i'll sing it {one} last time // valkyrie

[Deleted]

Main: 95CFB7
Speech: F04155
Thought: F2F26F
Other: FFF7BD

You aren't entirely sure of who or what you are anymore, but that's not much of a change, you muse, crisp air whistling through the trees of the orchards bringing with it the smell of impending spring, hope that all of these things that lie dormant in the ground will flare back to life like all of the broken things in your fractured soul never will again. Life seems to taunt you with its unfairness nowadays, but it's something you've begun to get used to. It's odd, becoming so accustomed to the things that continue to hurt across the indefinite stretches of time.

He haunts you everywhere, ghosts of smiles that no longer light up every room hanging heavy on the breeze that cuts through the thin fabric of your jacket and a constant reminder of all the times you failed him hanging in a place of honor around your neck. Mace Emberstatt will never be one of your favorite people, not when he had the nerve to live when Denver could not, but you suppose you owe him for the worn scrap of leather settled against your collarbone that whispers condolences to you when even Zane can't penetrate the tears, streaking hot and remorseful down the planes of hollowed cheeks in the middle of the night.

You've become so weary of being this lost, lonely thing, and maybe that's why Jessa's been after you lately, all sunbeam smiles that aren't his but close enough, blithely suggesting that you spend Saturday baking cupcakes and making a mess the way you used to when you were little girls. It all seemed too happy, vestiges of a world long gone because it wouldn't be the same without Denver lurking in the corner with his camera and ready laughter, but the fragile hope in her eyes had made you agree, rushing to the grocery for supplies and even getting a discount on the salt because the bag had a hole in it.

A quiet meow blooms from the tall grass and a small black cat's head emerges, quirking at you curiously. And surely you do look curious, dancer, weighed down by much more than the grocery bags when you once flew along these paths with mindless agility. Lips pursing into a thin line, you skirt around the tiny feline and continue up the path, fighting the pain blooming in the center of your chest as Zane's mindless assurances ring in your ears.

One step at a time, Lyd. One step at a time.

But how could he ever understand how hard it is to accomplish even that?

[sadniss everdeen]

what a day, what a day to take to
what a way, what a way
to make it through
what a day, what a day to take it to
a wild child

You don't gotta purpose in life until you find something that's worth doin'. That's what I always tell myself when I'm clawin' my hands raw at the floorboards over the sound of Momma's chantin', hands raised and jaw set as our latest seeker writhes with her mouth bound all wrong and fingers curled so tight you think they'd snap and fall apart. But them spirits are strong and keep the bones in place even when the soul ain't, all rough 'round the edges from her prying hands teasing them away. Momma always has this way 'bout her when she finally gets them, a triumphant shout stained 'round the loops with exhaustion as Scratch opens the Gate and ushers the insulted spirit in. We bid 'em farewell with little sacrifices and she binds up my fingers real good, muttering things like the blood runs so strong in you, girl and you done good today that fills me with pride nothin' else gives me. We even let Jessa sit in once, all wide eyes and moving lips as she tried to touch them things only she sees sittin' all pretty in the air.

Sun's gone down in time for them faeries to play tonight, we bidding farewell and goodluck to a dead-tired body regained the soul and parents with pockets lighter but hearts brighter. Sometimes we be scowled on doin' things in ways others don't like, but our methods are somethin' that no book or medicine can explain away. Momma smiles and goes to clean up the powders scattered all 'round the old floorboards, not daring to touch the blood unless Scratch gone decided to let the spirit back out again. She's a high priestess in all the ways I can't explain and when the moonlight touches her so that she explodes into flame, I can't help but see why all them otherworldly beings are so drawn to her. Sometimes she'll hold me tight and say I'll be a high priestess someday too, but I ain't got the affinity with old magicks like she does. Not yet, anyway.

Bunches of muddy footsteps stomped like flowers catches my eye from outside in the night and I carefully step outside, always wary of the things that are there but not (if you leave a door open too long deep at night, things with anger for hearts and nightmares for thoughts think it an invitation and steal away while you sleep). When our house's done noisy like it was earlier we attract our own brand of attention, people gathering to the screams like lambs to the slaughter. A roamin' Peacekeeper's passed through and thought the worst, but Momma wouldn't stop the ritual until she saw it through. Breakin' in the middle is the worst offense, guaranteed to harm more than heal. I eye the small steps but then another trail, blinding against to comforting dark of Night's bosom. My bones creak when I hunch down, bound fingers scrapin' long the dirt to gather and bring to my tongue.

