nepenthe (n.) - an ancient Greek word, defined as a medicine for sorrow. it is a place, a person or thing, which can aid in forgetting your pain and suffering.
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Leora always knew her stealing would get her into trouble one day. That's okay, she lov...
LEORA CAN'T SAY SHE HAS EVER LIKED THE DARK. Ever since she was a little girl, she had a growing disliking for the night's pitch-black darkness.
This is why she liked growing up in Five - the Capitol might refer to the district's neverending electricity as "light pollution", but to Leora, it was always the night's saving grace. The lights kept her safe during her nightly adventures, despite the fact that her own shadow often posed a threat to herself. However, Leora knows she would take being seen by anyone, no matter if civilian or Peacekeeper, over wandering in the dark.
Now, she feels a strange kind of relief washing over her. As the zoo's opening hours end and the last visitors leave the tributes to their own devices for the night, the lights are dimmed but not turned off entirely. She doesn't mind. Oddly enough, she has never minded falling asleep with the lights on. Sure, her parents would scold her once they found out, but she would much rather take a flicker of light in the dark over the cold and empty void the night leaves behind.
While the Capitol citizens return to the safety of their homes for the night, twenty-four children are left to sleep out in the open. Locked up in a cage far away from home, it's hard not to feel lonely.
She hears them. The sniffles, the heavy breathing, and the gentle rustling as those who were lucky enough to claim a bale of hay for themselves try to get comfortable. Soft murmurs are heard from various corners in the monkey cage as district partners try to comfort each other, mixed in with the occasional snore of those who have long accepted their fate. Then there's the frequent coughing coming from Dill's direction, Lucy Gray's comforting hum, and the quiet pitter-patter of the water when someone approaches the faucet.
Leora curses herself for not having a blanket for herself, but she has Hy. And Hy has a jacket that he's more than willing to share. After their train ride, she doesn't find it as awkward anymore to curl up to the boy for some shared body heat. He snores quietly, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath he takes, and she feels herself slowly drifting off into a comfortable sleep with him.
A last glimpse at the starry sky makes her wonder how her parents and friends must be doing right now. It's a thought she tries to push away, but when she pulls the neck scarf up to her nose, Sol's fading scent provides a momentary comfort. She hopes she's okay, that her parents are okay, and a silly, insignificant part deep within her hopes that they're looking at the same sky right now.
