Die for You | Catching Fire

chapter sixteen

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chapter sixteen
LEAVE A MARK

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Ptolemus will never forget that cold, barren and detached look in her eyes. It isn't the same kind of cold as his mother's, where the ice would thicken and the whispers would come as the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood like pine needles. His mother's eyes had never been warm to start with, so when they dropped several degrees more, it wasn't the same kind of startling. The look in Sage's eye as President Snow prepares to snatch the gleaming crown from her head is unnerving and offputting. Her gaze has always been one that felt like warmth, a similar sensation to basking in the sunlight, the flecks of gold and pools of whiskey beaming. Now, after witnessing another side of the horrors, they're diluted, as if the sun burned out and the earth froze over.

Sage stands solemnly along the balcony for all of The Capitol to see, the audience in the ampitheater hooting and hollering. The scenery fuses with one of a memory from a year ago, and the golden crown upon her head weighs heavier than she remembers. Her fingers dangle limply at her sides as her eyes and skull ache from all the crying. For the last few hours, she feels like she's been sleepwalking, ambling through a murky haze. She barely feels real.

Then there's the shift of white hair in the corner of her vision, and like electric shocks, it jolts her back to life. Something inside her flickers, warm and angry, and her dark eyes flit toward his transluscent ones. They say eyes are the window to one's soul, and she can see through the panes of President Snow's that there isn't one waiting behind.

His swollen lips twitch at the sight of her, and that stench of roses twinges her lungs. It's so acrid it almost causes her eyes to water. She holds his stare as long as she can as his black gloved hands pluck the crown from her head. If looks could kill, this might be it. A part of her almost cowers and tries to feign that sweetness and charm. But surely, he can't murder her brothers for a stare... can he?

"Your Tributes fought bravely... Ms. Navarro," he murmurs, lips barely moving as amusement dances in his tone. A muscle in her jaw feathers, and to conceal it, she offers a faint bow of her head in gratitude. She can't muster up a proper thank you for his... "kind" words.

A soft and pleasant hum vibrates in his throat, and he turns to present the crown to Panem's newest Victor. Panem's latest and greatest murderer.

He's only five feet away from her. She doesn't dare to peek in Marcellus's direction. If she does, the violent and bloody images might come back, flashing in her memory like slides from the toy camera her brothers saved up to buy at the mercantile. Click! Mateo's head turning from the force of the brick. Click! Blood oozing from his temple, his figure suddenly so limp. Click! Her dead Tribute carried up to the sky. Click! Then with the pictures comes the sounds, with the sounds comes the ache, and with the ache comes the tears.

She had really hoped she'd pass her crown to a very alive Mateo.

But it seems the self-made prophecy of Marcellus was no match for her hopes and prayers. She knows she can't hate or blame him. He just wanted to live, like the rest of them. Like she did a year ago.

Why did it have to be her Tribute who needed to die in order for his wish to be granted?

She's whisked from the caverns of her mind when the crowd stands with a roar, the gleaming gold balanced on Marcellus's head. Everyone is smiling big and bright smiles as they applaud, whistle, and toss roses toward the balcony. Their white grins resemble fangs of wolves surrounding their prey, and Sage is overcome by the urge to flee. However, she's forced to stay put until she's finally excused. Quickly taping herself back together, she tries to keep the broken pieces of her from leaving a trail behind her as she rushes in the direction of where the train waits to take her home.