Salt! I wrinkle my nose and hurry back inside, almost forgetting to shut the door in my haste. I shout a quick excuse to Momma and whisk back outside with the broom, setting it down and wiping 'way the trail. It's the first thing I learned as a little babe fresh outta Momma's womb - you don't let no salt spill on the ground, or you'll be gettin' bad luck 'till the rain washes it away. "Them no good fools, leavin' bad omens left an' right without no damn care in the world," I mutter angrily, the swift swish of my broom loud in the dead of night. Around me I hear snickers, wind that's not wind brushing my hair back from my face. "Yeah, yeah, you go 'head an' laugh. They better watch theyselves, else they gonna reap what they don't try an' sow." I glance up at the sound of footsteps, and see the trickle of the trail comin' from some pretty blonde with her head in the clouds but eyes way too down to earth. I recognize that floating step from the countless times I done watched Jessa walk, wrapped up in her own little world so she can't see them people around her.

A rustle to her right an' a little black critter pops up from the ferns, meowing pitifully as the tail sweeps the dirt. Pretty Blonde walks like she's just gonna cross right in front of 'im (them cute ones are always the worst - I see that little glint in those eyes, fur too sleek to be good an' wholesome) so I reach forward, grasping the back of her collar an' yanking her away just as he darts to go play with the green faeries, bored o' my mumblin'. My bandaged fingers twinge in protest (Scratch was demandin' today, always askin' more more more when I had nothin' to give) just as we stumble back, broom forgotten in my left hand.

"You gotta be careful, there. Don't want no more bad luck crossin' your path, believe me. Them shadows always hide things you don't wanna see on such a nice night."

[Deleted]

Main: 95CFB7
Speech: F04155
Thought: F2F26F
Other: FFF7BD

The hand catches in your collar without warning, prompting a hammering heart and a surprised gasp and a million fractured thoughts of girls who never made it home spinning through your head. It's not that you're afraid to die - no, darling, Death is a welcome friend to your broken heart and you would gladly embrace it should it visit you with the same cold hand that snatched Denver's breath - but the thought of leaving Jessa alone in the world is enough to spark the last embers of an all-but-extinguished will to live. Eyes wide and breath ragged you whirl to face your adversary, only to be met with curious, dark eyes with narrow brows raised in unspoken, warning question. "You gotta be careful, there. Don't want no more bad luck crossin' your path, believe me. Them shadows always hide things you don't wanna see on such a nice night."

Your own brows quirk upwards in response, uncertain arcs of wheatblonde confusion hovering over skeptical pools of slate blue that know better than to trust anyone anymore (the ones you trust all disappear in the end beyond a veil that you can't cross). Jerking back from the odd girl's grip, you watch the tiny kitten disappear back into the tall grasses where the orchards begin to give way to the hayfields, watch her deeper gaze in turn follow after the little creature with a measure of cautious trepidation that seems out of place for the situation. She's very... strange, this girl you've never seen with her bandaged digits and wily look in her eyes and a crude homemade broom hanging loosely in her hand. Your eyebrows drift even closer to your hairline at this, noticing the swept appearance of the dirt path behind you for as far as you can see in the dimming light of dusk. Why would she - oh. The salt.

As if on cue you remember the discount you got on the punctured bag, checking your load of groceries and grumbling irritably when you see that the hole is widened and almost half of the salt is gone, lost to the night wind and the girl's bramble-broom superstitions. She doesn't look at you with the quiet pity that has become so commonplace whenever you brave the world outside your door, and something about how her stare is full of pedantic things that preach all these rules you should already know sets your teeth on edge, pulling an indignant huff from between your lips as you adjust the position of the salt bag to stop the leaks. You tell yourself it's for the sake of the cupcakes rather than to stop the things that glimmer faintly in dark orbs that hold worlds you don't quite wish to know. "I've had enough bad luck that there's nothing old wive's tales can do to scare me. My family's not dead because I broke a mirror or spilled some salt. I'm enough bad luck on my own."

Self-pity, anger, blame that sits heavy on your shoulders. They are things you know all too well, and with time they have grown to replace the easy laughter and effortless optimism that formed a halo around you when you were a blank canvas with an empty past and a future that you could paint as you pleased. A part of you wants to think that you were that girl once, but the more logical part knows that this is Lydia - something broken and lost and beyond repair - while the girl with the smile that Zane came to love was simply watching your shell while you were, as Jessa said, asleep.

