🌘 surrender chapter 1: Into the Woods
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Summary: Coriolanus, now a Peacekeeper recruit in Twelve, was close to rising in the ranks... until his stolen future came to haunt him. Reports of activity around District Thirteen sets him on a course of self-destruction. A boy who is bound to get lost in the woods in every universe... Now Selene Ember, his little moon, sets to save what is left.
↻◁ previous (prologue) || next (TBA) ▷ ↺
Tags: m/f ∘ established friendship ∘ slowburn-ish ∘ Peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow ∘ sub!coryo ∘ softdom!reader/oc ∘ shower "thoughts" by pent up sub!Coryo ∘ power dynamics due to loss of status ∘ oc puts people in their place - typical Capitol oppression ∘ misogyny (not from Coryo, he is too busy yearning) ∘ romantic and sexual tension ∘ background Sejanus/reader (one-sided, reader/oc sees him as a friend) ∘ descriptions of PTSD and working through PTSD ∘ graphic descriptions of gore (hallucinations and real/landmines, shrapnel wounds) ‐ it's the military, people! ∘ Trackerjacker-induced delirium ⌯⌲ Inspired by this post here <3
a/n: Thank you so much to all who read the prologue! I didn't expect so many notes on it and it very much motivated me to push this out sooner. The chapter was supposed to be even longer... but it would read better in the next one (I promise!). I pour my heart into this — from writing, to making the banners and tying it in a bow with a song to fit, so I am truly grateful if anyone enjoys the work even a little.
Word count: ~10k (yeah... i know)
♡ જ⁀➴ reposts, likes and comments are always appreciated જ⁀➴ ♡ ❯❯❯❯ In case you want to see what I will be writing soon... check out my navigation
The days in Twelve blurred into weeks… and the weeks into two full months.
The Peacekeeper compound was evidently eroded by time—its endless industrial concrete blocks, with rusted bars poking through the filthy walls, would make anyone want to keep their head down. Everything here carried that ash-gray melancholy, Coriolanus noted, almost obsessively.
No wonder the Covey tried to compensate somewhat with their colors. He wasn't fond of distractions as such—believing to be beneath him, but anyone who traversed these mud-tracked, frayed corridors would surely go mad without one.
For him, it came in the form of his little moon. Coriolanus wasn’t crossed with her for not being able to come to him all this time, at least now he wasn’t… he received all her devotedly written letters explaining how she was more of a prisoner now than she'd ever been in Twelve. In the cold and uncaring walls of Skyfall manor—the Vasari ancestral home, she was probably suffocating now more than ever, like he did here, Coriolanus selfishly concluded.
Selene Ember's father—Lord Octavius Vasari wasn't a kind man and he never had an understanding, much less an appreciation for her sensitive nature. Coriolanus, too, often wore a mask of frost—for survival's sake. But it was Selene Ember who could melt it each time…
Dearest Coryo, I fear that, without Lord Vasari's signature, my transfer to Twelve is infeasible. I tried every possible bureaucratic procedure, but was eventually denied at that seemingly pivotal step. I would want nothing more than to be there to support you… I know you wrote in your last letter about how deeply dark the nights are in the barracks. I remember well, those corners of the Covey wagons too, where it just seemed uninhabitable for light. On such nights, my mother would tell me of a wondrous grove in the woods of Twelve—older than the Capitol, older than the districts, older than the wars that tried to divide them… Sunlight spilling through the canopy in warm gold patches, turning the grass bright and soft beneath your feet. Even the wind would move gently in such a place, carrying the smell of wildflowers and warm bark. The lake would shimmer with untold delights. I know you don't like to spend your time in the clouds… and I don't imagine you even have the time to—but I hope that this imagery brings you some peace on such dark and lonely nights. I wish we were both there in this grove, so you could lay your weary head and I could sing to you, basking in the lake's freshness. Remember, you can be good… even if the world gives you reasons for the opposite. You are good, Coryo. Rest well and know we are looking at the same moon every night. With love, Selene Ember
He'd keep these letters, perfumed in her signature lavender scent, even if the other recruits teased him about it.
Distractions, sure, but more so… solace.
Coriolanus’ scores had earned him the privilege of a private shower, every Sunday. He'd planned to make good use of it this time
It had been insufferable—not having any privacy in the barracks. Some of the men weren't ashamed to indulge in late night relief under the blankets of the bunk beds. “Disgusting”, Coriolanus had determined, and definitely beneath him. He had more self-control than that.
But reading Selene Ember's words, smelling that lavender perfume that had soaked through parchment—he found himself already half-hard at the image of the two of them in that grove. She had probably intended the scene to be more poetic, but… her flowery words carried that effortless sensuality she'd sometimes just tease at him. She knew what she was doing, he thought—Was she imagining him while writing in her neat cursive? How desperate he would be once he read it… while she kept her composure.
Coriolanus bit his lip, thighs shifting under the rough fabric of his Peacekeeper uniforms. Even that small friction was enough to make his cock twitch, restrained, but already leaking small and desperate beads of pre-come.
He took a deep breath, locking the letter away in his designated box for personal effects, took his towel and marched to the private shower quarters.
The humid smell hit him immediately—harsh and bleach-like underneath the sound of the ever-trickling droplets from that broken sink.
“Name and clearance?” the guard commanded.
Coriolanus wanted to strangle him for being in his way at this very moment.
“C-oriolanus Snow. Officer training applicant.” He cursed at himself mentally for that stutter.
Was he so pathetically needy that he couldn't even get to the showers properly?
The guard seemed unfazed and merely stamped his card dismissively.
Coriolanus hung his towel on the rusted hooks and swallowed hard, starting to peel away the layers of his uniform. Getting to his briefs, he saw just how much they had been stained with the evidence of his desperation… Great, he'd have to wash them.
But now—now he had to maximize the time he had.
The water was hot enough to make his coiled muscles relax.
The steam made him feel enveloped, held. For a shameful moment, he released a stuttering gasp, hips rutting pathetically against the wall. His cock was now painfully hard against the cold tiles—a contrast that made his head dizzy.
Coriolanus imagined it then—Selene Ember in the lake, the droplets cascading down her body as she emerged to find him in this state. The warm sunlight, casting a shadow down the swell of her breasts as her perceptive eyes would drop from his bitten lip to his aching length. That knowing smirk would play on her beautiful lips.
What would she say if she saw him like this?, he wondered and imagined her sweet voice guiding him.
