❣ queen of hearts ❣ Cassia / Salome / Rio

[ali]

Sick of all these people talking, sick of all this noise
Tired of all these cameras flashing, sick of being poised
And now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it
Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it

Cassiopeia's footfall soon became a thunderous sound, as the chaos at the Cornucopia faded into calm. An eerie hollow atmosphere lingered in the air and beneath her heels, the colourful puddles of crayons were glittered by scarlet blood; what had once been the innocence of childhood had been defiled by the violence that had ensued when the gong had rung through the air. After a moment, the hollowness of the world was shattered by the thunderous roar of 4 separate canon’s, one after another until the last one faded into it’s own echo, until it became nothing at all.

Above her head, fish swirled in fright, nowhere to go, frightened by the sudden noise. Cassia was unmoved, sprinting across the rooftop in hot pursuit of the raven haired girl who had narrowly escaped her grasp; the career had just about felt the fabric of the girls jacket against her fingertips as she had stepped one step too far but Cassia wasn’t going to let her get away that easy. On the rooftop, it was easy to keep an eye on the girl against the pale blue and the sight of her running away pulled at the corners of Cassiopeia’s lips. Until the girl vanished- then the smirk was gone.

Cassia’s run turned into a walk and then she stopped a little way off to where the girl had been, a frown forming on her face as her gaze hunted for the girl. There was nowhere to hide, unless she had fallen and tumbled off the edge of the rooftop, the Career had seen such deaths before, in the 69th in particular where a girl had been thrown from a great icy platform to her death in the feast; they always screamed, silence, then thud. But she had heard no scream cut through the air, followed by the moment of silence before thud. The girl had simply vanished.

Her lips pursed in displeasure. She could still feel the yearning to draw blood, the drug of adrenaline that had filled her body during the Bloodbath had yet not wasted away, it still pumped through her through each flutter of her heart. Her body prickled with electricity like excitement and the realisation that she had lost her prey, her first kill, numbed that feeling. As she stepped forward, fists clenching, she could feel the calmness of the world around her, the river had bought her to a lake, calm and pristine, and she were without a paddle or sail.

She could feel her face turn red with frustration, and she took another step forward, allowing her gaze to sweep the rooftop once more but she found that she was still alone. The girl was gone. “DAMNIT!” she growled, clenching her fists tighter to stop herself from slamming a foot against the rooftop like a petulant child. Cassia could feel her father's voice, the ghost of a memory filled her mind, and she could hear him scolding her, telling her in a voice louder than her own that her temper was a sin and it would get her killed. “WELL THERE’S NO ONE HERE TO KILL ME!” she yelled into the void of the sea sky above her, throwing her arms out as her safety rocked beneath her, her memory making ripples in the lake.

Her voice simply echoed, and somewhere in the sky a whale sang in response to the fading voice. Gritting her teeth, the girl cast her eyes to the floor as she took another step towards the roof’s edge but found herself stopping suddenly when she saw something cut into the roof; a tiny little door. Right in the spot where the girl she’d been chasing had vanished. The blonde's expression softened slight and she took a step closer, circling it once before she crouched down to give it a closer look.

With a door frame made of cobblestone and the body of the door made out of hardwood, with a tiny little four paned window in the center, it was apparent almost immediately that the door was far too tiny for any human to fit in; even the tiny golden door handle was only about the size of Cassia’s little finger’s nail. The blonde frowned, peering closer at the door through the little window paned glass, beyond which she could see a room and a set of stairs leading into the room. The room looked almost as small as the door and while her anger almost pushed her away from the find, her determination (sprinkled with a tiny ounce of curiosity) fueled her to linger and open the door.

The door opened with ease and revealed and equally sized door opening. Or so it seemed. Her brow furrowed tighter, rising to her feet. As she did so, she noticed there was something not quite right about the doorway but that something was not something Cassia could not put her finger on. Tilting her head, she sunk to a crouch again and watched as the opening almost distorted itself as she did so.

“What the hell…” she whispered. Remembering the flying fish and the strangeness of the Cornucopia, Cassia inched closer to the door, reaching through the doorway with her hand; to her surprise, her hand slipped through with plenty of room to spare. “Hmph” the girl scoffed, smirking to herself as she sat at the edge of the doorframe before dropping through it into the room below and found herself in an even more confusing world than before.

She landed with ease on the floor- or was it the ceiling?- of the room. Looking around, Cassia saw that at the center of the room was an upright chandelier, a diamond-gold christmas tree glittering as the centerpiece of the room and above her, sat a beautifully decorated dining room with silver and china that miraculously defeated gravity and remained on the clothed tabletop. “Ripred. Were Hera and Cricket high when they designed this arena??” The career, muttered to herself as she moved towards the stairwell, her voice was barely a whisper.

