The urgency of the Games beginning to creep into her bones. She had laid next to Holland that night, mind wandering faster than she could control; it was almost as if her mind was made up about the Games, about Holland, about her own fate. Aspen didn’t believe she would truly be able to get out of there alive; her hands were too clumsy, her heart was too wide, and she had made the foolish, naïve mistake of allowing nearly everyone she was meant to be slaughtering in. Including Holland. Maybe she would die, and more hauntingly, maybe she would be okay with it.
A gentle kiss had been pressed to the presumably sleeping tribute’s forehead, taking a moment to study Holland with absolute adoration. It felt like horrific poetry, the only kind of thing that would fit such doomed lovers, but it was as if Holland was half of Aspen’s soul. Which, perhaps added a grief to the situation they were in, after all, how horrible it would be for the inevitable moment where one was left on Earth while the other had gone. Aspen quietly made her exit, hoping she’d be able to make her way back before Holland awoke. Or, it’d be a taste of her own medicine: Holland’s wandering off filling Aspen with a sense of dread, only to have her appear later, looking, to Aspen, exhausted. She shouldn’t have been walking on her leg anyway. They’d be able to get someone to help them, to get them medication. Right? What if no one was helping them for a reason? Holland kept receiving empty boxes and the only thing Aspen had received was the axe which she had left back with Holland. They had barely anything scrounged between them; Holland’s makeshift bag, slips of paper with nothing to show for it, a needle, an axe, and mystery medication. That wasn’t food, that wasn’t antibiotics. Maybe her temple would prove helpful, would be full of something that would rescue them. Rescue Holland.
As she took her way through the streets she attempted to keep each footfall quiet. The fear of being alone, without a weapon did strike her, but it was safer to leave her axe back with Holland – Aspen could always run from danger, Holland would have to fight. She had come across her temple the day before after an encounter she had with Lavender, but was unable to enter, she lacked the blood. This time, however, she was more than equipped. A vial of blood was hidden behind a tightly wrapped fist, the victim being something so small and stupid – a rat mutt.
A twin set of tears welled in her eyes as she stood in front of the temple. What if it didn’t have what they needed? What if it didn’t have anything like all of those packages? Surely, Aspen couldn’t take care of herself and Holland this entire time – if anything she was worried about regrouping with Nico and Kit. She didn’t trust their willingness to help care for someone who was injured the way Holland was. What if they decided she was a burden?
What about Wren and Thea? What if they thought they were both loose-ends that needed put down? The thrum of her heart worked irregularly from her chest, catching in her throat, and landing in her ears as she staved off an inevitable meltdown. Aspen didn’t consider herself one for prayer, for any kind of organized religion at all, for that matter, but in that moment? She would attempt to put her faith in gods since quantifiable odds were no longer attainable. A shaky breath fell from her lips as she stepped forward, emptying the contents of the vial into the bowl on the altar. The doors slowly crept open for Aspen and she sighed, relieved it had worked.
Steeling herself for the worst, Aspen stepped into the temple, eyes desperately scanning the four walls, noting the cracked nature of the paintings and a wide crack that spanned across the floor. Nowhere was safe. Not in the arena. Her eyes fell from the damage to the temple over to the gifts from her patron, an almost instantaneous sob clawing its way from the back of her throat. Bows and arrows? Something she didn’t even truly know how to use? Something that was so pointless considering she refused to even entertain the idea of hurting someone again, not after the tribute from Twelve. Aspen couldn’t bring herself to use herself for violence. No one in here was someone who was deserving of having their lives so violently cut short.
Clutching hands into her tunic, she took gasping breaths, attempting to calm herself, but found each breath catching, unable to rise fully up and out of her chest. The tears fell almost as easily as she did, stumbling for the floor, palms pressed into eyes. How had she gotten here? What had she done to cosmically deserve being Reaped? If there were gods, where were they?
Regret was seeping into every last nerve ending of Aspen’s body; there was a part of her that wished that she had just run off, even without Holland. She wanted to live, she wanted to live so badly and the moment the arena around her was revealed her breath began to catch in her throat. Aspen swiveled her head from side to side, trying to take in as much information as physically possible, trying to understand what the hell it was she was seeing in front of her. She sought out the building that was facing the opening of the cornucopia, tracing the line from the opening over toward the senate-house. That’s where they were going to meet, they promised each other. Everyone wanted to live, so the alliance was important. They’d be there.
An urgent glance was shot over to Holland, Nico, and then Kit. Only one of them would win – in what universe was that fair? In what universe did she want the people she cared for to die? Even the person she loved? Why did the thrum of her heart and the rapid rise and fall of her chest make her vision go spotty? She was going to pass out, she thought, trying to steady herself, trying to not step off of her platform before the countdown ended.
A deep inhale.
Exhale.
The timer ended and she angled herself toward the senate house and ran, pumping her legs as fast as she physically could. The urge, the instinct she had to run was finally being released. She wanted to run when she was home, to get away from the games, to run into her mother’s grasping arms. She wanted to run when it was just her and Holland – preserve both of them, not being willing to sacrifice a love that she had just been able to sink her fingers into. So, she ran, she ran for all of it, she ran for herself, and for her family, she ran for Holland. One of them would live and she’d deal with that when they got to it, it was a reality she was unable to fully face at the moment; not yet, not when she could barely consider the odds of her own survival.