“Oh… poor Officer Snow, so needy already… let me help you with that, baby” she'd coo, smooth and caring under the teasing words.
“Officer”—the title would sound so good coming from her lips, he thought. He’d been through hell already, if anyone deserved to be elevated in the ranks, it was him…
“Y-yes, yes, please…” he gasped aloud, the stream of the shower drowning out the sounds he didn't know he was capable of producing.
Sure, he had touched himself like this a lot of times before… but after a study session with Selene Ember, he found it was a different kind of need that took over entirely.
When she’d play her piano, he’d watch from the front row of the music hall—how her weight shifted on the bench, reaching for the pedals. Oh, how he wanted nothing more than to be that solid structure beneath her, to feel her move with this grace against him. Or when she’d play the violin—how her brows furrowed in concentration when she lost herself in the swirling music, catching her breath after a particularly demanding recital… Now, when it had been weeks, he couldn't think straight.
“Be good and stay still for me…” Coriolanus imagined she'd urge on, as she would guide him to lay his head on her chest, just like she had written in the letter.
He didn’t reach to offer himself any kind of relief yet—his tip, angry and wet, was pulsing with every thought. A sweet torture.
His mind continued racing—Selene Ember’s long, dark hair, tickling his torso as she held him close on the soft dewy grass, her hand massaging his scalp. If he still had his curls… Would she pull on them? To guide him exactly where she wanted him…
The image made him let out a low whine as his left index finger moved past his lips—almost subconsciously—picturing what it would be like to take her nipple into his mouth, what pleased sounds she would make… He tasted the water droplets from it, like he would if she were just fresh out of the lake. Coriolanus’ tongue swirled—greedily chasing a flavor he hadn’t yet experienced. But he imagined she’d taste sweet, like her lavender perfume, like gold molten from starlight.
His other hand finally moved with more purpose now, scraping at his lower abdomen, making the muscles there jump in anticipation—imagining it were her nails grazing his skin tauntingly. Selene Ember would shush him at that wreathing movement, like she did when she noticed he got too much in his head. Maybe she’d retreat her hand cruelly then? Only to swipe her tongue across the tip of his cock, in a slow, tormenting swipe, moaning lowly when she would taste just how wet and ready he was for her.
Coriolanus palmed his cock in an attempt to mimic that feeling, causing his hips to snap like a coiled spring—rutting up into his fist… like an animal in heat.
“P-please—don’t stop, Sel—” he whimpered, closing his eyes as he finally pumped—hard and fast—his thumb swirling, further coating his length in all the pre-come that had accumulated. His forehead thumped against the tiled walls as his hips did all the work—wanting to move and get that pent up energy out. Her worlds echoed in his skull, some of what she had written, others—his artistic addition. His breaths turned into ragged, small and desperate gasps. “You can be good, Coryo… you are good—” His vision almost blacked out, small whimpers leaving his throat with each thrust…his free hand came up to his mouth again. To stifle the noises? No… he didn’t have a reason to—the water was loud enough as is… but he needed to imagine her fingers in his mouth.
He choked on the two digits when they reached the back of his throat, making him drool pathetically. “Nngh—my moon—! F-fuck—” he moaned, a broken little whine escaping him as his legs trembled, almost giving out.
He missed her so much, if she could just be here… he’d tell her how deeply he felt, how much he wanted her, all of her, how he craved to be ruined by her— “My good boy—come for me, Coryo... Just let go, I've got you”
And that’s when it all unraveled. With her name like a prayer on his lips, his hips stuttered to catch up with the intensity of it all.
Hot, white spurts overflowed his fist and dripped onto the flowing water—back to the drain—as he took deep strained breaths in an attempt to calm down.
He always did imagine that—being able to tell Selene Ember how obsessed he was with her softness, but also her authority and quiet strength. How, in his most shameful of fantasies, he imagined himself kneeling at her feet, worshipping her, just for a chance to feel safe in her embrace and presence.
She was a great sense of comfort to him through their friendship. He never thought he would allow anyone to get so close. But his little moon… with those disarming deep eyes that just listened and saw, with her steady grace—had burrowed herself so far beneath his skin.
It was only that blasted Snow pride that held him at arms length still—unable to admit how much he needed her. Wanting to submit to a girl who is half-district? The very notion should have made him nauseous… but instead a warm thrill shot through him, settling low in his stomach in that familiar way that made him clutch his thighs even after he had just come…
Selene Ember was refined, she was Capitol now and most importantly—she was his. And that—that elevated her to his altar.
“My father wants me docile… says no Capitol man would take such a ‘domineering wife’...” Selene Ember ranted as they sat at the marble bench of the Academy greenhouse.
Lord Vasari and his daughter often clashed—she wasn't known to be obedient like he had expected of her, indebted to him even, for bringing her to the Capitol.
While she was appreciative of her new life, she was also a free spirit—much like the rest of the Covey. It wasn't for a lack of manners—when she defied, she did so in a dignified way, aiming to not slander those who have done her no wrong. But when she felt something wasn't just, she had no problem rectifying it.
This time it had been poor Festus Creed. Their classmate was invited by Lord Vasari for a tour of Skyfall, hoping he'd find Selene Ember agreeable.
A marriage with the Creeds would elevate the Vasari name tremendously and—most importantly—get Octavius’ astronomy papers finally published. Festus’ mother was the head of the physics faculty after all… it would be foolish of Lord Vasari to not play the hand he was dealt. A daughter—his only heir, had no better use in the stone-hearted lord’s eyes than to be sold off to the highest bidder. But Selene Ember had other beliefs… and plans. She wasn't about to be treated as a political puppet.
A songbird in a cage is safe, but God didn't create birds for that.
The moment Festus had had the audacity to mistreat a young Avox servant—for the “grand offense” of her not looking down when they had passed her in the gardens—Selene Ember had snatched his raised hand before it could land. A stern lecture followed.
“That Avox has a name, and I will not have you disrespect Ophelia in such a way. Haven’t you been told that your manners show the most by how you treat those that take the time to cater to you?” Her voice was steady, not for a lack of care, but because she aimed to be taken seriously when she advocated for these things. An Avox didn’t have much choice in the matter of “catering”, not in the society they lived in, but Selene Ember had taken it upon herself to try and show them they still had agency where it mattered—no matter how small. Something as simple as choosing your own clothes could make a world of difference—something one could cling to. She had clung to that in very much the same way when she was starving in Twelve—though for her, it was tuning her violin. Her instrument, her craft—that was her agency no one could take from her.
