OUR FOREST OF THORNS | tbosas ✔️

017 || Sunrise on Victory

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN -        Sunrise on Victory ..

______________________

          When the atoms that make out their bodies had been created and arranged, they were put into the shapes they now held so the two of them may lay perfectly next to each other. That is what Coriolanus Snow was certain about as he watched in perfect silence how complete relaxation looked on Daphne's features.

Lately, both of them have pushed recklessly on the human limits when it came to sleep schedules, so as soon as they found themselves facing each other in bed, with not a single light to disrupt the darkness from dropping a luring veil over their heads, they fell right into the trap set by their own soft breaths growing longer and deeper. Coriolanus would have liked to believe that Daphne fell asleep first, but while he had no certainty about that variable, he could thankfully have full reign over a different achievement — that of waking up first.

The sun hasn't come out yet, though he's been there, petrified in the very same position he had woken up and went to sleep into, for at least half an hour. It was so early in the morning that what few birds were left in the Capitol haven't yet awakened either. The streets outside were bare and deserted, the house itself was creaking of slumber and desolation. Blue tinted light flooded through his dirty window and reflected off of walls in a soft mirage of fog in which dust particles danced to that secret symphony Daphne told him about.

He reckoned he won't be moving any time soon, not when the sight he was graced with upon waking up was what poets would call an endless fountain of inspiration. Daphne had the allure of fairytale to herself, even with the presence of that bruise on the marble of her skin. It felt sacrilegious for that stain to be there, but flaws and imperfections are often what set apart art pieces from masterpieces — the latter, Coriolanus was convinced, could not exist as being defined in perfection, but rather in the knowledge that perfection exists behind conditionals and despite every single wrongdoing which would have otherwise tarnished a normal art piece to a failure, instead of elevating it even further.

He obviously wished he could just erase that bruise from her skin, but since he had no such powers, he grew to appreciate how miraculous it was that she still looked like a dream despite the tarnished spot.

In the blue hues swirling around the room, her auburn hair had captured darker nuances in the relaxed waves framing her face. What he could once describe as an autumnal shade had been turned for him to witness as a rusted smudge of the softest fabric, reminiscent only to the crimson of damp wood after rain.

Coriolanus didn't know why he always ended up comparing Daphne's beauty to that of a forest, because he hasn't really seen one in so long that picturing it perfectly was near impossible. Now, he started piecing together that the mystery of endless forests in which there is a promise to getting lost was simply too akin with Daphne's never-ending knowledge and her thirst to add layer after layer to it. With all the books she's read, he could also smile now over the fact that perhaps a splinter of her soul misses the trees and sees their spirits in the pages she flips.

He could stay there, sharing his pillow with her forever and he wouldn't have a need for anything else as long as time stops and lets them have their eternal peace. But the longer he waited, the clearer his mind got, until eventually, he no longer saw her at all.

Tomorrow, the Hunger Games begin, Coriolanus thought, slowly dropping on his back, careful not to fall out of bed nor nudge into Daphne and risk to wake her up. There's only fourteen Tributes left, but Lucy's chances are not that great against them either, he reasoned.