The Sterling Nightingale ⟷ Finnick Odair/OC

Upon my weary soul

Chapter Seventy Three | Upon my weary soul

"Her love for him had been paltry and weak, easily crushed by her own pride: and she, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him, whilst, as a matter of fact, she completely misunderstood him. How strange it all was! She loved him still. And now that she looked back upon the last few months of misunderstandings and of loneliness, she realized that she had never ceased to love him." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel

Everyone gathers at the reception. Katniss and Peeta have a table all to themselves, beneath flickering strands of lights and hanging pearls and lanterns. The rest of the area is decorated in much the same way, with potted ferns and other fauna dotted here and there and strands of flowers hanging from the tree branches. The place is lit up with hundreds of lights and covered candles, making it look like a dreamworld conjured just for this occasion.

Sil, thankfully, sits at a different table from Finnick. Because of her efforts, she's afforded a seat closer to the bridal table. Effie sits beside her and together, they chat about how nice the ceremony was and how beautiful Katniss is and how well Effie did in transforming her. But – Sil's heart isn't really into it.

Every now and then, when she thinks it won't be too obvious, she glances over at Finnick's table. And every time she does, he's leaning over Annie, talking and smiling and filling her plate with more food and clinking their glasses together and – every time, Sil's heart drops a little further in her chest.

Perhaps she'd been right after all. Perhaps Finnick's moved on. She wouldn't be surprised. Annie is lovely, and her heart is pure and innocent despite the horrors she's gone through. And she's from District 4. She's probably known Finnick since they were kids. Really, Sil doesn't stand a chance. The realization of this only drags her further down.

Of course she's always known that Finnick and Annie were close. They're Victors from the same district and they've had plenty of time to bond over the years. Their friendship is as warm as ever, but a sinister voice whispers in Sil's ear as she watches them; a memory from so long ago, on a wedding night that she had not meant to steal from him.

"...When I was a boy, I used to be completely in love with Annie Cresta."

He had whispered those words right into her ear with a smirk, eyes shining with amusement, as if the memory of his boyhood crush gave him a happiness he hadn't felt in ages. But what if that crush from long ago is not such a distant memory at all? What if Finnick still feels something for Annie – something that Sil is unable to give him? A certain brand of happiness that she has never, and perhaps will never, be able to bestow upon him?

Her throat constricts at the thought. She stares at them through blank eyes, carefully scraping away the agony that this possibility brings. She turns her eyes to the table in front of her and keeps them there, hardly able to bear the sight of Finnick and Annie and their happy banter. She feels like she's intruding, suddenly, on a part of him that she's never seen.

Why would she have seen his so happy? All she's brought him is pain and deceit. Not for the first time, that sinister voice whispers that she doesn't deserve him – and she never will, not even if she is allotted years of making it all up to him. She's wronged him these past few months. She knows it. But in his own way, he has also erred. Perhaps it isn't fate at all that has torn them apart so cruelly. Perhaps it is merely the whims of human nature, the stubborn obstinacy that dictates pride over emotion.

She picks at her food, drudging her way through the meal unhappily. Her misery is so complete that even her best attempts at keeping it at bay fall utterly short, and it traces over the contours of her face for all to see.