HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 10

Coriolanus's breath caught in his chest and his stomach seemed to have disappeared. It can't be, he assured himself, and blinked several times in attempt to clear his vision, but still, she was there. A decade gone—more than that, if he were to be precise—without word and without sound, and here she was, in the middle of his drawing room?

No, he didn't believe it. He refused to believe it. She was dead. She was supposed to be dead. She should be dead. She needed to be dead. Was she dead?

More people had arrived by now, and he could only snatch glimpses of her as she wove amongst his guests like she was made of nothing. She didn't turn his way, not directly, but her profile gave away pulled up dark hair and wildflowers. Although it was now swallowed up by a human sea, the orange he'd witnessed around her neck had been unmistakable. And then the dress—her dress. He would have to be blind not to recognize it; maybe not even then.

A million questions ricocheted around his brain: What was she doing here? How did she get in? Why now? The all-important one—Was she dead?—popped up again. Or was he going mad?

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Startled, Coriolanus jerked his head towards the voice and was greeted by Tigris. The manner in which he stared at her would be more appropriately termed goggling, and would have warranted the Grandma'am's reprimand, so unbecoming of someone with his upbringing was it, but he had to make sure her flowing orange number wasn't another hallucination.

Well, he couldn't quite decide if it was orange.

It seemed to be semi-transparent (sheer, in the fashion world) because he could make out the outline of her body underneath. The fabric unknown to him—mesh, maybe?—clung to her like a glove from mid-thigh up to her shoulders, where a voluminous cape-sleeve thing began, out of which her arms poked and ending in a pool on the floor behind her. Sparkling black stripes ran across the whole outfit, haphazardly for the most part, but also strategically covering all the sensitive regions. Her sandy pixie hair was dyed with similar dark streaks that scintillated with glitter. Only face paint and whiskers—fine, pointed ears and a tail, why not?—were likely to augment her semblance to a tiger.

His conclusion, as he noted her affronted gaze, was that it was more flesh-toned. Regaining control of his face, Coriolanus cleared his throat.

"I think I might have," he confessed.

Tigris, who was swigging her champagne, side-eyed him. By the time she'd lowered her glass, her frown had softened into one of concern.

"What do you mean?"

Surreptitiously, he scanned the saloon once more, hoping against hope that he wouldn't find her. As if on cue, she emerged from behind a group of besuited men on the far side of the hall and glided her way—still never facing him—towards a nearby cluster of youngsters. The latter neglected to react to her presence. Although Coriolanus was the host, the star of the night was Dr. Gaul, and most of the spotlight was on her. Double checking that no one was paying him and Tigris any attention, he inclined his head towards the bunch of youths.

"There," whispered Coriolanus, "in the rainbow dress. Do you see her?"

He kept an eye trained on the multicolored figure partially screened by fineries and bodies, as if for fear that she might suddenly vanish, which was odd, considering he wasn't at all keen to see her in the first place. He wasn't. Keen. At all. ...

Right?

"Oh my—"

Her gasp, the astonishment lacing her voice, the cupping of her mouth in his peripheral vision had all guaranteed Coriolanus that Tigris, too, had spotted Lucy Gray—her apparition or whatever. That was, until he peered over and discovered a grin so wide it peeked from behind her palm as her eyes glinted in what could only be delight.