Turning away herself coming to a halt at the edge of a landing. Or, at least, would have been a landing if there had been any floor below it like in any normal building with a second floor. It was as if someone who had no idea what a house looked like on the inside let alone know how to build one had stuck staircase leading to staircase, some stuck upside down and other leading to a blank wall. It was a maze of staircases, a strange and bizzare maze where paintings lined the walls and others ran down staircases and some up.

It was only when Cassia moved down the one to the left of the doorway she’d come through, did she find herself going upwards. The blonde stopped as she reached what she- thought- would be the ground floor but she only found herself a floor higher than the upside down dining room. The girls brow remained pressed into a frown as she began down another set of stairs, to only find herself on a different landing to before; she only knew because the room to her left was filled with one single giant green apple. A strange sight, but not as bewildering as the staircases.

Down and up and upside down she went, running through the house, getting lost in the complicated maze of staircases and peculiar rooms with skys for wallpapers and giant combs rested against the wall, and another filled to the brim with water which did not spill from the doorway by some twist of strange magic; she felt as if there was a curse upon the place, stars of wonder blinding her, making it impossible to find her way out.

Cassia stopped to stare at the pufferfish who found himself there, bobbing in the room of water, when out of the corner of her eye she caught the sight of raven black hair and green jacket; then she was off again. Up and down, up and down and upside down. Sounds of fighting echoed through distant hallways, and footsteps echoed off far away staircases; then a flash of green and Cassiopeia would change her course. Up, down, upside down, up again she ran as fast as she could, doubting that she was seeing the girl at all…

Until she found the front door.

She flung it open and burst out into the light. Abandoning the blindness the mansion’s strange ways had cursed her with. It was a breath of fresh air to be outside finally, but Cassiopeia worried for a brief second, as she hurried down the front steps from the porch, that the staircase would lead her somewhere else; she’d be damned if she ended up back inside or hell on the rooftop again. Thankfully, that was not a trick up the Game Maker’s sleeves and the blonde found herself suddenly running into the heart of a rose garden.

The whole scent of the garden was immediately dizzying. The moment she reached the edge of the garden where the saplings were growing, a haze of sickly sweetness washed over her; Cassia could not help but scrunch her nose. Around her, grew bush upon bush of red roses, some of which were bleeding, bleaching them an upsetting shade of cream white.

If it were not for the neatly trimmed topiaries, shaped to resemble mutts such as latch crab, dulhan and even bakkup’s, Cassia would have assumed the garden had long been forgotten. The rose bushes were unruly, growing in every direction imaginable, stitching together the land beneath the mansion and the strange chicken legs which jutted from the buildings foundations. The overgrown, unkempt, rose bushes were only broken by patches of the topperies and rusty green patches of lawn, where on one, an abandoned game of croquet lay, begging to be played. As the career made her way through the garden, she noticed a great big patch of dirt where- at one point- there must have been a topiary bush except topiary bushes did not just walk away.

If it were not for the girls raven black hair, she may have blended in with the green. Cassia caught a glimpse of her ducking behind a bush, heading down a path, and so she followed. Her pulse was racing again, butterflies returning to her stomach as the adrenaline washed over her again; she could feel hesitation in the air, the rustle of a bush. Hand reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a card from her deck, slowing to the a walk as she reached the bend which the girl had ducked down. She moved slowly, carefully, catlike as she rounded the corner to find her prey, to find her prey was not alone.

“Well, well, well.” She drawled, a cruel grin spreading across her lips as she pulled the sunglasses down the bridge of her nose so she could see the two tributes without the shade of blue. “What do we have here?” she said, free hand on her waist, playing card on view, blocking their only escape.

Cassiopeia Shaw

District 2 Tribute

[Tom]

Slipping out of the bloodbath early had given him a lead from the others. A much needed lead to figure out how to get off the roof without falling to the ground and having his bones all shatter into his heart. Though, it would be a way to reach the blissful paradise that he was determined to go to. Fields of red and purple. A home that he could truly feel alive within. A place to finally live out his dream world, until he moved onto another world somewhere else. A sigh escapes his body as he sneaks farther along the roof. A loud screech hits his ears as he covers them to avoid the sound of four canons blasting, signifying the death of four souls returning to the dirt that they were birthed from.

