the embers of night {atticus & severus}

[Arrows]

The cold breath of winter circles the lone standing tower of cement and glittering glass. Faces flash over the smooth surface of the building's bends, the newest stars of a nation starving for fresh sacrifice. In the distance a palace of white sits alone surrounded in a halo of its own, but its inhabitant is far from deserving of one. Inside its gilded black gates and past its beautiful burbling fountains, a snake watches the world he has made revel in the excitement of its darkest creation. Meanwhile Severus stands staring as another one of Snow's pawns gearing up for his war. 

A soft crunching churns from Severus' closed right hand, a single sheet of paper balled up. His fingers fiddle with its jagged edges while watching the array of illuminating lights below the balcony. His words to his sister are still as fresh in his mind as they are in ink upon the paper. Questions, apologies, thoughts, shared by a sibling standing on the same precipice which has already stolen something  so sacred from him. Yet here he is sharing in her story, experiencing her world, all because of her inspiration in his voice.

He unravels the wrinkles looking down to the page.

Kiena,

I see you in the halls here, feel you in the sessions inside the training center. When I lay in bed I wonder what thoughts were in your head. Maybe you thought of home, or maybe you stayed up late with Stella. Honestly, there is curiosity in every inch of my mind as I live through this world you explored before me. Part of me feels like if I look hard enough I can find you...

Who knows maybe at the end I will.

Love,
Sev

Tears bite at the boundaries of Severus' eyes spurring a soft sniffle from his running nose. Light flickers from a small piece of flint and the embrace of fire find the heart of the letter. Slowly the words turn to embers slipping free from Severus' grip before drifting gently towards the clear starlit sky. Meanwhile the moon's beams illuminate the smoking slips providing them a final soliloquy before burning entirely into non-existence.

Severus' sleeves brush away the streams leaking onto his cheeks as he looks away from the past and back towards the present. The hum of the descending elevator is low and its heat a welcome blanket in comparison to the cold of outside. The ride is brief before the doors open to the District Three floor.

The living room is empty aside from a single figure, a lone shadow. Stepping quietly into the space, Severus almost immediately edges towards his own room before he thinks of better. There is something to be said about the benefits of a relationship with a mentor in the games. Atticus is a mystery, but he is one worth unraveling. 

"Are you scared?"

Severus' voice is soft and his eyes shining with rays of innocence.

"Scared of getting close to us in case we," his voice shakes for a second, "die. I've heard a lot of mentors are."

[mat]

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[presto][/presto]

Atticus Manor Every year, something changes within District Three’s floor of the Training Building. One year, the walls were painted a baby blue, playful in each stroke in hopes that the mood might not be dark for the next month, but the following, a dark, empty red tells the story of bloodied feet, tired of running through the mud. Something’s always changing because these people in the Capitol believe in nothing if not boredom being the demon of one’s life. This year, however, the walls were painted a dark grey, as close to black as possible. It’s a reminder of how luck Auto and Lars were last year to escape with their lives in tact, and that the quell was a rarity. Aurora LaChance and Severus Ward would not be granted such a luxury. Aurora prevented a Brooker from entering the games again, but Severus raised his voice to take the place of Larceny Theft. Severus Ward was a familiar name, a familiar family. Kiena, his sister, nearly made it out alive a couple years before Atticus did, but wasn’t so lucky in her fight against a victor. That was one of two times a tribute from District Three almost got out, but neither were lucky. Atticus was the one who stole it from the second, Danny Brooker, and her final words still struck him at the dead of night, reminding him that his fortune was gifted by others’ misfortunes. They chose a boring color to switch it up this year, allowing for much of the light in the room to be granted my lamps and the fading sunlight. A dark grey. Typically spontaneity shines through in everything these designers do and make, including Atticus’s outfits, which he selfishly wears once and ‘loses’ in the middle of the day. But they chose dark grey. Forever night, forever dark. At least it was fitting for the tributes. A voice interrupts his thoughts, and Atticus identifies it to be Severus, the most gentle of any of the floor’s inhabitants for the year. “Are you scared?” he asks. He wants to nod, and say yes, but his head shakes in disagreement instead. If you’re scared, he’ll be scared. Your spirit is his. Severus tells the victor that he’s heard many victors are scared to get close to the tributes. Atticus is scared of more than just tributes, and the list would probably be endless, but he finds himself investing in their well-being anyway. “No, Severus. It’s better to get close to someone, risking fear, than isolate yourself, ensuring guilt.” Atticus lets himself rest on the sofa beside him, thinking carefully of what words to use next. “I think that I’d rather be scared than guilty. Fear, it goes away, but guilt, you know, it lingers.” ~atticus manor made by ghosty