𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘.

Way Back When.

It took a week for them to get their stuff situated into the house that still seemed way too big for three people—and Tony if it was a cold night.

Orion insisted the dog have his own bedroom, and since they had nothing else to do with the room, and her Uncle had a lot of spare time, he made a kennel for outside and inside. Although Tony was only inside when it got cold, he preferred being outside but now stayed in their back garden almost exclusively. The room was a dog dream, toys from the market covered the floors and cushions were spread around for him to lie on.

The dog seemed happy which, in turn, made Rosie happy. She was doing something right.

Tony was living the high life.

She also put Toby's important box in a cupboard, telling her Uncle and Orion to not, under any circumstances, throw away the box or break anything inside. She did take out the picture of Toby that looked relatively recent, he looked like the Toby she knew. She went down to the black markets, found a nice frame and sat it on her chest of drawers. Then, whenever she woke up in a cold sweat with the only thing she could see was his lifeless face, she'd look at the picture and it would fade.

Nightmares were always something that plagued Rosie. Her mother recalled it starting after her father died, when she first realised how awful the world was; and with every further cruel act piled on Rosie, they only got worse. She didn't wake up screaming—not for a long time, anyway—she simply woke up, sweaty and terrified to go back to sleep, to see the atrocities that plagued the back of her eyelids.

Now her brain had new material to torment her with, vivid material, the stuff of actual nightmares, stuff when she woke up she couldn't comfort herself with the knowledge it wasn't real—it was real, and she had done it.

After getting settled in Rosie went over to Kit's house, he'd come to hers with a housewarming present that was a nice-looking teapot, but she had yet to see his place. As she walked over, adorned in new clothes, clothes that covered her nicely. No midriff exposed, no corsets that made her chest look deceptively full, her thighs weren't on display, she didn't feel like an object, she'd left that feeling behind her, the clothing requirements for Mentoring—something she would have to do in less than a years time—weren't anywhere near as showy as being a Tribute.

She knocked at the door. Glancing on either side the place seemed reasonably well-kept. There was a hole in the steps to the patio and a dead plant, but she expected worse.

Rosie could hear grumbles of annoyance from inside, then the door was ripped open and warm air hit her freezing face. "Oh, it's you," He looked Rosie over. "And you've also got clothes on. Suits you." He moved from the doorway and let her inside.

"I don't think people understand that the only reason I wore the stupid dress, was because I had no other choices," Rosie muttered bitterly, knowing Kit was only trying to wind her up. He was lighter, less depressing, now. She thought perhaps he only went off the rails from the Reaping to the train ride back. One she only just realised would be painfully depressing, going with two kids, watching them die and then having to see their parents; and it's not as if he had anyone else to share the load, apparently the only other Victor was an old witch. She couldn't fully get her mind around the fact she would have to step up to the plate—become a Mentor.

"What's in the bag," Kit looked at the brown paper parcel in her hand.

Rosie rolled her eyes. "I come and visit you and that's all you can focus on?" She too was just joking, they both knew if it was the reverse, it would be the only thing Rosie would be able to focus on until she found out what was inside. "My Uncle has recently got into baking, he seems to be trying every possible hobby so expect me to be palming off creations to you." She handed him the bag, he opened it.