She’d often recall a quote by a prolific statesman, Seneca. From a book that, of course, was not taught in the Academy, lest it prove “disruptive” to the carefully constructed system of oppression the gilded lords had built… “Slavery resides not in the hands, but in the mind.”
“She isn't here to take your outbursts—no one is…” Selene Ember continued: “I suggest you reconsider your tone and why you feel the need to raise your hand at people, Festus.”
A pause to deliver the final blow: “—lest you prove unsuitable for University life at all. Scholars don't whine and throw tantrums like spoiled little girls.” a carefully placed polite smile that could cut through his throat: “Or did you feel your masculinity threatened by someone meeting your eyes?
He had been left speechless, clearly not used to someone challenging his feelings of superiority. Much less a woman. “You know…” she had pondered then, as if explaining to a child: “In nature—it’s prey that interpret this as a sign of being hunted, yet you parade yourself as a predator…” Laughable, she thought.
When her father heard of this, he had whirled his whiskey glass at her and yelled the words she had cited to Coriolanus. The rest of the tale unfolded even more unpleasantly:
“Over some Avox! I knew you were sentimental, girl—I didn't realize you were also hysterical!”
Selene Ember had wondered who was the hysterical one in this situation… both her father and Festus had little control of their temper—mistaking shouting for strength.
But “hysteria” was so conveniently and readily ascribed to women who showed any semblance of “defiance”, that she came to expect it. Though she’d argue… it was authority she had shown.
“It wasn't just about empathy, father…” she had corrected: “I saw a behavior I didn't like—I amended it. Had I been a man, you'd praise me for it. Unfortunately for you, I have enough self respect to not kneel to someone who can't control himself.” She had left his office after, without another word.
Coriolanus looked up at the glass dome of the greenhouse, swallowing hard as he made sense of the story. He had noticed that Selene Ember was in no way submissive—unlike most Capitol ladies who were groomed for political marriages, so they could stand prettily—as trophies.
Ever since the first day he met her… he saw that fire in her eyes that had drawn him in: “Y-you don't have to be that…” he said before he could think better of it: “Docile I mean.” He specified. I don’t want you to be, not with me—he almost said.
“Yes, I know… but it's hard to swim against the current sometimes.” A weak sigh left her as she looked down at the ground: “I don’t want the things my father wants for me. I want to study, build a career in medicine and… well, the ‘right Capitol man’ would be by my side in that and… more importantly—want me for who I am.” She concluded, shrugging off the tension in her shoulders.
Coriolanus looked at her then, where she sat next to him—seeing her warm smile as her fingers brushed the heart-shaped leaf of a pink cyclamen. Like she was soothing herself through the flower.
Coriolanus nodded as the realization sank in him. He'd want to be by her side, show her just how safe he felt around her. ‘Domineering’ maybe was a word for it, but to him… it felt like home, like letting go. If only he’d allow himself to have that...
The next morning, as the first Peacekeeper tower alarm rang—Coriolanus found himself at Commander Hoff's office, alongside some of his fellow squad members.
The Commander didn't have an imposing build, but his intimidating eyes and tone could break through a new recruit better than any fist. “Close the door.” He commanded, not bothering to greet them or look up from the stacked papers on his desk. The vein on his forehead was visibly pulsing—he was on edge, that much was clear. Hoff slid a stack of reports across his desk—a copy for each of them—Coriolanus, Beanpole, Smiley and Bug.
“Now, this here is highly confidential and… it ain't pretty.” Hoff explained, running a hand through his face—his eyes were bloodshot when they finally met the men: “It's about the Jabberjay unit.” His wording was telegraphed as ever.
Bean just scoffed: “Ain't that the unit responsible for getting rid of the jabberjays?” Like being called in for that was the most ridiculous thing: “I mean, no offense, Commander, those mutt bastards sure ain't a sight to behold—with them ugly dark feathers… but how is that “confidential”?” He asked, scoffing.
Sometimes it is better to listen before you ask questions… Coriolanus thought. After all, people often revealed much more that way.
Hoff sighed like he was already tired: “That's what the official reports state… but they are much more than that.” he admitted, like the words cut as they left him.
Now that made Coriolanus lean in visibly, hand clutching at the papers as if opening them might set off a ticking bomb.
The Commander continued: “They are a manned intelligence squad. We couldn't rely on jabberjays alone—you know, with the rebels feeding us garbage most of the time… But with actual scouts out there—we have a way of verifying almost everything. Thing is… humans are fragile, the War taught us as much.” He concluded, gesturing for the men to open their files.
The words blurred together in Coriolanus’ head—his eyes saw but his mind refused to make sense of it all.
Outside of District Twelve's perimeter, deep within the forests… Detectable even with old scanning equipment… … confirmed traces of human activity near the borders of where District Thirteen used to stand.
When Hoff saw their faces pale, he knew it was time to continue his guided narration…: “And it ain't just the occasional blip…” He leaned in, tapping the transcribed messages on the report.
“There are traces of nuclear tests—underground, recordings of machinery used in rebuilding efforts. Page ten, privates” he directed.
Coriolanus flipped through the pages maniacally, like if he didn't do it fast enough, it might just slip through his fingers again like it had during the War. This was his legacy—what was rightfully Coriolanus’—not something to be taken up by those filthy rebels.
His father had invested all of the family's fortune on the nuclear arsenal in Thirteen, believing it to be a secure venture. But as it turned out—it was Two that became the Capitol’s military stronghold. Thirteen was leveled to the ground—its people believed to have all returned to the dust.
Yet, somehow, the treacherous district survived, and was now laughing at his face. For all the years Coriolanus had spent starving, wallowing in the decaying Snow penthouse—Thirteen had stood tall and was now trying to take even his future from him, as it already did with his past.
Hoff’s Jabberjay unit were Scouts, not soldiers. The command thought they'd never have to face something more than the overly confident lone rebel out there. As such, they were extremely undermanned…
But Coriolanus barely heard the words that came out of the Commander's mouth after activity and Thirteen.
“I need volunteers, as you may have gathered already.” He stated: “I'm not going to lie to you—the conditions out there are nothing like the drills we have here… my unit tells me there are mines scattered near the outskirts of the district.” He cleared his throat, the collar of his uniform suddenly too tight.
“We have… no reliable means to detect them… and almost no reliable way to communicate with you once you are out there, or we risk giving away your location…” Hoff continued. It was suicide—plain and simple, but will Coriolanus be able to live with himself if he didn't reclaim his legacy?
