The Roses and Hibiscus Chronicles - Coriolanus Snow

The ghost of Lucy Gray Baird

The sun embarked on its descent, casting hues of warm amber across the horizon. Snow and Indila nestled on a blanket that embraced the grass beneath them. Indila, with her head gracefully rested upon his shoulder, shared in the quiet spectacle of children's laughter and play. Amidst the scattered balls and ropes, she seemed to capture each moment with an enchanting finesse.

In this tranquil scene, Snow found himself immersed in a silent symphony of admiration for his wife. The ceaseless rhythm of their lives, entwined with the energy of their playful offspring, occasionally made him forget the profound joy he found in Indila's presence. These precious moments, held within the embrace of a soothing silence, allowed them to coexist effortlessly, sharing a feeling unspoken but deeply felt.

Crassus, at 14, didn't seem his age when he enjoyed time with his siblings. Perhaps it was due to his phase of self-love to his body, spending most of his day working out when not at the academy. Elana was going through a difficult phase, not wanting to listen to anything they said. She insisted on making decisions for herself, asserting "her rights and personhood" in her own words.

Incipium brought joy to their home. His siblings adored him, knowing these were some of his last moments as a toddler. Snow was aware that in a few more days, Incipium would be speaking fluently, leaving behind the cute attempts to say words like "Cwasu" and "Nanana", the name of his siblings. He now ran and laughed, attempting to tag the others.

Indila was happy, as Snow could tell. She loved him, but she loved their children even more. They handled parenting well, and as the years passed, Snow learned to trust the right people, providing more family time. Indila took a deep breath, and he ran his fingers through her hair. It felt the same as the first time, and in that moment, the whole world seemed at peace.

Incipium fell. Then came the crying, and Indila rushed to him, cradling Incipium in her arms. "It's okay, sweetheart..." Snow could hear her soothing their son's tears. Returning to the same spot, she sat, now holding Incipium close. He was still crying but quieter this time. Snow realized what was happening, and so did Indila: he was sleepy, the entire afternoon with the older ones had been too hard on him.

Nestled on Indila's chest, Incipium listened as she started singing his favorite song to lull him to sleep.

"L'âme en peine Il vit,

mais parle à peine

Il attend devant cette photo d'antan"

They had talked about it before—French. Indila mentioned that her mother liked it, describing it as from an ancient time, before the last great war. She had often shared how much her mother appreciated ancient music and what a great singer she was. Indila, too, had inherited the talent and could sing well.

 "Il, il n'est pas fou, il y croit, c'est tout

Il la voit partout, il l'attend debout

Une rose à la main, à part elle, il n'attend rien"

Snow remembered why he didn't like the song. He heard the word 'rose,' and it was about a guy in pain, waiting for a girl holding a rose. Maybe it was a white rose? He couldn't quite recall, but he could swear there was a train and an old photograph, and perhaps, the theme of a soul in pain. It all seemed so silly to him.