The sky filled with creatures of all sorts that shouldn't be soaring through the air. The sharp toothed fish that had carried him down was up there with it's creepy smile. As a shiver pushes in his back, he climbs down into the little door that he's found. Once inside, he falls for a second. Terror fills his body as he's falling in slow motion into something crazier than the outside. Hands reach out and he grabs a railing of some sort, that's holding him up. Relief washes through him for a second as he swings his body towards the stairs to his left. When he lets go, he lands perfectly upon the stairs, laying on them with his body. Hands flat against the marble as he stares upwards at the tiny door that he had gone through.

It wasn't the only thing that he could see. A mutt with a screen of sorts, sat next to him. A scream almost echoing from his throat, until he saw the screen. Face after face came by. Kyros Moreno. Eden Turner. And then his heart stops for a moment. Zanita Luzell. The girl who had been in his bed not even twenty four hours ago. Hands clench as he chokes on a sob, mutt still there like it was a piece of furniture in the room. She was dead. Alone in the only place that he didn't want to be alone in. Another face added to the memories of headstones and wooden coffins. Zanita Luzell was gone and he couldn't have saved her. No clue of where she had been or where Anarchy was. He needed to find her. He needed to find Anarchy before it was too late. Before she ended up like Zanita.

"Let me kiss it and make it all better."

Her words are only a whisper against his ears as he runs again. Eyes scanning the stairs in front of him. Chandeliers, chairs, tables, and all sorts of furniture along the walls and ceiling and floors. No clue of what was up or down or walls. There was no help to the madness that was the mansion. He wants to scream to the walls and hope Cricket hears him, but either way, nothing was going to bring Zanita back. He was alone again. Silence and the footsteps of tributes along the floors that were under their feet. Diorite's words gone from his mind as he knew that he was alone in the world. No one truly knew who Riordan Einfallen was. A mad man supposedly by many, but he was kind. A heart full of kindness as he would help whoever he could. An entertainer by heart as the show must always go on. The final chapter was approaching rapidly, even if he didn't want it to. If he even had a final chapter, he would pray that it ends with him finding all of the dead. Jequirity. Zanita. Naveen. Eyes scanning a painting of something that he couldn't even imagine. Blues and reds spread upon it allowing it to glow to him.

Anarchy. She was out there, alone, just like him. The mutts with screens had her on the screen for a moment as he raced to find her, wherever she was. Alive. She was alive and that's what mattered the most. It was only a matter of time before he would run into her somewhere. The problem was, what if she died. What if he was too late to help Anarchy. He couldn't think of that. Dreams weren't meant to become nightmares, but his reality was shattered with the nightmares of it all. Hand clenched, a deep breath as anger floods his system. Slamming his hand into the wall as he continues up the steps.

Upside down, forwards, right side up, left, right, and so many other ways he went. Time after time, he kept seeing the painting of red and blue every so often. A whisper falls from his lips. "I'm lost. Fuck." Eyes scanning the blue and reds again as he sighs, deciding to go right instead of left like he had done last time. A chandelier standing upright, hands threatening to glide over the pretty crystals, but he decides against it. Wouldn't want the capitol sending mutts on him while he was alone and lost. Not afraid though. He's been alone so many times before that this feels like a normal day. Walking in an arena, with dozens of kids who want to kill him, and giant monsters that only few could dream of. Just a normal day in the life of Riordan Einfallen.

Who was he kidding. He was going insane if he was to be stuck in the mansion for much longer. A door is what he can see from where he stands. Tributes all spreading amongst themselves in the mansion as he sneaks into the door, only to come upon the scent of flowers. Roses were the first thing that he thought of when he smelled the perfume of the flowers. Eyes catch the garden in it's full beauty. A gasp falls from his body as he stares at the bleeding petals. Whites and reds filling the place with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. As he stares at topiaries of mutts from before. Yetis, Bone dragons, and latch crabs. There were too many to name that he could recognize. The bone dragon topiary was the one he approached. Hand gliding on the petal of a rose as he thinks of pulling the flower off the bush, but decides against it for now. Anarchy was more important than a flower.

Wind glistens against his skin as the sweat dries forming a cooling sensation to his skin. Arms rolling up the sleeves of his turtleneck just enough to let air in it. Spurs click against the ground as he continues further into the garden. A game of croquet unfinished and still needed to be played, Riordan shivers in the cool air. His skin is tingling like something is about to happen. And as soon as he saw the raven hair, his fists were clenched in fear and bravery. They were two sides of the same coin. He whispers in the air, hoping for no conflict.

"W-Who's there?"

No one replies. No one remembers.

