"𝒩𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝓏𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇."
"𝐼'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑒𝓉."
An ambitious girl with anger bigger than herself and even more confidence was unfortunate enough to be reaped for the 73rd hunger games. Daphne Westef...
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The nightmares didn't begin until she was home, in her own, familiar bed, in her own space of safety. She'd heard about how bad they could be, but she hadn't expected to wake up screaming, in complete terror that lasted for moments and rocked her body so hard, she couldn't close her eyes for the hours to follow.
Her father hadn't had nightmares in a long time. His game had been rather uneventful. He got a knife to the leg and saw a seventeen-year-old girl die. But his hands were clean; he never had to dream about cutting someone's throat, slamming a knife through someone's stomach.
He did what he could to calm her, but he couldn't understand. Eventually, when the bags under his eyes began to match her own, Daphne decided to claim her house in the village. It was just a few houses further, but her father would be able to sleep, and she'd be able to not sleep in peace, without worrying about her father. It seemed like the logical decision, although her father wasn't very happy with it.
Since she'd decided, they spent a week looking for decor, covers, soap, new curtains. Seven days later, she was ready to move in.
Her neighbor was Johanna. They hadn't lived far from each other before, but there was something about living next to the only person she really considered a friend that healed her soul just enough to be able to take a bath without a knife on the windowsill.
The two women -- the only female victors of district seven -- grew closer over the months leading up to victor's tour. There was something so similar, and yet so different about them.
As it turned out, Daphne had a sweet side, too. She wasn't always angry and snappy. She could be soft, and give gentle smiles. And Johanna turned out to be more than angry and bitter, too. She was funny, nice, maybe a bit protective, even. It was a match made in heaven.
The nights never grew easier, though. She was scared to fall asleep, but being awake wasn't much better. Nothing seemed to help ease her mind, until Daphne, after what felt like an eternity, reached for the violin again. It had been her mother's, and she'd learned herself how to play when she was younger between the training her father gave her.
She used to be able to get lost in the music. She was scared that it wouldn't feel as holy as it did before. But Daphne didn't need holy anymore, she wanted to feel calm, and think of better things, good things.
So, she took the violin, and placed it under her chin. The windows were open, and a cool breeze calmed her skin. She felt comfortable enough to try. Her fingers found their grip, and after a few wrong tunes, she found the melody.
It was magical, the music was flowing through her veins, and she forgot about everything. She remembered her mother's playing, although she couldn't recall the song. She heard her voice sing a long-forgotten song, and saw her wild curls and the hint of a bright smile.
