She felt suddenly as if she were a ghost /
in her own life.

THE ORPHAN'S TALES / CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE

﹙ chapter thirty one, act two ﹚

korralo, district four.
february, 73 att.

                    SUNLIGHT CREEPS TOWARDS HER. It was relatively easy to put down the payment for her room ─── April, the shopkeeper, had to tidy up before she could enter since they weren't expecting anyone this time of year ─── and even easier to fall into bed and let sleep envelope her. She wakes to the bright light in her eyes, and groans; lifting a hand to shield herself. She must have forgotten to close the curtains. Mara rolls onto her side, almost ready to fall back asleep, but she remembers exactly where she is.

                    She sits up sharply, as if live electricity has flowed through her spine. Mara is, after all, very far from home. But a wave of calm begins to descend on her; she sighs, some of the tension leaving her. There's not much more she can do than wait, however tedious that already is. She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stretches out her arms. Sleep was the best choice; all the panic from the platform and then the whipping yesterday has dissipated; there's only grim acceptance now.

                    The room she's been put up in is a rustic sort of luxury. Downy sheets and crooked walls, the bag with all her clothes ─── technically, the only possessions to her name other than her phone on the bedside table ─── resting against one of the wooden pillars of the four poster bed. April had profusely apologised, repeating how there would have been a better room were it in season, but Mara was far beyond caring last night. More grateful than anything that she was willing to put her up ─── and even now, it's far better than anything she grew up in.

                    She readies herself in the adjacent bathroom, washing away everything from the past few days and changing into clean clothes. Her reflection stares back at her for perhaps a moment too long: Mara realises that she'll never have a healthy body the way that fed children do ─── while it's far better than her childhood, there are still small hollows within her cheeks and bones just about visible beneath her skin. She's grown a bit, though, and looks more like a woman now.

               Almost eighteen ─── almost legally able to be sold. She'd vomit at the thought, if there was anything in her stomach right now. Mara hasn't eaten for over a day, and the age-old cravings are beginning to creep up on her once more. She blinks, and douses her face with cold water.

               When she goes down to breakfast, she is the only one there aside from April. A small platter has been laid upon the table and she thanks the innkeeper, especially on such short notice. While she eats ─── voraciously digging into the bread and cheese, though she keeps some of the manners Antonia has drilled into her ─── April, light and bubbly, talks.

               "It's a shame you've come now," she says while Mara washes the food down with water. "Most come in the summer, you know. There's more free time, 'specially with the kids on their holidays. The beaches are nice but not so much in winter."

               "The visit wasn't planned," she replies vaguely, not wanting to delve into the details.

               "I know how these things are. Strange, though, I thought you lot usually stayed with him." April says, dusting her hands on her apron and then tucks a curly lock of hair behind her ear. She reaches for the empty glass. "Refill?"

               "Oh, thank you." Her brows crease at the odd phrase, and the shopkeeper vanishes behind a door into the storage room. Returning about a minute later, Mara is pushing the last scraps of her breakfast onto her fork when she realises what April meant. A loose crumb flies into her lungs and she goes into a minor coughing fit, which only subsides with a sip of water. "I'm not his girlfriend."

               April gives her a smile at her horrified expression, saying nothing and taking the empty plate with her. "I'm not!" Mara calls after her.

               The walk to Victor's Village is a long one ─── just as with the one in Eleven, it's set some distance from the city. Victors are nothing if not isolated, regardless of borders. It seems to be quite a bit smaller than Darkmoor, with fishing villages and towns dotted along the coast somewhat like the outer colonies in Eleven, but from what Mara can tell they have far more of those. While she doesn't exactly know where she's going, April was more than happy to provide directions; so long as she carries on walking east, she'll know which path to take once she sees it. She does occasionally ask passers-by, and they confirm she's going in the right direction.

               The wind is cool and blustery, and Mara half-regrets not buying a coat ─── but then, she already felt guilty enough spending Finnick's money. It's not as if he hasn't any to spare, or as if she won't repay him every penny, but there was something humiliating in using his money.