Riordan pushes forwards toward the girl as she wipes away tears from her eyes. He can see the look in her eyes. She's broken, just like him. She's alone, just like him. His heart wants to help, but in the end, he just stands there, a bit aways. Openly staring at the girl known as Salome Izar. Cousin to Iago from the 65th. The silence was washing over them. Fear in his bones, but he had to be brave. After all, he wanted death more than anyone else. He wanted to die in the arena and be reunited with lost loved ones, but not yet. Not now. If he was to die here, he would live with it, or die with it that is. A small frown pulls at his lips as another blonde girl appears. Eyes catch hers instantly, as he can see the fire in her soul. A career, that's what she was, it was within he veins like a fire. He wants to scoff at her, but terror fills him up first as she speaks.

"Well, well, well."

The grin on her face reminds him of the one Daria Staite had when she ended Jequirity's life. A shiver fills his spine as he clenches his hand ready for a fight, if needed. The card in her hand looking deadlier than anything he could do with his fists. A silence fills the air for a moment, until she speaks again. Heart beating fast as he stares at her. A harp plays in the background of his mind as he watches her speak.

"What do we have here?"

A gulp of everything he was feeling goes down his throat. This was clearly the Shaw from District Two. A violent career who had more training that Riordan could ever imagine. Eyes scanning her form, beauty with every look, but he can see the fire within her. The fire to kill anyone who got in her way. This was his moment to face his fears and truly be brave. Salome could handle herself, but Riordan wasn't going to back down yet. She probably wanted to see him squirm. A fly caught in her trap, like the maze of stairs that Riordan had been lost in. A smile pulls at his lips. Words whispering in his mind.

Be strong, Rio.

A hand falls to his hips as he stands between Shaw and Izar. Eyes watching Cassiopeia with curiosity and bravery. The fear pushed to the back of his mind as he lets out a slow breath of air. Wind blowing his hair slightly, spurs clicking on the ground, other hand fiddling with the pocket of his jean shorts. His voice is barely a whisper, but loud enough to reach the ears of Shaw.

"I don't want any trouble."

Deep breaths.

Eyes staring at her as he watches patiently.

No threats. No fights. No weapons.

Accepting his death since he volunteered.

Death was his only dream.

For he would be united with his paradise.

Finally free to become one with the dirt that birthed them from the ground.

This was his only dream.

[Deleted]

Your heart beats loud enough to sound in your ears. The world does not wait for you, still rattling on as boys and girls slam fists into one another. You have chosen your path, body hurled down and over the side of the tiled roof, slipping into a waiting chute. The darkness blocks your vision, but you tuck your arms and legs close together. You have to keep moving. The world spins, and out you come—dropping hard onto a waiting staircase. You steady on hands and knees, dusting off your silver shorts as though now was the time to worry about modesty. Above, the staircases catch your eye. Over and under they weave, opposing the world as it were. You take a step forward. Instead of moving downward, you’re pressing up. A shrimp swims by your face, and you turn to look over across the way.

A metallic mutt whirs into motion, its side illuminated in a pale white glow. There are the faces of the fallen—the boy from one, the victor’s child from five, a girl from nine, and a boy from twelve. You take a breath, unsteady as you are, not because you feel pain for those that have fallen, but that you never had a moment to know any of them. Your heart still beats through your ears, but now your stomach twists and turns. That magic pulsing through your veins in the bloodbath has disappeared, and you are not the brave girl leaping into the unknown. You stand, turning forward and backward, not knowing where to turn. “Molly? Gentian?” Your throat is dry now, and you can barely hear the sound of your voice. You feel your breath grow short and the lump build in your throat.

What makes you think you can do this?

Sampson’s words burrow into your head. Is he watching you now, too frantic to do much of anything? A screech sounds through the insides of the cavernous house, and you cover your mouth to stifle yourself. Would that a blobfish were floating you down to the earth now. You look over a handrailing to spy a set of doors down below, with a window the size of an apple above. Overhead are more floating fish, with upside down doors (or are they right side up?). You close your eyes and let out a cough. Did you think this would be easy, that the world would bend to you as though the good and kind were the worthy?

The sound of footsteps comes from above. There are no voices, only clatters of feet against wood and stone. You step backward (or forward?). Supposing that there was a way out, how would anyone know the difference from where they came? Perhaps it’s Benat watching over you that drives you toward the three circular wooden doors. Was it better to face those that were in pursuit or drag further into the unknown? You take another breath. Even with hands shaking, you’re still not completely undone. You wrench open one and dive into the waiting sunlight.

