VENUS《 FINNICK ODAIR

Chapter 28. FUNERALS.

"HELLO."

     The voice was raspy, but so was her own. It had been a week, and Edith hadn't managed much more than a whisper herself.

      Edith turned. Paylor stood, draped in a black coat. Her hands trembling. The Med Kids were left at Vienna's grave, Edith couldn't bare to watch the casket be lifted - the most she could manage was taking a seat by the large Angel statue. Maybe it would topple on her and the world would find its axis once more, maybe Vienna would surface from the ashy earth, her thin braids caked in dust, rosy cheeks paled from dirt.

      It was a fruitless, idiotic and suicidal hope. But Edith was numb.

      The rain had slowed, and the concrete slab they sat on was only slightly wet, but neither minded. The space in between their seats felt like a forgotten battlefield. Conflict resolved through an unspoken understanding in the air: they both blamed themselves.

      "When's your election?" Edith breathed.

      Paylor blinked. "Tomorrow, there is only another man from the country but he won't win. Most will vote me because of pity. Mayor Paylor. Feels wrong."

      "No, you'll be good," Edith nodded. Paylor finally turned to her daughter, tears flickered like stars in her eyes.

     It reformed the broken glass shards of her heart and then ripped it apart once more.

       "Thank you," Paylor hummed. She meant it. She was terrified. The Peacekeeping force refused the blame, it would reflect badly on the Capitol. So Mayor Stitch was cast the murderer, so his run ended early, and anyone who heard what had happened to Vienna knew who they wanted ruling.

     They had always loved Paylor. The city. No matter how deep their prejudices ran for the Med Kids, and now for Edith. She was the angel amongst the ashen, polished gold who had an answer for everything. Paylor practically ran the hospital on her own, and she had experiance with leadership and volunteering over the years. People had been poking her to stand up for Mayor for years, even if they despised her children to be the lucky ones she gave her kindness to.

    District 8 held their bitter heart in the deepest corner of their rotted lungs. They breathed smog and ash and spat out a cry for help.

    Paylor was the best of them. She had no choice in the end, no matter how hard she was grieving. They put her on the podium.

     And thankfully there was nothing Snow could do to stop it.

     But that didn't mean they weren't safe.

     "This has to end," Edith finally gave in. Trembling, she aggressively rubbed her eyes, desperate to bar the pain those words made her feel with another form.

     Paylor didn't move her gaze from Edith.

       "I know," the woman in black cringed.

     "I cant see any of you anymore, neither can Lucy - although that will be up for Cecelia to decide for her..."

       Paylor slid across the concrete slab, passing her hand out. Edith placed her own gloved hand on top. She hated the feeling of another's skin on her scars - but with her mother's hand in her own, she nearly felt complete. It was funny like that, sometimes she longed for contact, other times the foreign feel made her skin crawl - it reminded her of the two dead bodies that pinned her down, and how easily faces can change in memory. But still, as warm as the contact felt, no matter how much it made her glow; a sinking guilt rose in the space the gleam couldn't quite reach. A painful tune that repeated the same old questions.