Schoolgirl 𓆸 Coriolanus Snow

Fourteen.

So long as her branches still dance in the wind, this tree has yet to perish.

Throughout the funeral, Tempest remained remarkably stoic, leading some to believe that she was truly grieving for Arachne. Perhaps, in her own peculiar way, she was.

However, Tempest never allowed herself to mourn. Not even for her mother, that remarkable woman. It wasn't that she didn't understand the horror and sorrow of death. She simply found the act of mourning to be selfish. After all, it wasn't her who had passed away.

The tears shed were not for Arachne, but for the loss of what Arachne had once provided to them. All - the witty jokes, the shared study sessions, the comforting glances. It was a selfishness that Tempest couldn't bring herself to partake in.

They exchanged numerous positive remarks regarding the enlightenment that Arachne had bestowed upon their lives. Tempest finds it peculiar how individuals tend to exhibit monstrous behavior while alive, yet transform into beings of humanity once they pass away.

Tempest finally released the breath she had been holding behind her rib cage during the celebration feast that ensued after the ceremony. The same people who were once engulfed in their own tears were now rejoicing and cheering heartily at the sight of the sumptuous food.

Tempest experienced a novel sensation as she noticed her own feet guiding her towards a recognizable countenance. Prior to this moment, she had never ventured to approach him in such a manner, nor had she ever abstained from making sarcastic remarks when he indulged in the school food. However, the circumstances were distinct this time. The radiance that illuminated his face upon her approach was a clear indication of the change.

She taunted him with a smirk, criticizing his uncomfortable demeanor, and sarcastically remarked, "Your performance was truly remarkable. You could even rival your tribute."

"That's quite amusing, Tempest," he dismisses her. "Absolutely hilarious. You should consider working for the comedy section of the Capitol paper."

She adamantly refuses, stating, "Unveiling my concealed aptitude? Absolutely not, that's out of the question!"

Coriolanus finds himself chuckling, pleasantly taken aback by the fact that their exchange has remained entirely civilized. Typically, Tempest, his long-time rival, would appear agitated, grinding her teeth and hurling insults, while he would furrow his brows and clench his fists in response. Their encounters were always a battle of wills, filled with animosity and disdain. 

Yet, on this occasion, as they stand in the aftermath of Arachne's demise, something has changed. The air is still charged with tension, but there is an underlying sense of camaraderie that is entirely unfamiliar. Their words are measured, their tone respectful, and there is a reluctant acknowledgment of mutual understanding. 

As Coriolanus contemplates the newfound civility between them, a thought creeps into his mind - perhaps he should take another life solely to relish in the sound of Tempest's laughter for a fleeting instant. The idea startles him. He has always reveled in the victory over his enemies, but this desire for connection, even if manufactured, is unusual.

She pauses for a moment and then asks, "Does this seem weird to you?" When he looks at her questioningly, she goes on to ask "Death." Her voice is soft and almost timid, and he tries to lean forward to hear her words clearly.

Mesmerized by her presence, he can't help but be drawn to her captivating face. Her eyes hold a kaleidoscope of emotions, leaving him intrigued yet unable to fully grasp their depths. A subtle flutter of her lashes catches his attention, a sign that his prolonged gaze hasn't gone unnoticed. In an attempt to snap out of the enchantment, he poses a question, "Could you clarify?" all the while discreetly counting each freckle that adorns her visage.

"It's inevitable that we will all face death one day, whether it's a difficult or peaceful departure. So why do we feel such sadness when it occurs?" She asks.

"Maybe it is the fear. Deep down, we understand that one day, it will inevitably be our turn." He answers.

"Isn't that entirely selfish?"

"Yes, but that is human nature."

It is so gentle, and silly, and good. The way they are looking at each other.

Her image lingers like a haunting melody, playing on repeat. Her laughter echoes in his ears, her smile etched into his memory.

From the moment he opens his eyes each morning, she occupies his thoughts, consuming every second of his day. Coriolanus cannot pinpoint the exact moment or reason, but he knows that one day he awoke and she became the sole focus of his mind.

Every mundane task becomes a backdrop for his thoughts of her.

Coriolanus tries to shake off these thoughts, to regain control of his mind, but she has become an addiction he cannot resist. He longs to hear her voice, to feel her touch, to be enveloped in her presence. The mere thought of her sends a surge of warmth through his veins, igniting a fire within him that refuses to be extinguished.

He wonders if she feels the same way, if her thoughts are consumed by him as his are by her. Does she wake up with his name on her lips, yearning for his touch? Or is he merely a passing thought in her busy world, a fleeting memory that fades with each passing day?

Coriolanus knows that he should focus on other aspects of his life, but try as he might, he cannot escape the gravitational pull she has on his mind and heart. She has become his muse, his inspiration, his reason for being.

"Tempest—-" it slipped out of his mouth before he even realized it. He finds himself unsure of where the sentence was meant to lead or what emotions it might have stirred within him. In order to prevent any unintended consequences, he decides to halt himself from saying anything further.

Still, she manages to smile. "Coriolanus," she responds as if it completely makes sense.