Perhaps it is the familiarity of the roses, or the sweet scent that fills the air. You are all tears, shedding the skin that had protected you so gracefully in the bloodbath. Here you are not the older sister making pains to take care of little Molly or sweet Gentian. You are not the martyr of district eleven, nor the wise old spirit giving advice to hurt boys with hard luck stories. You are a girl of sixteen. Small, alone, and worst of all—guided only by fear. You press through the rows dripping of roses and avoid all the sculpted bushes (taking careful pains to step away from la chupacabra and the teddy bears). You press on and on, until at last you slide down to your knees. How much easier would it be to cram yourself between the rows and hide until this fear has passed? Yet your stomach still turns, and jumps at the sound of a voice in the garden.

W-who’s there?

You spy the boy from six—Rio? There are so many names, and your head aches trying to remember them all. You let out a muffled cry and it’s then you lock eyes with him. Would he take pity on you? Did you want him to take pity? There could be no love lost for you, dear child. Already four have fallen; their ashes will be scattered before the stars take to the night sky. And yet with his fists raised, his towering form doesn’t press closer. He turns at the sound of another voice, this one giving you a chill down your spine.

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

She’s gorgeous. It’s the first thing that you notice about her—the haunting blue eyes—enough to bore right through you. She is a child of the games, a Shaw, a girl from a family that came so close to victory before it was wrenched away. You know well enough that a name does not serve as an anchor. Iago was no more you than Benat. Still, the shadow of the past would hang overhead, no matter how many years had passed. But what type of life was it to live in the shadow of those that had come before you? You swipe away the drops of tears and mucus that has dribbled down your cheeks.

I don’t want any trouble.

You have been a child. Crying at the thought of having to face another, you had run from danger. Yet even then you did not face the world with strength, instead to find a way to tuck yourself away. Rio was standing before you, though he owed you nothing. Cassiopeia was all fury, ready to do what she had been taught. In truth, it was what you all would do. She was only more honest with the fact that death had to come. A cannon shot sounded to remind each of you that the home was through one another—whether or not you wanted to raise your fists.

“Cassiopeia?” Your heart beats fast as you manage to stand. At your side is a mallet shaped like a long legged pink bird. Are you not the one to push herself to the edge? To stand for others? Somehow the thoughts don’t stop your hands from shaking. You were always the big sister, taking care of others. Now was not the time to play child. “I—I’m here because I thought it was safe. It’s—there’s no one else here. But there’s a lot out there and—I thought…” Did honesty ever work? “I thought I would tuck myself away here, until I found the people I was looking for. And let the rest take care of themselves.” You twist your hands around the shaft of the mallet. Are you bold?

“Why are you here?” As though you didn’t know the answer.

[ali]

I'm headed straight for the castle
They wanna make me their queen
And there's an old man sitting on the throne
 that's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean

“Two little children playing hide and seek??”

Rabbit hearted children cower in fear before her, turning slowly so that their doe eyed gaze, swimming with fear and uncertainty, meet that of her hungry gaze as she stands in the only exit they have to run to; the bushes have given her a narrow opening to an enclosed corner of the forgotten garden and she had bottlenecked them, trapped them in their own place of safety. Her lips twitch, like a cat eyeing a bird sat just within reach.

She could see the girl in the green jacket has tears brimming her eyes, crouched in the corner of the rose garden, her eyes widening when Cassia appears from around the corner; Cassia wished she could hear the beating of her heart quicken as she realized that her reckoning had come in the form of Cassiopeia Shaw from District Two. The boy, she did not recognize, his face was unfamiliar and yet, behind his fear she saw the spark of recognition in his eyes. Which is why she found it so surprising when he stood up, between her and the girl, with his hands on his hips.

"I don't want any trouble."

Cassia’s brow cocked upwards in surprise as she gave the boy the once over. He looked more ridiculous than she did and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself laughing at the rattle of his spurs as he took his stance; however the amusement was still very apparent in her expression as she returned her gaze to his. “Easy on cowboy.” she teased, smirking at him as she removed her glasses from her face and set them atop the rim of her top hat, like a fourth pair of big blue eyes. “I think you might be too big for your boots”

“Plus, I am not here for you.” She said, flashing a wicked hungry grin in his direction before she allowed her gaze to find the face of the girls again. The sight of the fear, in both of their eyes, caused Cassia’s hand to twitch in eagerness, fingers tapping against the surface of the card; fear was like that moment before euphoria, she just needed something to tip her over the edge, to get the fire burning inside her really going. She repressed the shiver that rocked through her as she imagined herself covered in their blood. As a child, Cassiopeia had often dreamt of being covered in blood during the Hunger Games, and the reality of that dream coming true caused her grin to grow even bigger.