“—half of the unit are already dead and we have only their dog tags to prove they even existed.” The commander added in a rare display, his voice cracking: “But… it's a great honor, privates. One I'm sure will resonate with you. Panem must be kept strong… and such shortfalls must be remedied immediately.” There was that sternness again.
Blown to pieces. The last jabberjay had even caught their screams as the survivors recounted the events unfolding, their voices shaking.
It was true… Most of the well-guarded military technology went down with Thirteen. District Three was still trying to catch up to the lost know-how in collaboration with Two. Even knowing all that—it almost didn't register in his decision-making now. Coriolanus took a determined step forward, with a firm soldier's salute: “I volunteer, sir!”
Coriolanus could not say he had felt great love for his father—a remote, strict man, but he had certainly felt protected by him. His death was associated with a fear and a vulnerability that Coriolanus had never been able to shake off.
It was that vulnerability he now sought to remedy. If he took charge, like he knew he was capable of, he'd be the one to rid the Capitol of District Thirteen's looming presence once and for all. Or better yet—seize it for the Capitol entirely. It wouldn't have been for nothing then… all of his struggles brought upon by his father's unsuccessful military tycoon career. He'd reclaim his past and it would become his bright future.
He was already spiralling, imagining all of the wonderful things that awaited him.
All three of the other boys agreed to join once they saw his determination. But, Smiley nosily prompted: “Private Plinth is our best marksman, Commander. How come he isn't joining?”
Coriolanus stilled for a second, unnaturally so. He wouldn't have the bleeding heart Sejanus steal the spotlight from him, this parasite from Two, who was living the life Coriolanus should have been living… and was giving it all away to play hero again.
“As I said”, Hoff replied: “This requires secrecy. Something Private Plinth isn't as skilled at that, as he is with shooting at things. We don't want this getting out… should your mission fail, you'd be on your own…”
This didn't scare Coriolanus, it was his birthright… he will not—could not fail.
Snow lands on top.
“It's—this is suicide!” Selene Ember exclaimed, she couldn't believe what she was reading. Of course, Coriolanus had spared her the details, but she knew this much… he'd be out there, with no reliable communication, in Panem's wilderness. What would compel him to do such a thing?
“I was just applying to go as a nurse there… go back there, for him. To be next to him in all this…” she whispered more so to herself than to Lysistrata. The other girl was standing against the railing of Selene Ember's bedroom balcony as they shared a cigarette.
“Sel… you know how he is…” Lysistrata murmured. It was clear what she meant: ambitious to a fault.
“No, Lysi… this—this is different. Sure, he has always been driven, aggressive even when he wants to achieve something. But… this screams "desperate", it's like he is chasing ghosts.” She added. The same way he'd get when he couldn't wrap his head around something in the Academy—he'd obsess over it, chase it until he could make it right. But this time, it wasn’t a maths problem—it was the wild, untamable forest he was facing.
“Arrogant, you mean?” Lysistrate chuckled, but she saw the attempt at a joke landed flat, so she took it down a notch, matching the atmosphere: “Maybe he finally snapped…” Lysistrata concluded, shrugging as she exhaled a plume of smoke: “I mean, he gave it his all for the Games, for Lucy Gray… for you—” she passed Selene Ember the cigarette: “—and look where it got him. Who knows? Maybe he will finally find what he is looking for…”
“I doubt it… Gaul said him being exiled would finally make him a Victor—that the boy would return from the woods a man.” Selene Ember took a deep, purposeful drag from the cigarette—her mother's blend, herbal, far more gentle than the harsh Capitol blends. Like they overplayed their hand… even when it came to consuming vices.
“She always thinks everything around her is hers to play with—her lab. But she fails to account that—nature, human or otherwise—cannot be tamed. At least that's what my mother used to say…” Selene Ember added.
No, she thought, the boy would lose himself in those woods.
If you stare long enough into the abyss… it stares back. And right now, from the sound of that letter, to Coriolanus, all the world was an abyss.
“I will make it right… I have to…”
His cursive read…
“Enter the woods with an opened heart, always…” Rowan Hazel said, her voice smooth as honey as she placed the palm of her hand over Selene Ember's small beating heart: “No hate… not here, where the Oak Father sleeps and guards.” The rain fell around them as they prepared for the moon harvest. Her mother was a nurse, but to many, she was a healer—one who knew the secrets of the forest. She'd always warn young Selene Ember that whatever you brought into the woods would only get amplified. “‘Tis the essence of all that's pure—to reveal and heighten what is already underneath.”
Coriolanus marched, rifle at the ready, set to be the leader of the party. Their instructions were clear—find the Jabberjay squad, flank Thirteen's parameters and observe up close. If any rebel comes into contact—kill on sight. The rebels were few in number and their strength was only in the arsenal they hoarded—which without proper command… deemed them useless idealists. At least that was what Coriolanus had determined when he would remain alone in his thoughts.
But… weeks had passed and the Peacekeepers still didn't see the Jabberjay squad stronghold… and food was already scarce.
Coriolanus knew hunger, probably better than most of his comrades. But hunger for revenge and the physical famish were a potent combination.
Any weight he might have gained with the help of the Peacekeeper canteen was slowly withering away. Even worse than that were the screams that haunted him.
Two days ago, Smiley had set foot on one of the hidden land mines… Coriolanus could swear he'd never seen so much blood and shattered meat from a living, breathing person. And the sounds—gods, the sounds—the loud bang that left his ears ringing, then the guttural screaming, then the wheezing and then… nothing.
Like a flame that slowly suffocated, extinguished from Smiley's eyes, until nothing was left of him—not even his full body. His eyes, usually bright—had turned hollow, as if filled with nothing but endless regret and terror—frozen in time.
Coriolanus had taken a life before, beaten that tribute to death in the Arena, but he… he deserved it, right? Coriolanus was just protecting himself. He was the order among the chaos.
It was what started and perpetuated the War in the first place— the selfish nonconformists, hiding behind their idealism while bombing children, biting the hand that had fed them, he thought.
Here, in these woods, Coriolanus’s squad was reclaiming what was rightfully his, and to be met with such mindless violence from those filthy rebels… it made Coriolanus seethe, even as he flinched at every undetermined sound now—fearing he could be next.
