grief is a cryptid ; carly & aneesa / jb

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

carly volkov

There's something powerful about the click of high heels down a silent hallway. It sounds almost like going to war — like peacekeepers marching through the streets, their guns at the ready. Carly closes her eyes as she walks, reminding herself that it's not logical to peek over her shoulder. She's fine. Her hand squeezes around the strap of her purse, and she ponders on that. She's whole.

But that's not the issue at hand, is it? For Carly Volkov, there is no danger. She can see the sun on the horizon, and it's warm. Her train leaves for the Capitol in less than a week, and for the first time in a long while, the future doesn't frighten her. She can hold her dreams in the palm of her hand — moth wings fluttering, and glitter in the sky. It's a pretty illusion. On the subject of Aneesa Warden, however, she feels a pang of dread in her chest.

She comes to stop before the doors, staring pointedly at the polished wood frame, and not at the two men in uniform informing her that she has two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds to tell a friend goodbye. There's a pulling in her that urges her to spit at their face shields, to hold them accountable for the things that were done to her, and to Aneesa. For all she knows, behind that black screen is the face of the person who shot her. Beat her.

For all of her strength, she is still only seventeen. Still in pain, and still traumatized, and still so willing to pack it all away for the benefit of others. There's a quiet resolve to Carly that has always done a great job at internalizing her fears. Which seems only natural for a girl who would spend her summers hunting ghosts. Searching for the stories told in the dark, and the creatures you can't quite see past the shadows of the campfire.

A kind of magic. Scary as it might be.

Stepping inside, she is quick to close the entrance firmly behind her, rushing to Aneesa's side and throwing her arms around her. "Oh, my," she coos, fingers brushing through dark strands of hair. There's so much to say, and yet, she can already feel the sand of an hourglass pouring out of her palm. Catching the wind, trying to catch her breath, searching for the right words. "Look at me. I love you."

Her thumb brushes over Aneesa's flushed cheek, blue eyes locking, a river flowing into an ocean. Carly smiles, and like she always has, tries to ignore the way hope feels so far away. Like bleeding out in the dark, exhaling into the cold, reaching for warmth. She clings to her friend, to the mirror that has captured her tragedy inside the glass, and she allows the ticking of the clock to fade into the background like white noise.

"You deserve so much better."

The tears come without permission. Her voice betrays her.

"It's okay. I'm here."