As the woman takes a step closer to the boy and the girl, keeping her distance for now, the girl is suddenly speaking in a shivering, tiny voice. Cassia continues to grin, tilting her head to the side inquisitively as she says her name. “She speaks, would you look at that” Cassia said, mainly to herself “Thought the cat might have gotten your tongue.” Her lips purse as the girl continues to speak, her face hardening into a far from impressed look. A impatient, angry expression which is lazily masked by a layer of calm on her face.

Rolling her eyes, the woman huffs in frustration as her gaze moves to the card in her hand. As she speaks, she examines the edge of the knife-like-card with one eye closed to focus on the razor sharp edge.

“Borinnnnnng” she droned in a perky voice. “Tell me, both of you, how did you feel when your name got called?” she stops observing the knife edge, turning her attention away as she feigns realization with a small laugh. “Oh wait! That’s right….” Cassiopeia’s soft expression hardens, a darkness falling over her face. “You didn't hear your name being called… you volunteered. So… tell me this….why the fuck are you cowering in fear in the corner of a rose garden when you volunteered to be here? I mean, it’s not like they forced you, held a gun to your head-”

Cassia took a step forward again.

“No, you volunteered for this. You choose to be here little girl, so why so I don’t see why you are so terrified of being here. Cause let me tell you something kid, you didn’t just volunteer for the Games. You practically signed an agreement with death and that is why I’m here. To fulfill that agreement.” She looked back to the boy again, eyes narrowing into a glare “You better move out of my way in 10 seconds cowboy, then maybe I’ll spare you too. Ten…...Nine….”

She took another step-

“Eigh-” she began, but suddenly the air was whisked from her lungs. Cassiopeia Shaw felt the strangest sense of Deja Vu as the ground beneath her gave way and she was falling through the Earth.

[Cassopeia Shaw falls down the Rabbit Hole]

Cassiopeia Shaw

District 2 Tribute

[Tom]

The flowers bleed like the ones in his nightmares. Arms within reach, but he's not strong enough. He's never been strong enough to grab them. Tears used to soak his sleeves as he would cry from the dreams when she passed. The violin playing in the background as he shakes himself off remembering where he was. A Shaw and a Izar staring at each other. The whisper in the back of his mind only adding to his fear and bravery.

No one will remember you.

No one will remember him, even if he was standing before two forces of nature preparing to possibly collide. A wall of emotions on the outskirts of two storms, ready to take blow after blow from either of them. Everything was frozen in that moment as Cassiopeia steps forward with amusement in her eyes. Heart beats ring in his ear. He's been in the same battle time and time again. He's gone through so much already, just not facing someone who was trained to kill him. He's been beaten, broken, and burned time and time again. His job was standing tall. His job was creating something for everyone to love. His job was to deal with frightening people like Cassiopeia, screams and tortuous bouts of anger and jealousy. He's seen it all, as an actor and as the owner of an opera house.

Spurs sound to the beat of his heart, decorative in style, but obnoxiously loud in practice. Surprisingly, he hadn't caught the attention of anyone within the mansion as he snuck around, getting lost. Flowers bleed at the sight before them. Mutts made of leaves daring to scream from his imagination. Salome was scared. He could see it in her. He could see the emotion as she had looked over him. He wasn't a killer. Not yet. Hopefully never. His heart wouldn't let him kill someone like Salome Izar who had thrown a party to celebrate the dead siblings of the past. A low sound threatens to escape his throat, but Cassiopeia smirks as him as she speaks.

A predator ready to strike her prey.

"Easy on cowboy."

The teasing words strike through his body. Hand reaching to his snapback, pulling it off for a second to allow his other hand to run through the dark curly locks. Straightening the snapback to have Jequirity's death staring straight at Cassiopeia. Her looks were frightening, but he wasn't afraid of death like most. He wasn't afraid to fall to the hands of anyone, as he'll be reunited with them all. Zanita. Jequirity. Naveen. Theseus. Glasses move to the top hat resting at the top of her head, the smirk still clearly plastered to her face. Eyes stare at her eyes, unguarded by the glasses protecting Rio and Salome from the terror that the Shaw could cause to the both of them. Her words come forward again like a death's own hand reaching for him. Something in his heart felt like he should listen to Cassiopeia, but he didn't want to. He wanted to take death by the arm and embrace everything that was coming for him. The pain and slow death that he deserves coming to him.

“I think you might be too big for your boots. Plus, I am not here for you.”