“The earth is older than the kings who claim it—we need to thank every herb we harvest… they are not ours. Nothing wild can be claimed.” Selene Ember's mother explained as the sun shone through the great old trees. “Every safe step we take is a blessing…” she'd add as the Covey journeyed on to the lake, song on their lips and peace in their minds.
Ever since the land mine, Coriolanus took steps with a stick at his front, nudging the soft ground.
The shrapnel could still hurt him, but he'd at least have some time to anticipate it… maybe it was just deceptive reassurance —but with his makeshift cane, he felt more like the king of the forest than just another wandering soul. And here, where the trees grew so tall that the light seemed reluctant to touch the ground—any protection was welcomed.
Beanpole had begged Coriolanus to take some respite, then to return to base altogether. But Coriolanus would shut him down each time: “We know too much now. What do you think—that once we return, Hoff will just pat us on the backs and congratulate us?!” He scoffed: “'No worries, boys, better luck next time'?! We aren't out patrolling for contraband, Bean… we are trying to get this embarrassment under wraps before it even gets out!”
Embarrassment? For the Capitol, sure, but also for Coriolanus himself… District Thirteen, alive and well, under his nose without any benefit to him. These rebels fed off of his father's money, his money like the leeches they were.
The autumn sunlight filtered down weakly around their arguments, turning pale long before it reached the ground. As if something below sucked it in first.
Beanpole just lowered his head, hands twitching with the urge to say something.
But before he had the chance to—mockingjay screeches were carried closer and closer to the remaining three men. The song, like fire raining, was urgent and furious.
Mockingjays copied… there must be a source.
“Is that—? Maybe the stronghold is close?” Bug sounded almost hopeful.
But, if it were near… then it held nothing hopeful whatsoever. The sounds that the mutts carried sounded like whatever produced them was… was being burned alive, be it literally or figuratively.
Coriolanus spoke fast, dropping his walking stick to clutch his rifle instead: “We need to lay low, follow their direction…” he quickly merged with the tree line.
The two other men swiftly followed him with a soldier's grace that was unnatural for people on the brink of digesting their own intestines.
As they threaded cautiously, the source of the sound became clear… The jabberjays were carrying the screams of what were probably the last Scout survivors.
The sound was deafening, so much so that Coriolanus almost missed them—on top of the browned foliage—bloodied dog tags. Beanpole waved, horror on his face as the mangled body of their owner seemed to be feet away—the victim of another mine, dangling from the bushes, blood dropping onto the leaves. Coriolanus’ hands shook as he held his rifle with a whitening grip, not daring to take another step.
He felt well and truly helpless then—like prey caught in a trap. Grandma’am words rang in his skull: “You'll end up dead in the woods like your father…”
His back leaned on the tree behind him, body collapsing on the ground, losing the last shred of hope he had. Without the Jabberjay squad intel, they were all but lost again, this time—with no end in sight, no mission.
“We just go back now? No? Say they need hovercrafts out here, not soldiers on foot!” Beanpole protested. And he was right, there'd be no feet to carry them with the amount of traps the rebels had set up.
But Coriolanus didn't know the way back… he was too afraid to admit—to himself, least of all to his squad—that after Smiley's incident, he wasn't all there, that he didn't remember the trail they were on, or the directions. His hand was still trembling as he rustled in his pocket, fetching his father's compass.
The initials etched almost mocking him—were they not the very reason he was implicated in aiding Lucy Gray cheat in the Games? Was his father not the ghost in this forsaken forest?
He shook his head, trying to focus. They were heading East so… Twelve must be West of here. That was all he had now—a direction and an endless wild forest.
“W-we find the stronghold, it shouldn't be far away from here, w-we get supplies… and tomorrow we head back.” He said, unable to recognize his own voice with that stutter. Like a frightened child, he cursed at himself.
Beanpole and Bug nodded, exchanging looks at Coriolanus’ state, though they held their tongues. They weren't doing well themselves either… hands shaking so much that neither man would be able to take a shot to save their life.
“Can you walk?” Bug asked, extending his hand, a show of brotherhood he was known for.
Coriolanus nodded—though he couldn't meet the boy's eyes as he got up by himself. He broke off another stick and they journeyed on. The mad king and his two fools.
The forest did not sleep at night. Its sounds only grew softer, as if holding its breath. Moonlight slipped through the weaving trees in thin silver ribbons—turning every leaf pale and ghostlike. Somewhere deeper in the trees, an owl called once and then fell silent again, as though even it understood the sacredness of what was unfolding. Each stem she cut released a sharp live scent into the crisp air. Rowan Hazel always said the plants knew when they were being taken. “Ma?” Selene Ember would ask, her eyes brimming with child curiosity: “Why don't we ever sing during the moon harvest?” Rowan Hazel would smile softly: “Tonight, we listen to the forest… it tells us its song.” she explained quietly as she guided Selene's small hand to gather the mugwarth. It was what she remembered most of her mother—her steady voice—as assured as her hands, letting the herbs drop onto the fresh white linen. No hands were supposed to touch the harvest… Tonight, even the forest seemed to be watching.
The stronghold was a shabby wooden construction, an old hunter's lookout site.
But inside, there were still some rations left that Beanpole and Bug were now ravishing through. Coriolanus, on the contrary, was eating like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn't starving. Because even as his hands were still shaking, he'd never allow himself to be caught in his hunger. Hunger was for mutts.
The jabberjays the scouts had used for commutation were locked in their cages—now silent, set on recording mode as Beanpole recounted the steps of the mission for protocol.
“We'll send it tomorrow when we start to journey back… that way they'll know where we are headed.” Coriolanus asserted. He wiped his lips with a clean handkerchief, always having one in his pocket as per Grandma’am's strict rules.
“Ey, Capitol boy…” Bug teased, looking at his mannerisms: “Why don't you take first watch then? Since you are quite finished with your banquet…”
Coriolanus nodded, rigid—the tremor in his voice, still present: “S-sure…”
The dark… he wasn't a child anymore but after what he had seen here, he was scared of any noise he couldn't determine the origin of.
As the fire burned away and the two other men were already snoring, Coriolanus was looking out of the window—the battered wooden frames solidifying the smell of musty earth.
He was almost drifting off, catching himself on a couple of occasions as his head would drop suddenly. A full stomach certainly helped him be lulled to sleep. And there were so many places he'd rather be right now… especially after he had failed so tremendously.