               Finnick . . . she hardly knows what to think of him anymore, yet she can't imagine a life that he's not in. The image of his corpse, broken and emptied of blood by a bullet, had flashed across her eyes in that moment he had stepped towards the whipping. It terrified her, and it still does. There will always be those slight slivers of resentment, no matter how much she knows that her brother's death was not his fault. And he's not the arrogant sex symbol persona he puts on for the Capitol ─── she rues those comments she made when she didn't know any better, wonders how she didn't put the signs together more quickly.

               She doesn't know him, and yet she does. She's been horrible to him, over and over ─── and yet he has been good to her in return.

               Well, he's been many things ─── and some small part of her is fascinated by how many facets are slowly revealed to her ─── but good. Mara realises with a sickening lurch that she wants to get to know Finnick Odair. The one beneath every pretence, that is. There wasn't a day where she thought that she'd ever admit that, and certainly her past self would be utterly disappointed in where she is now; how could she possibly say that something good could have come from Lian's games?

               His death eclipsed everything for years. It still does, it still should. ( But isn't that how the games work ─── to keep the districts divided? Finnick Odair didn't want to be there, either. He was not Lian's enemy and neither is he hers ). The two truths are conflicting in nature, and swirl around her as the streets slowly taper out towards the edge of the city. She passes the square of the whipping; the blood has been cleaned from the cobbled stones but the memory of it lives on. Mara briefly wonders how that man is, if his cuts are healing ─── as she knows, such a thing is cruel but survivable.

               The path takes her right atop the sandy dunes, and she wanders for a while, watching the great entity of the sea. She doesn't dare get close ─── even after all this time, she still fears the sensation of water, of drowning in a salty sea. While it's more of a bleak navy than the brilliant cyan of the arena, she won't do more than admire it from afar.

               The neat and orderly roofs of the village are just about visible; it's built into a crest with a natural barrier from the wind. Once on that dune, Mara takes a short break ─── she's been walking for almost an hour ─── and looks at it. Hauntingly, it's not that dissimilar to Eleven's one. A bit bigger, with a few more residents, but not much else. The same ornate two storey houses, with bay windows and opulence oozing from every crevice. A mocking statement to the grieving, to the worse off. Cruelty knows no borders, it seems.

               The hill slopes down and Mara sees a few unfamiliar faces in windows; which dart back away once she makes eye contact.

               She goes to the house bearing the sign Mags; teal wood and cursive writing, and knocks. She expects the old woman in question to open it, but it's a girl with auburn red hair instead. A girl that she takes a moment or two to recognise: Annie Cresta. "Hi!" She says brightly, waving a hand.

               "Um ─── hi." She replies out of reflex, quietly stunned. The last she saw of Annie Cresta was a sobbing, shaking wreck during the meal for her Victory Tour the year after her own games. She had tried to be kind then, though still drowning in her own misery ─── she'd sent her to tears when asking about Four, not realising how she was reminding her of the flooding. Of the beheading. Mara still thinks about that sometimes with a lurch in her gut.

              What is it that we must do? Never forget.

               Annie must have felt very afraid in her own home district, Mara realises in that moment. "He said you'd be here," she tells her. "It's so nice to meet you. Come in!"

               Mara blinks at her. "Likewise."

               At her beckoning, she follows the redhead into the house. It's warm inside, but not stiflingly so, and simply decorated. No mirrors, but there are shelves lining the walls with books pressed up against each other and rope knots hanging from the walls. They get more elaborate and complex as you go down the hallway. She takes off her shoes and pauses by the door.

               "Okay she's here," Annie's voice isn't hushed in the slightest, clearly audible through the door. "I don't know, she seems quiet but nice. Not at all what you said."

