𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 | 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

four

Sejanus accompanied Cordelia on her walk home, attempting to reassure her that everything would be alright. He even attempted to lighten the mood with a joke about Coriolanus singing at Arachne's funeral, which he thought would amuse Cordelia. However, her mind was elsewhere, haunted by the bodies.

Alone in her bathtub, Cordelia curled up, trying to wash away the guilt that gnawed at her. Though she wasn't as close to Arachne as she was to Coryo and Sejanus, they shared a history of growing up together, swapping clothes, attending events in matching outfits, and indulging in weekend gossip sessions.

Despite Arachne's flaws, Cordelia couldn't shake the weight of her friend's demise. Arachne's recklessness had led to her death, a fact that Cordelia couldn't ignore.

Yet, amidst her remorse for Arachne's death, Cordelia found herself haunted by another loss – Brandy's. The memory of Brandy, taunted by her own mentor until she broke, weighed heavily on Cordelia. She couldn't shake the feeling that she would have reacted the same way in Brandy's shoes.

Cordelia's thoughts wandered to Treech, their strained relationship weighing heavily on her mind. She genuinely wants to helphim, yet her efforts seemed futile if he remained closed off to her assistance. The desire to engage in the same game dance he was playing tugged at her, but the looming specter of the arena left no room for such frivolities. With his impending entry into the arena just two days away, time was a luxury they couldn't afford to squander.

After her bath, Cordelia laid in bed, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts that refused to let her drift into sleep. She tossed and turned, shifting her position on the mattress in a futile attempt to find comfort.

The soft creak of the bedroom door stirred Cordelia from her thoughts, Robert slipping into the room. She straightened up in bed, acknowledging his presence with a faint smile.

"You okay? I heard what happened." Robert inquired gently, taking a seat on the edge of her bed.

Cordelia offered a nonchalant shrug. "I will be." In the Sinclair household, grief was an unspoken visitor, lingering in the corners but never addressed directly.

Robert nodded understandingly, his expression reflecting a mix of concern and curiosity. "How'd it go with your tribute today? Did you talk to him?"

Cordelia let out a weary sigh, her gaze drifting to the window. "He doesn't want anything to do with me. He ate my lunch, but that's about it."

"Did you tell him about the prize?" Robert probed further; his tone gentle yet probing.

"He knew there was a catch." Cordelia replied, her tone tinged with frustration. "He thinks I care more about the prize-"

"Do you?" Robert interrupted, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Everyone does, dad." Cordelia shot back, a hint of resignation in her voice.

"Do you?" Robert inquired once more; his gaze gentle yet probing. He was attuned to his daughter's feelings about the games, even when she chose to remain silent. The unspoken exchanges between Cordelia and her mother spoke volumes to him, and he respected her stance.

Cordelia breathed out a soft admission, her voice barely audible. "No." With her father, she felt a sense of ease, a comfort in confiding her true feelings. Unlike her interactions with her mother, where tensions often lingered unaddressed, Robert offered understanding and support.

"Then set the Plinth Prize aside and show him you care. Make him your priority. It'll get him talking." Robert suggested, his advice stemming from a place of paternal concern and empathy, knowing the weight of Cordelia's emotions and the importance of bridging the gap.