In the darkness, he could swear he heard Selene Ember's voice, the song she'd hum whenever he was feeling overwhelmed:
A bed of grass A soft green pillow Lay down your head and close your eyes And when they open The sun will rise
A lullaby, "pitiful", he thought, but in that moment, the memory of her voice—as bright as the starlight—made his chest warmer. He rested his palm on his chest, imagining it was hers—grounding him then, telling him it will all be okay as he closed his eyes. A slave to the fantasy now.
That warmth suddenly boiling sharp. He hissed at the feeling, looking down to find, what looked like a wasp? A wasp—in the dead of night? The sting came sharper then… from his leg, and then his arm. Like something crawling under the skin, looking for somewhere to settle.
He quickly shot up only to find there were a dozen or so of these pests. He looked to his comrades, wanting to shake them awake… but there was no need to—Bug was already screaming in pain, as Coriolanus held back his own sounds of agony.
It felt like someone was burning his blood from within his body. Bug opened the jabberjay cage, shouting for help… as if whoever got that message could ever arrive on time.
Coriolanus quickly took his stick that was now burning at the end from the fire they had stoked and waved it around like a man possessed. It helped get the insects off of him, but Beanpole was already shriveling on his bed roll, shouting at invisible foes, flailing his arms helplessly as his breaths turned shallow—Coriolanus realized to his horror—that Bean had started suffocating.
Coriolanus stumbled back, managing to fall through the rotten cabin stairs onto his back and into the cold, wet ground.
The mud thankfully served to drive the wasps away.
Then… The world tilted slowly.
At first the trees simply looked wrong. Too tall. Too still. The leaves no longer moved with the wind.
Then the sound disappeared altogether.
No insects.
No breathing forest.
The silence pressed against his ears until it hurt.
Coriolanus tried swallowing—only to find his mouth dry, tongue heavy as stone.
He stood on his feet, Bug already walking ahead of him. “W-wait!” Coriolanus shouted, getting closer to him: “It's not safe!” A caution all too late as the midnight sky suddenly went aflame, the sting of the venom now mixed with the small but deadly and unmistakable cuts of shrapnel delving into Coriolanus’ flesh.
He looked up then—away from the scene and above at the sky. Like he'd find some solace there…
He wasn’t sure if what he was seeing were dark clouds or the streaking pieces of Bug's corpse, shredded by the landmine.
If what he was feeling, dripping down his body—was rain, his own blood... shrapnel-heavy now and blooming through his ragged uniform—or if it was the viscera of the boy in front of him.
Coriolanus fell to his knees and his vision fully blurred as the dark night enveloped him—carnage hailing down on him for what felt like ages.
For a moment he was transported back to a time long ago—the Dark Days—when he had the flu and Tigris was so afraid for him... thinking he might perish without any medicine. Coriolanus was laying in his bed at the penthouse, the fever so high, he thought he was seeing his mother when Tigris hovered over him to change the wet towel that rested on his forehead.
“Rest now, Coryo… get better.” Her voice would say.
But when he opened his eyes again, he wasn't greeted by her warm dark eyes or even by Selene Ember's lullaby.
Instead, as looked through the twilight grove—with eyes that had never once deceived him before—he saw a scene out of the ancient pagan texts.
The trees were bleeding.
Bodies swinging off the trees, their gore covering the whole stumps. The corpse's hollow eyes staring back at him, as if passing judgement.
Coriolanus remembered these texts well, speaking of perverse druids in the district forests—barbaric priests who would pray to false gods with human sacrifices.
A chill and cheerless everlasting shade: There nor the rustic gods nor satyrs sport, Nor Fauns and Silvans with the nymphs resort…But barbarous priests some dreadful power adore, And lustrate every tree with human gore.
That is what these rebels were… but in all his perceived righteousness, he couldn't fight against an invisible foe.
He heard it then—an eerie voice, something between Doctor Gaul's taunting riddles and what he remembered his father sounding like… cold and mocking. The sound came from the carved chest cavities of the corpses—ribs cracked open like butchered stags—gaping and closing in a wet whizzing to produce it as if they were still breathing with that singular goal in mind.
To torment Coriolanus.
“Control is everything… and you lost it all.” The words were wet, potent with blood.
Coriolanus covered his ears, as he laid down, folding in on himself, as he cried out into the night: "If this is what power looks like… I don't want it. I don’t want it!”
He had given up, lost in the woods…
The jabberjay Bug had let loose hovered near him—trained to follow a sound source if it was in recording mode. Coriolanus, now delirious from whatever stung him and the sheer trauma that he had endured, wailed with pain—although more and more weakly. He didn't know what he was saying, what he was chanting after that, but with the last semblance consciousness—he hoped the jabberjay would reach help, if he wasn't beyond saving.
The lab always had that sterile smell to it—antiseptic masking the smell of blood that was so deeply soaked through the floors and walls, courtesy of the creatures turned mutations. Sterile, because even their blood, their surrender wasn't alive anymore—maybe it never was—none of Gaul's test subjects came in willingly. And what was life if not the presence of free will?
This was the true barbarism, Selene Ember thought, not what they try to ascribe to the districts.
No matter how much the Capitol masks it with perfumes—the gore beneath always spoke louder than their feeling of entitlement to it. “It's for science, for progress, for Panem's prosperity!…”.
A load of crap, Selene Ember cursed mentally. The truth was—it wasn't for some great cause—it was always for someone's ego. And the biggest one, the most inflated—standing in the room now, draped in scrubs like a ceremonial cloak, belonged to Dr. Valumnia Gaul.
“Tell me, little Lady Vasari, do you believe in Lucanus's texts? I know you have the heart for poetry… and what better art than one that reveals truths?” Gaul's voice echoed as she fed her aquatic mutations.
Selene Ember's eyes widened ever so subtly. It was like Gaul had read her mind, or maybe… she had other reasons to evoke the forest ghosts now.
“I believe it's well-constructed propaganda… texts that are allowed to be studied in the Academy always are. But that doesn't mean one cannot draw their own conclusions… for how the words apply to other facets of our esteemed society…” she concluded looking down at the shark-like creatures, teeth so sharp that the large chunks of flesh Gaul fed them disappeared into sprays in seconds. The message was clear: You, hiding behind science, are the false gods. And she wasn't afraid to voice it—the doctor loved a challenge.
Gaul nodded along: “So then, are you here to beg for Coriolanus again?”
In desperation, anyone may come to rely on false gods.