               She can imagine who Annie is talking to, and can almost hear his grimace ─── and subsequent footsteps. "What she is, is listening to us." The door swings open and Finnick is there, a half-grin on his face, looking down at her knowingly. "Spying, are we?"

               "On what?" She asks flatly. She hasn't forgiven his stupidity, or for making her so terribly afraid for him.

               He picks up on that and shakes his head, his grin widening imperceptibly. "Only like that for me, I see."

               Mara says nothing and goes after him into the kitchen ─── which, again, has the sense that it has been lived in. There are scuff marks and burns imprinted on the surfaces, the edges rounded and worn; the cupboards crooked and several people sitting around the table on mismatched chairs.

               Some small amount of discomfort curls in her gut: this feels oddly invasive, a glimpse into their lives that she hardly feels deserving of. She knows Finnick, has barely spoken to Annie and there are several people that she doesn't recognise ─── the only one she can safely say would want her here is Mags.

               Good to see you, Mags signs to her with a toothless grin. She is the magnet in the room, the glue holding them together ─── everyone else revolves around her.

               "Hi Mags," she says a little awkwardly. Her social circle is quite limited, really ─── she'd only count Johanna ─── and while she's used to being at larger functions, that has only ever been at the Capitol. Here, she doesn't have to behave a certain way. She can be herself: and therein lies the problem. By all accounts, Mara Cayden is a damaged and sheltered teenage girl. What parts of herself are there that people would like? "And . . . others."

               A chorus of greetings. She's introduced to Cordelia, a kind-looking woman with a few signs of ageing making themselves apparent. Her skin is weathered, fine lines around her eyes, and she seems tired more than anything ─── the only things that brighten her up are her husband, named Renato, and her child, an overly-excited girl named Mae. Something about this strikes a chord in her ─── is there normal life after the games? She hadn't thought so. Yet here Cordelia stands, having dived head first into the games and then emerged from the other side of horrors, with somebody who loves her.

               Mara doesn't think she'll ever have children, not when there's the slightest chance that they'll have the same life she did. I couldn't do that, she thinks as Mae starts to toddle around, a wide and innocent smile on her round, rosy face. Not to a child.

               ". . . have you got everything?" Cordelia asks, her voice gentle ─── yet there's a tenure to it, and to the way she stands as she picks Mae up into her arms. A strong stance, with upright posture and ever so slightly tense. Fit for combat, but no longer.

               "Yes," her husband says, slinging a rucksack over his shoulder. She opens her mouth to speak, but he gets there first, raising his brows. "And yes, I've put sunscreen on her. She wouldn't burn in February, but ─── you said to."

               A small smile plays at Cordelia's lips. "Let's go then."

               Mara turns around from the exchange between them and jolts into motion, following Annie's head of auburn red hair. As the two put on their shoes in the hallway, she leans towards her. "Where are we going again?"

               Her smile is wide but vacant, and something fades behind her eyes. "I'm not sure. I get a little lost sometimes."

               Mara nods. "Yeah," she says, echoing her words kindredly. "Lost."

               Both she and Annie tag along at the back of the group, walking shoulder to shoulder down the path ─── neither of them knowing exactly where they're going, until Annie recognises the direction and guesses they're headed towards the cove. Ahead of them, Cordelia has put Mae down and the toddler runs back and forth with seemingly unlimited energy, letting out some mangled cries of delight. Her laughter is the purest sound she has ever heard; crystal clear like a fresh stream in the woods.

               At the front, Mags loops her arm around Finnick's and the two are talking, though she can only pick up on the odd word. Annie, with whom she'd made no further effort to strike up conversation, notices her watching them.

               "I used to think he was actually her grandson," she says, fingers mindlessly fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "Like, related."

               "I see why."

               "Hm," Annie murmurs. "He doesn't care what most people think, not really, but it's different with Mags. With me as well, I'd hope. Do you have a brother?"

               It's a simple question but it takes a while to answer. Mara has thought of her brother a lot today, a lot more than usual ─── she can picture his dark skin and kind eyes, forever thirteen. Her insides twist around each other. She doesn't.

