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melancholy flowers
volume one; before
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He stood behind her with his honey coloured hair. It was soft and tousled, as if he had stepped from the shores of her childhood home and spent hours under the warmth of the sun. His skin was shining with a divine glow. Elora Clarke stood staring in the mirror, picturing her third ghost to follow her every move. Her brothers stood on either side of her in their never ending presence. The ghost of Cato Hadley was a new one. While it may not be real yet Elora reminded herself that in a mere two weeks this could be reality.
Her attention was stolen by the arrival of Coral as she stepped into the room ever so gracefully. That was one thing that Elora admired. Coral carried a grace about her, had a sense of beauty and elegance that would grant her many favours throughout her life time. Unfortunately, it would not save her from the terrors that awaited. It would not protect her from the sharks jaws nor would it wash away the blood. Blood that Elora was so sure she would be helping her wash away.
She had pictured it. The two of them in their capitol apartment, sitting on the floor in one of those luxurious showers, cleansing the blood from her hair. Watching it run down the drain and breathing a deep sigh of relief because they had done it. Coral was back, she was ok, she would return to her fisherman and live the rest of her life washing blood down the drain.
The sun would rise into the sky, glorious sunglow coating sand grains in honey. Skin would be tinged pink once more and laughter would be shared. Her voice dripping with melancholy flowers, something once sweet polluted by sorrow. The water would lap over their knees. Chills running up spines and breathless whispers under the promise of a new day. Coral and Elora and Finnick. That was supposed to be their future.
It wasn't that the careers were less skilled this year. They had impressive builds and impressive skill sets and impressive mentors. The one thing that set Coral above the rest was that little mark on her wrist, that distinguishing curve of ink. A soulmark. She had something to fight for that was more than pride and glory, it was something that etched itself deep inside her soul. Something that would light a fire within her heart and keep her mind clear. Now, she wasn't the only one who had that. The thought of Cato lingered in her mind as she talked Coral through the parade.
She was sure the thought of Cato would linger in her mind forever.
✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯
There was a determination in his eyes that Elora was intent on ignoring. She could feel his gaze boring into the side of her head. His stare was heavy, and the longer she tried to ignore that expression on his face, the harder it became. Elora closed her eyes briefly and took in a deep breath. There was no salt in the air, no sun beaming on to her skin, no sand between her toes. It was hard to pretend she was home, yet it got easier with each trip to the capitol. The roar of the crowd is a crashing wave, foam spilling over the water surface. The chatter of tributes are the local fisherman, gathering on the docks to share their latest catch. He is so close to her she can sense when he reaches out his hand. It brushes against hers with a softness she cannot imagine a man like him having. His breath tickles the back of her neck and Elora can feel shivers run down her spine, no matter how hard she tries to suppress them. She moves before he gets the chance to take hold of her.
This isn't that capitol and that isn't her soulmate. The breeze flowing in from the open door is the same that runs through the back door of her house as she bakes with Annie. Her body is the same one that feels the caress of salt and sun every day. The hand that grips her shoulder is Finnick, that much will never change. Their tributes eye them wearily, trying to ignore how unravelled Elora is beginning to appear.
"I want you to smile and wave, district four produces sociable victors, you will be no different".
Corals lips twitch at the word victor, but she makes no other move to acknowledge her words. Elora knows what she's thinking, of course she does. They both glance at Cato and the name occupying his wrist, unable to brush off the fact that if he dies in that arena, so will she. If Coral returns, there will be no Elora waiting to brush her hair and wash her clean and spoon feed her lies that everything will be ok. Instead, she will be greeted by a crumbling district four mentor who may not be able to function without his best friend, let alone comfort her. Coral can't help but wonder, when the world fades away and she enters the arena, will Elora still be looking out for her? Will she send sponsor gifts or will she sit staring at the screen and hoping exposure kills her before Cato can.
"I'm not leaving you to rot, Coral. I promised I'd do my best to get you home, and I still will".
As she spoke the words, Elora knew they weren't the full truth. Some part of Coral knew too. Swallowing her guilt, she closes her eyes once more. This time it is not Finnick that pulls her from her imagination. A slender hand slips into her own and squeezes gently. Coral trusts her, and that's all that matters for now. She climbs into the carriage with the grace of a tree swaying in the breeze. Gentle, yet dangerous all at once. All it takes is a storm.
That storm comes in the form of a screaming capitol crowd. Her name is chanted by the thousands, and there is no time for her to glance back at Elora in desperation. She likes to think that she prepared for this but the sad reality is that she never could.
The sun beams down on them once more, and she closes her eyes the same way she's seen Elora do. She pictures the sun shining down on her as she waits for her boyfriend at the docks. The capitol sun is not warm enough, not bright enough. She imagines the breeze against her is the same air that rushes through the leaves lining her street. This wind is too cold, too harsh. Everything seems wrong and she can't even begin to picture this as her home.
Her eyes narrow in on the back of Cato's head, yet she can't view him as the enemy. When she sees him, she sees Elora. An old Elora, a happy Elora, who is finally clean of the blood she's been trying to wash away for years. There's always a flip side.
She sees Elora dead in their capitol apartment after she plunges a knife through Cato's chest.
