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O17. EPILOGUE! ❝you're breakin' my heart, figs. ❞
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It's been two weeks since she enabled the horrid actions of Jinx. Ignatia couldn't get the sight of the tall Piltovian building bursting from out of her head. Every time she laid her head on her pillow at night—nothing but a giant yellow and orange blast. Explosions were near and dear to her, and equally traumatizing. Reminding her of the moment her life changed. Sheer purple tears leaked from her eyes, and onto her colored pillows and comforter leaving darker marks along the material.
The first thing she did when she entered her room again, was tear every memory she had of the woman she loved. She took down the pictures and drawings—stuffing them into her closet. Ignatia couldn't do much about the bruises from her lips that decorated her body, but she could try her best to not acknowledge them—until they disappeared from her skin. Even covering them with makeup, if she needed to. But even then, it didn't stop her from reaching her finger into her underwear at the thought of her, to relieve the build up of pressure she's been harvesting.
Iggy hadn't heard from Violet or Caitlyn. The only people she was in contact with was her bandmates and Jinx—and Ophelia every now and then. Things have subsided enough to act like everything was normal. She was back to attending practices diligently, and performances. Lighting up the dim atmosphere of Zaun once again. The only thing that's changed was her appearance and bits of her attitude. Ignatia was absolutely hooked onto the shimmer that Jinx had given her. Especially, being that she might as well had endured a heartbreak. She'd drink it mixed with alcohol, or straight from the bottle—she didn't care. All she needed was few drops to adjust her craving. Slightly diluted, but palpable enough to give her the fix she needed.
When her bandmates had seen her again, they were surprised by the way she looked. Ignatia had looked much eerier than ever, but she pulled it off very well. They weren't in a position to question her appearance, though. Even though, some of them couldn't hide their concern. If anything, her look fit the band more than ever. With her sickly pale skin and bright fuchsia irises—Iggy was punk rock. And her attention to detail was better than ever. Before and after every gig, she would seclude in her room planning. For what? Her bandmates didn't know... Until they knew. But, either way, it was beneficial.