She was there for him. Not yet. His own demise would come sooner or later anyways. The grin that sends his brain into flames, screaming for him to run while he still had the chance, but he couldn't. He didn't know why. Cassiopeia was supposed to be frightening to anyone. Unless you had a death wish coming or were someone who could hold their own. He was one of those, but still, he should be afraid of a career who has possibly broken too many bones of others to remember. Atlas Lumiere's name is still burnt upon his tongue like a reminder of the type of careers he's seen. Daria Staite. Asha Lumiere. Careers of names that were to be remembered by the blood they had shed.

No one will remember you. You will die alone. Forgotten by the ones that you claim love you.

Just as quickly as she was at his throat with small words, she follows to Salome who had spoken her end. Confusion stuck upon his skull for a second, until Cassiopeia's words spread like wildfire throughout his body. Why did he volunteer. Why did he sacrafice himself for something that will end in only pain. It's not that he's asking death to take him away. He's accepted the idea of it. He's afraid. Afraid of his own bone and flesh giving up on the life he once had. A life that was rough and had hard cliffs that he fell over, but there had been moments of praise. Moments that he didn't want to vanish. Selfishness was still in his bones. Try and try. He worked to get rid of it, but he can't. Why did he give up? Why is he still fighting? What is there worth fighting for at home? Nothing. Nothing at all. Why was he still fighting the embrace of death? Only time could tell.

Eyes catch his own with a glare.

"Stand your ground, boy. Don't let them hit you."

His father's tactics of standing up to the bullies in his class coming to his mind. It had been such a long time since he's even heard from his father. It's been such a long time since he's even been bullied in school. Once people died around you, it was almost like you had a plague. A virus that could spread to anyone else. Stand your ground. The words ring in his head as he stares back at Cassiopeia, who was speaking. Blonde locks sneaking through the top hat. Blue eyes staring into him. Hands clenched as he was ready to defend himself from a career's cards.

“You better move out of my way in 10 seconds cowboy, then maybe I’ll spare you too. Ten…...Nine….”

A step forward. Eyes closed, he stands tall, fearless of the career who would tear his blood from out of his skin. A grin being the last thing he can see before hands would hold him up in a field of red and purples. The bleeding roses seem to laugh in the garden as he hears himself speak for a second.

No. I won't move..."

The last number falls from her lips, until she falls. Falls into a pit of nothingness and relief washes through his body for a second, but also worry. Worry that she could be injured at the bottom of the opening. Instinct to help washes over him, but even then he can feel the smile Ivar had given him. Why help others when very few have helped him? Ivar had a point. Ivar Hammerfell, the career had a point that struck a chord within his heart. He shouldn't help Cassiopeia Shaw, just like he shouldn't have helped Salome Izar. A sigh escapes his body as he turns back to the raven haired girl. A frown plastered upon his face as he speaks up slowly.

"Sorry for getting in the way, but I think I have somewhere to be. Stay safe, Izar."

And with one final look at the raven haired girl, he steps forward to look in the hole to find the Shaw girl who had just threatened him. Ivar was right, but his instinct was telling him to follow. Just to make sure Cassiopeia was going to be alright. No one deserved to die by falling to their death in a hole that led to nowhere. A deep breath fills his lungs as he thinks of Anarchy when she dropped. His head screams for him to leave, but he can't. He can't leave after seeing someone fall through a hole, even if they were someone as vicious as Cassiopeia Shaw. A person that he shouldn't judge based on the little information that he carried with him.

Figure it out.

And instead of doing it on his own terms, he tragically trips. Arm flying to grasp whatever he can before he falls, but only cuts his arm. A bit of pain fills his arm, but he lets go. Into the darkness of a pit that appear out of nowhere. Figure it out. Anarchy. Cassiopeia. He needed to find them both. Even if Cassiopeia was a monster like the careers he's met before. There was no turning back now, only madness that filled his head with fake logic. Either way, he had made it into the pit falling, like he had done before. Only a thought upon his mind.

Don't be afraid to fall.

[Riordan Einfallen trips into the rabbit hole]

[Deleted]

Two little children playing hide and seek?

Your heart beats in time—how many more until its last? The Shaw girl can see the fear all over your face. You are but a child to them, not the young woman you graced yourself to be. Where is she now? Perhaps hidden underneath the trembling, she never let her sister cry when the night grew too dark. Did Salome make time for imaginary games? Or was she, at age eight, helping her abuela collect the roots and herbs she need, washing the dirty rags, and headed out to the fields to collect corn with father? Your sister Magdalena was too fitful to work so young, but ah—you were a steady hand. Even keeled, ready to bear a burden that should’ve been put onto much older shoulders. No one stopped you, little one. Cousins upon cousins took to fighting, drinking, disappearing behind sheds to spread legs and drink in sweat filled discovery. But Salome?

