𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐋𝐘 - Coriolanus Snow

five.

IT MAY HAVE been summer. At least that's what Amena Plinth thought as she felt the glow of the southern sun beating down on her. The aching heat had invaded her clothes, sweat trailing against the cotton of her dress, pooling against the grey fabric in distinct rings.

Her dress was not of usual material, but instead a pale bland concoction that could've been found in the throwaway pile of the local seamstress.

But it was her own, she knew it as she glided her fingers across the rim, tracing the white dove with her index finger.

It was a dress she had worn many times, sewed by her grandmother many moons ago. Made from the scraps of what her family could gather during the Dark Days. It was a reminder of who they were before the war, and that was why Amena's mother made her wear the dress every holiday before it swelled against her arms and became too short against her bony legs. When that time came her mother folded it in a box and stuffed it away in the attic for safe keeping.

The dress had now fit perfect, tailored to her growing body. She looked at it suspiciously, but quickly turned her face to the land around her. The sound of birds played gently in the wind, and they were mimicking a tune that Amena failed to pinpoint. Tall trees surrounded her as if they were blanketing the earth, a maize for Amena to follow, and her feet guided her through the winding land almost subconsciously. Mushrooms and primrose flowers skimmed her shoes as she was pulled deeper into the forest.

In the distance, a lake came into view. It was left untouched, empty and crystal blue. And for some reason Amena felt the urge to jump into the water and scream like a child in its midst. She thought that she heard laughter against the breeze, and it had made her believe that despite what her eyes told her, there was life here. Maybe before the war.

Amena smiled at the water, before she heard the cracking of leaves under someone's boot, and she whipped her head behind herself.

There was an old wooden cabin to the left of her, and footsteps left printed in the mud trailed to the door. Amena shouldn't have gone. She should've pinched herself till she bruised purple and closed her eyes until she reached somewhere new. But her body betrayed her mind. And she felt herself being pushed towards the door. It creaked as she put pressure on the handle, but it did not fight her, and simply opened like it let out a sigh of relief.

Her stomach dropped as she saw a girl, standing there. They looked at each other like the prey that they both were. Scared and small, and for some reason Amena felt the fear emulating off of the girl and hanging harshly in the air. As the darkness pressed off the girl's face, Amena realized that she had seen her before.

She imagined her tutting, Lucy Gray. Can't you remember me?

Instead, Lucy Gray just stared at Amena with wide dark eyes. And a silence encapsulated them, in which Amena was scared to break.

When Amena's eyes trailed to Lucy Gray's hands, she noticed something intertwined between her fingers. It was a stuffed animal, a bunny. Decorated with a pink ribbon, its white skin full of the impurities she once made as a child. She thinks. If she thinks hard enough, she can remember.

She can remember that bunny. She can feel the plush against her cheek as she slept at night. How she hugged it to her body as her and Sejanus trembled from the sounds above them, taking cover under her bed. She can feel the grip of her fingers on it as her father screamed at her. As her mother cried. She can see that bunny, she knew it. If only she could remember.

"Run." Lucy Gray interrupted her thoughts.

Amena screamed, pushing all the blankets off of her as she shot up in bed. Scurrying back against the metal of her headboard. She didn't breathe for a good minute before her mother came running in, the nurse they hired trailing behind her. Both of their faces drained of color, but the only thing on Amena's mind was that damned bunny. And the word that pulsated in her head.