Selene Ember sighed, clutching the shawl Coriolanus had left her: “Yes… I know you keep tabs on him, Doctor. You are too prideful to let go of your protege. You saw his potential, even if he went against you…”
Her chuckle was cold and sharp: “You presume too much. Then again, helpless little girls always do…” her pointed glance at the shawl revealed enough, but she drove the knife deeper: “For all you know, he might have run away with your Lucy Gray. They did look awfully cozy when he was mentoring her…”
The older woman wanted to get a rise out of Selene Ember and she knew it well. So she didn't let the jab land, not when she was here to rescue…
“I know he is chasing something… what that something is, I do not know, but it seems important to him. Vital, even… like it is a part of him.” Selene Ember concluded: “So, please, Doctor, I know you must know something…” she begged. It wasn't beneath her, not when it came to people she cared about.
“I do… but the question is do you want to know it, truly?” Gaul challenged, fetching a jabberjay in a cage: “This arrived early this morning. Whatever he chased… had other plans for him.”
Selene Ember's hands twitched ever so slightly. A jabberjay and not written correspondence. This didn't spell good news—but then again, months had passed—it was well beyond the point for good news.
Selene Ember twisted the knob of the remote into “play” mode without a second thought.
It started normal, a voice of a boy she didn't recognize, recounting their mission. He sounded shaken up, having seen a Scout survivor mangled... But other than that, he was hopeful for what tomorrow may bring, now that they had decided to go back to the Peacekeeper compound.
“The forest out here belongs to the rebels now, foot soldiers stand no chance. If we are to take District Thirteen back, we need an authorized hovercraft mission…”
Coriolanus’s voice cut in, detached.
“District Thirteen …?!” Selene Ember exclaimed in a hushed tone. She didn't know why Coriolanus would hold such a personal connection to it, he'd never admit to it, at least not before.
She waited for the inevitable point of no return… After all, there must have been a reason Gaul would challenge her on her preparedness to hear the recording.
And sure enough, the screams came, two boys she didn't know, and then a landmine, rustling of leaves and desperate sobbing. Coriolanus sounded delirious: “I see them! Gods, their eyes are gouged out…”
Selene Ember's head snapped, looking at the doctor, alarm in her wide eyes as her lips trembled with a silent question.
Gaul looked unimpressed, she had probably heard and seen a lot worse. If anything, she reveled in examining the borders of the human psyche and she was the perfect observer… impartial, removed from her humanity almost entirely: “Trackerjacker venom… wasp mutts we had developed for interrogation purposes.” She stated as if she were reading off of a report and not actively hearing pure agony unfolding in the other end: “But it seems our dear District Thirteen rebels have been doing some experiments of their own. The sting can cause powerful hallucinations…” she detailed: “And it seems your poor Coryo suffered a lot…”
“My moon, please… everything hurts…”
He sobbed on the recording.
My moon, little moon... the nickname so raw moved Selene Ember to tears as she closed her eyes, fingers tightening around the shawl as if she was willing Coriolanus to come back, to be here…
She could imagine him—laying in the mud, looking up at the night sky, with no one to turn to.
“Wh-where is he now? Where is Coriolanus?!” Selene Ember demanded, voice urgent.
“Aw, that got you, didn't it? Him, calling for you… I did say you presume too much.” Gaul turned off the recording: “He had the potential to be a Victor, instead, he became this. A shell of himself— a boy who chased his past to remedy it, instead of looking to his future… you know, even if he came back, he'd always be lost in these woods, a part of him anyways…” she shrugged like it was nothing, like it wasn't a human being she was talking about
“I'm not here to debate what has become of him!” Selene Ember raised her voice, something she rarely ever did.
I'm here to save what's left…
“Where. Is. He?” She ordered, her voice lethal.
“And he calls you “moon”, how quaint—when you are the storm instead.” She tossed another piece of meat into the aquarium, not sparing the girl another glance: “He is back in Twelve's hospital. Though they doubt he will make it, the equipment there is severely outdated.” A twitch of Gaul's lips betrayed her eagerness for a reaction. Like she was feeding off of the despair—care for another to such an extent was clearly a foreign concept to the Head Gamemaker.
Selene Ember strode forward, until she was at the very edge of the aquarium, unafraid of Gaul or her progeny, the conviction potent: “Send him back here… I'll tend to him.” She requested
“How precious…” Gaul mused: “The district bastard, turned medic.” Gaul waved her hand dismissively: “You do know if he is discharged it would be with dishonor… he failed a top secret mission. Commander Hoff demanded any survivors be subjected to becoming Avoxes. Naturally, you understand—we need to keep the secret from getting out.” A threat, as Selene Ember knew of the mission now too.
“Naturally”... there wasn't anything natural about this treatment.
“He'd come back here as less than a Peacekeeper recruit now… can you even handle that?”
A pause. She could, but will Coriolanus be able to? He must be so afraid now, trauma seeping through his bones and marrow.
But she'd never let him feel “less than” if he came back, even if Capitol society would look at him as such. He had to regain his agency after all that he had suffered through. His reputation came after…
What is life if not the presence of free will? Better to have a chance at it than to lay at an unmarked grave…
Selene Ember raised her head high, playing the game: “The Vasari mansion needs more servants as is…” a carefully curated image, though it may be too late for such a diversion. Not when she had slept in the lab's waiting room for days waiting and begging for news.
But Dr. Gaul allowed her to indulge in this deception: “Very well… I'll send word. But remember, “little moon”—this is a precious servant I am giving you.” The way she said it—vowels coiling like a snake that had entrapped its prey, made Selene Ember nauseous. She'd be indebted to a monster… but all she could see was the road ahead.
“I am nothing if not obliged, Doctor…” she didn't like admitting it, but she knew how to deal with narcissists like Gaul. You needed something from them—you needed to stroke their egos, lest the snake bear its fangs.
Gaul's smirk was unsettling as she stamped the order she had pre-written. Like she knew how this little bargain would end before it even unfolded… like she knew Selene Ember would realize the devastating, yet simple truth—in the state of nature, here where predators hunted—they didn't deal in something as trivial and ordinary as money.
Control was the name of the game.
Sure, money would get you some of it… but never the one that mattered most, the one that could cut through throats without lifting an assassin's dagger. When it came to Panem's cult of personality, Selene Ember couldn't just go to Starbo Plinth or even use her father's old military connections—not when something as fundamental as the Capitol’s reputation was at stake. What good would money do if people were too busy killing each other? The Capitol was order—and order must be kept at all costs.
Doctor Gaul looked pleased as she handed the paperwork, trying to mask her giddy excitement.