And you wish you had never woken up.

[sadniss everdeen]

( V A L K Y R I E A R C A D I A W I L D E )

the moon upon the ocean
is swept around in motion
but without ever knowing
the reason for its flowing
in motion on the ocean

There's a shift in the wind that goes through them thin pants Momma spun for me, angry an' dark with taste of metal thick 'round the backs of my teeth. I look closer at how she shifts always so restless (like them spirits that don't want ta' leave, gotten theyselves a taste of the living an' won't let go 'til they dead in the ground too) on her feet. I spread my fingers in the three-clawed ward evil sign (evil's all 'round you, Val, just not in them nice little packages that says what they are) and go to swat away the bad juju that's gone an' made a cloud 'round her. It's always been there for me, real as them faeries that snicker and weave grass into my hair. Jessa sees it sometimes too an' when she takes my hand real slow and touches her fingers in the air, there ain't nobody to laugh or scold her. But this mojo gone crawled up my spine and lingered by my head - I think I can hear Scratch laughin' when I shudder at her eyes that're bright but cold as the bones of my little sister, born blue to black without them shades of green.

"You got some bad hoodoo 'round you, girl," I mutter, diving into my root bag sewn 'round my hip to try an' chase it 'way before it crawls down into her mouth and lingers. "Never done nobody no good to keep them bad vibes. Maybe that's why you lost all that salt." I brush through the marigold and mint, poking through the little blue bag. It nearly done broke my heart when Jessa asked for one with bittersweet so that could be all smart like them other children in her school.

With a triumphant smile I take a small weave of sage from the gris-gris bag (theys always be willin' to help those with pure intentions, energy given an' taken in some sorta eternal dance) an' bind it real tight, fishing for a match. She gone look at me like she thinks she knows it all (Valkyrie's off in tha' head, chasin' shadows n' faerie tales because her Momma's gone condemned her to an eternity in the flames) but I shake off the sense of knowin' in the way I do, studyin' the fan of her face that seems real familiar when I try an' put another to it. Still, my bound fingers find a match in the pocket of my pants (no use havin' things that won't help you in your clothes, Scratch don't take kindly to the unprepared, no) an' I strike it, grinnin' as the light illuminates Mother Night.

(I like the dark 'cause I was born with moonlight in my veins, but there's somethin' bout the shadows yielding to the flame that lets me see all those little wispy bodies swirlin' in the air 'round me like a hurricane.)

"I know you don't take no stock in them methods 'cause it ain't right in your eyes, but can't hurt to try, yeah? Hoodoo's all 'bout the intention an' them rewards can be somethin' fierce." My fingers hold the bundle up to the tiny dance dancin' away and it lights, thick smoke startin' to billow out an' make clouds out of magick. Still the bad juju writhes 'round her like one of them rainclouds you see on old folk who been livin' for nothin' all these years, choked on their own regrets and denial. I start to pace 'roud her, careful to sweep 'way the rest o' the salt with my broom when I come full circle just ta' start again.

"I've had enough bad luck that there's nothing old wive's tales can do to scare me. My family's not dead because I broke a mirror or spilled some salt. I'm enough bad luck on my own." Every turn I take a look at her face, naggin' me with how she seems so familiar. Them faeries touch my skin and I turn into their embrace, tiltin' my head to hear their whispers.

Listen. They say an' I do, see another phantom click inta place over her own. My brows draw in an' I remember nights spent strokin' prayers an' oil down a pale back 'cause he went up an' left her alone when the clock struck midnight. "Bad intention as damagin' as bad luck. I remember Denver, talked to him once or twice when them faeries didn't let him sleep. You gotta watch youself 'round them, you know. Shame what ended up with him - Scratch gone and let him in real smooth, though. I can feel him 'round you, he's sad you hurt youself over this."

'Fore all this tragedy with the Games happened, I found Denver a few times in the park with his eyes closed an' head back. Pretty boy with that megawatt smile an' too much energy, what with the way I can't see no stars 'cause they all in his eyes. He was good for her just like he was good for Jessa, but I didn't pay attention to that pretty little blonde with them secret shadows all in her head where it don't sit right against her skin.

But I smile off to her when they a shimmer just over her shoulda with a puff o' wheatblonde hair an' a bright smile. Jessa gone talked to 'im too, he never really left her just like he never really left his sister. But them clouds 'round her head don't let her see the moon of his spirit - they can only give if yous willin' ta listen.