… I am not here for you…

You tremble even with the mallet between your fingers. There was a time when you were afraid of the dark. Do you remember? When you would sit in the straw mattress nestled next to your sister, eyes wide. The stars—Benat had told you that everyone was made up of stardust—but you wonder if that meant the darkness, too. There seemed to be so many that forgot themselves, and hurt one another. Darkness was the enemy of light and, so you believed, the enemy of good children like you. But what defeats darkness? Thumps in the night were much worse, as were the creaks of roof boards in the wind. I’m scared. Magdalena would tell you. But you were scared, too—a child, forced to be brave. No one ever asked if that’s what you had wanted. No one ever asked you much of anything at all.

...why the fuck are you cowering in fear in the corner of a rose garden when you volunteered to be here?

Light drives out darkness. Was it abuelita that taught you this? Or no—did you deduce it on your own, shaking under a threadbare sheet with your little sister? Fear is a beast that swallows fools and children whole. Yet you have dug deep before, you have found strength. Because that is who the world needed you to be—to shine on, make light out darkness. It’s okay. I’m here. Even if you still hated the shadows that crept up your bedroom walls, you found enough strength to hold her. You were allowed to be afraid, but you had purpose. That was enough to fight back all the shadow demons that stretched themselves across bedroom walls. And so you were small, and young—but you were not afraid. You were not so afraid.

She begins to count, and you start to step forward. Rio stands, ready to take the first card as his own. No, I won’t move. He is tall, and good, and strong. But you are not a damsel in distress. There has never been a white knight in your future because your story has always been written by your own hand. You would much rather be riding the white horse than determined to wait for the man who thought he could save you. She starts to press closer, eyes wide—those eyes would be in your dreams that night, ready to tear you to pieces. You close your eyes and pray, pray the words that your grandmother gave to you, wishing for strength, wishing that of all that you could’ve been, to be brave enough to stand while Cassiopeia tears you apart. But then the ground starts to pull apart at itself, and what was once there is not.

He looks back to you and you at him. This world collapses and forms back on itself, and you wonder if it was a higher power or the gamemakers that heard your prayers. You want to speak, to thank him for whatever it is he thinks he’s done. To tell him not to have such heavy eyes, because a man finds himself when his eyes are as light as his heart. But he speaks first, breaking the silence of a melting garden. Sorry for getting in the way, but I think I have somewhere to be. Stay safe, Izar. And he falls, not so gracefully as any white knight could be, into the same pit that has taken Cassiopeia. And just like before, you are left all alone to ponder.

You press to look at the hole and throw your silver bag over your shoulder. Heavy with crayons, a yellow comes tumbling out and to your feet. You take the thing in your hands and turn it over. What cruel joke that all of you children would fight over things that didn’t mean very much of anything at all. Of course—is anything as simple as it could appear? If Magdalena were here, she would’ve helped you pull apart the puzzle (by now she had already told the other izars squishing close to the screen that the crayons were obviously meant to be drawn with). She was clever that way, someone that could see beyond the clouds and up to the stars. But you’re a clever girl, no? You are an Izar, after all.

You think of the shadows again—this time of happy memories, of times when your cousins would stand in front of the candlelight. Each would take turns folding over their hands, making shapes. This one a hippo, that one a witch on her broom. Great, fantastic stories that were all a play on light. They could create all sorts of things with just their hands, whatever a good story needed. Well now it is your story—a girl standing in front of hole in a world that has been split in two. While you are young, you have seen enough of the world to know that a girl needed two things at the least: something to protect herself with, and a completely functional means of keeping the elements at bay.

You press into the grass and start at the top with a semi-circle, slipping across to create the edges of the fabric for the top portion. You put an elegant ferrule on top. For the bottom portion, you sketch out a long pole, nearly the length of you from head to your knees. At last you decide on a blade—a swooping curve that makes you think of stories set in the desert. When you stand back from your sketch in the grass, you manage a smile at the birth of your umbrella sword. Of course, your cousins would remark that you are not the artist in the family (that would be someone in the Krane clan).

Courage is the act of doing what you must, even as your limbs shake in disagreement. So it is with you, that you stand over the hole, golden umbrella in hand. You step forward with another scream, umbrella open, carrying you downward into the hole, and right side up, until you’re upside down again.

[Salome Izar falls downward into the hole, uses Maximum Yellow Crayon]