After all, she just got a front row seat to a beautifully curated experiment. And, oh how she loved her observational studies…—the perfect unbiased empirical scholar.
The Vasari manor loomed, its grandeur appearing slowly through the autumn haze, its dark stone rising from the smog like it were something sentient, the forever green vines gave the illusion of life. While dead leaves gathered along the iron gates, unmoving despite the wind and the windows reflected the dull afternoon sky without warmth—like blind eyes that still watched.
Living but cold… that’s what existing in Skyfall manor felt like to Selene Ember.
Everything about the estate suggested wealth. Everything about it also suggested control. The trees surrounding itwere always trimmed too perfectly, the hedges stood in rigid lines—even nature here appeared to obey. The Capitol artifice corrupted everything.
This wasn’t surrender, it was ruin, disguised as sophistication. It was behind these looming gates, overlooking the gardens, where Selene Ember had been pacing for what felt like ages. Cigarette burning in one hand, while the other gripped at the medical reports Gaul had spared her—wrinkling the yellowed pages that were filled with sporadic handwriting. Some of the content seemed to have been redacted. She knew if she were to ask it'd be foolish—she'd just receive some predetermined excuse of “confidentiality” again.
Sejanus had returned from Twelve as well—not of his own volition. It had been his father who had noticed Sejanus’ allowance suspiciously draining. In the beginning, Starbo thought his son had finally found a taste for the good life—maybe he spent his free time at the Hob, drinking and having fun—putting aside his unsavory, rebellious ambitions… but when his dossier came, detailing how Sejanus hadn’t taken any leaves, except to patrol suspected rebel spots—Starbo began questioning.
It may have turned out for the better… that Sejanus was returned to the Capitol before he could get himself hanged aiding rebels. In the end, his patronage had already helped them somewhat.
But Selene Ember couldn't think about anything other than the words blurring in front of her:
Almost no record of morphling dosage and scheduling—there were some doses marked here and there… but, this was supposed to be a highly controlled drug. Coming off of it (if they hadn't administered it properly)… would be agony.
That wasn't the worst—no consistency in the shrapnel wound treatment. Intermittent infection control at best.
They were supposed to follow protocol… documenting when the gauze had been changed, marking what fragments they had removed.
Coriolanus went through hell, and now he was being dragged through purgatory as well… on his way back to the world of the living.
“Th-they don't have anything there, Sel—” Sejanus had told her when he had come to visit: “They didn't let me near him, of course.” he scoffed: “But, they have him in intensive care… if you could even call it that—”
“Sej…” Selene Ember let out a painful breath at that: “You are also enrolled at the medicine major, right? W-we could get some supplies from the University?!” She suggested, urgently: “The-the vacuum for negative pressure therapy! He-he will need it, no? It will help—I read all of the reports from the War I could get my hands on…” the dark circles under her eyes were proof enough: “— it's the most effective way if he has deeper wounds…”
She was making a checklist already. If she got some supplies and Sejanus the rest—no one would notice. Sejanus nodded, resting his hand in hers in a gesture of comfort, closeness. A part of Selene Ember knew he wanted that with her, she had seen how he looked at her, but… all she could think about was Coriolanus now. And maybe ever.
Those cold blue eyes… that held so much depth, that held so much fear. The very same that would warm up when he finally surrendered and felt free, when Selene Ember and him would just talk about nothing but everything at the same time.
“We can do that…” Sejanus had assured her then: “We will get him back home, Sel.”
Back home…
So she waited at the gates of Skyfall, as an upscale car glided around the paved corner—a classic Plinth display. Not one perpetrated by Sejanus surely… but his father, who seemed to not realize that his inappropriately lavish purchases more so screamed “inferiority complex” than assertion.
Sejanus exited the car and opened the hood to reveal the spoils of his venture—gauze, more disinfectants, morphling and even… the vacuum pump.
“H-how…?” Selene Ember whispered in disbelief as Lysistrata exited the passenger seat.
“Well, I couldn't leave a friend in need…” she said warmly, referring more so to Selene Ember than Coriolanus—the arrogant boy she remembered: “My father won't notice one or two vials missing.” Lysistrata added as she passed the papers with the dosage outline. “Just be careful.” She warned and somehow Selene Ember realized she wasn't just talking about her playing medic.
Selene Ember nodded: “Thank you… truly. I would appreciate your… discretion on the matter. I don’t want frivolous gossip spinning. Not when there are more important things.” she asked.
His wellbeing would always be more important than some constructed social standing. A person—living and breathing, would always hold more real value.
But she knew how attached Coriolanus was to his image, how this may destroy him… as if he’d lost his tethers to reality without the Snow name holding him rooted there.
He had been born into that name, carrying it and all of the implications his grandmother demanded it should hold. Selene Ember was a Vasari—a name that held a lot of “influence” as well. But she had been Selene Ember first, she was granted that at least—real roots in her identity. The Vasari name came after… and it definitely didn't define her entirely. Hopefully she could show him too—that there was far more to Coriolanus than what others made of him. It is what he could make of himself.
Sejanus helped Selene Ember haul everything to her bedroom, where she had already settled a designated side for Coriolanus—separated by the bed canopy and soft pillows.
“I-I wanted him to have a separate room, but… my father wouldn't allow it. Not for a "servant"." She explained: “And… I didn't want him to be treated like one…” she murmured, knowing everything would be different now.
Her step-mother, Cordelia, had already taunted Selene Ember about the ordeal. “The boy should make himself useful…and fast. You know your father hates wasteful things…”
A threat… Cordelia had been in charge of overseeing the servants and her methods were cruel and severe even by Capitol standards. Selene Ember had to treat welts from Cordelia's whip on more than several occasions—Avoxes and maids coming to her, afraid to seek help … she liked to think she was slowly making a difference where she could.
“I understand…” Sejanus gave a weak flinching smile as he set the supplies on the side designated for Coriolanus: “They should bring him tonight. In what condition… I do not know…”
He sat on Selene Ember's desk chair, his hands resting on his knees as he added: “I'll be here, if you need me… it shouldn't be you who takes on that burden.”
She couldn't meet Sejanus’ eyes as she set the orange shawl on the fresh linen, a loan repaid,… but more so she hoped he would be okay. That he would find some contentment thanks to the memory of the fabric. He’d need it.
“Why not?” Selene Ember inquired, placing a single white rose in the vase next to the already watered cyclamen. The two greenhouse flowers—finally together…
It's not a burden.” She concluded.
