❝Do you always act like you've got one of your beloved tridents stuck up your ass? Or is it only when I'm around?❞
In which Venus Andeva wants more than the life she's been dealt.
↳extended summary inside
↳catching fire
↳finnick odair x fem...
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VENUS ANDEVA WAS a war-torn girl split right down the middle. Her heart bled fire that had long since evaporated any trace of humanity running through her veins. The other half of her chest, the empty side, was as lifeless as the bodies of those she had struck down. The very state of her being was a reminder of death and destruction, of terror and blood. Sometimes merely looking in the mirror clogged her ears with the sounds of screams and cries. How many people had that face as their last image before a gory death?
Six. There were a total of six people, to be exact. Like they wanted nothing more than revenge, Venus saw their own faces most nights in return. Six looming faces for a cold-blooded killer. She felt their presence nearly all of the time, ghosts stalking her every step to make up for the ones they would never be able to take. Cold figures to seep out whatever warmth tried to reside deep within her.
Venus felt them even now as she trekked from her bed to the bathroom. She kept the lights off, allowing only the reflection of the moon on the glossy floor to illuminate her way. The sound of her bare feet against the ground was the only thing to puncture the silence, but she didn't mind. Her quiet was usually only external; in her head, she heard the whispers of her ghosts and the screams of their once-living counterparts.
When she reached the bathroom, Venus made a beeline for the sink and twisted the cool metal of the tap. She splashed her hands underneath, relishing the cold water that dripped from her fingers into the ornate white basin. There was no way to rid herself of the blood that had sunk into the lines of her palms, but she could certainly try. Maybe the sixth year would be her lucky one.
While it had never been uncommon for Venus to fall victim to nightmares, it hadn't always been like this: more of a rarity to plough on through the night without a single moment of waking. Six years ago, Venus would never have mistaken the sweat coating her skin for a thick layer of blood. She would never have listened hard before rousing, just to ensure there was no soft breath from another body in the bed. She would never have dreamt of being in the Capitol, under the reasoning of the Hunger Games or otherwise.
They always came a little worse this time of year, mere months before the cycle of the Games would begin again. More kids to coach, more interviews to give, more time spent in Capitol beds with the bastards who browsed the market for bodies. She cursed her younger self for ever being so naive enough as to think this dooming cycle could have an end. That the form of a saviour might be forged from any rotten thing in this country of torment.
Venus turned the tap and ceased the flow of water. As the last drop broke free, she scrubbed her hands with the rough towel until they stung. The clock in her room let her know that it was almost 6 a.m., and it was with a bitter taste in her mouth that she realised returning to the fitful world of sleep was not an option.