               And the boy ahead with golden hair and ocean eyes, it's his fault. Except, she reminds herself once more as he briefly turns his head towards the question, it isn't. It isn't, it isn't, it isn't! She's forgiven him for this; why does it still plague her? Is it because she is getting a proper glimpse into the life her brother could've had? Or because she doesn't want to admit that Finnick also deserved to live? All twenty four of those children that year and every year before and after did not deserve what they got, and she knows that she is the same as him.

               She murdered Madge Undersee's sister. She murdered that little boy's mother. A parent's child. Someone's sweetheart. Mara Cayden is no better than Finnick Odair, not at all.

               "No." She says eventually. If Annie suspects her silence revealed more than she lets on, it doesn't show.

               "Neither," the redhead says, "but if I did, I'd want him to care about my opinion too."

               Did Lian care about what she thought? He certainly loved her, she's sure of that ─── but it was so long ago, and they had such little time together. Mara was ten when he was taken from her. Most of the details from before are hazy, and she realises she must try harder or else she will forget everything but his death. That would be unforgivable.

               Would Lian still love her now?

               She nods. "I'd hope so."

               When they get there, the sand is coarse upon her feet. At Annie's insistence about it not getting into her shoes, Mara took them off once they arrived at the cove and now must take several deep breaths to steady herself. The last time she felt sand beneath her feet she was fifteen and fighting for her life ─── if she lets them, the memories will swallow her whole again. She stands facing the sea, grateful it's too cold to swim in. She can deal with the sensation of sand, but a deep body of water? No. She is still shamefully weak.

               "You're quiet," Finnick's voice murmurs in her ear out of nowhere. Though she didn't hear him approaching and gets awfully rattled when startled, she feels no impulse to flinch. She doesn't even reach for her knife ─── though the blade is on the bedside table back in the inn. "More than usual." He amends a moment later.

               It's odd how she can feel his presence though no two parts of their bodies touch ─── she doesn't turn her head, still staring out to the expanse, and yet she can picture his expression perfectly. "I'm thinking."

               He exhales, his breath lightly fanning over her neck. She suppresses a shiver, though she's hardly cold. "About yesterday in the square."

               Mara turns to him and pushes him away from her. "You could've died. How can you not see that?"

               He has an unreadable expression on his face, studying her ever so carefully. She feels exposed by how he scrutinises her, and almost wants him to look away. "It's been a long time since I was in Eleven. I guess it must be really different there."

               She blinks. An astute observation, if a little simplistic. "Yeah," she says shortly. "You could say that. You have no idea how bad it is, Odair. Or how good you have it here."

               He's spared from replying as Annie calls them over, using a stick to draw a line in the sand.

               "We don't have a net so you'll have to imagine it," she says, hovering her spare hand about six feet from the ground. "It'd be about this high, but Renato will be keeping watch. And no undercutting or spiking, Finnick."

               Cordelia, getting up from the blanket laid down on the sand, nods seriously. "We're not having another broken nose."

               She happens to be looking at him when Cordelia says this, and glimpses the embarrassment flitting across his features. "That was an accident," Finnick raises his palms in an open gesture of defence. "And you look as lovely as ever Cordy, I can't even tell it happened."

               The ebony-haired victor sends a rare and rueful smile Mara's way. "You'd better be careful against one. You're on my team, by the way. Come and I'll explain how it works."

               Mara is still thinking of Peacekeepers and punishment as she walks toward her. She is thinking of the age-old ache still curling in her guts, and thinking of how very long it has been since her lips were around a bottle. Her mouth goes dry. She can scarcely hear Cordelia explaining the rules of volleyball, for her thoughts now centre singularly around the claws raking into her skin. Just a little longer, she promises herself and tries to ignore it ─── eventually, with mild success. Mara hasn't a clue what she's doing and Cordelia is mostly in control of the ball on their end, tapping it back over the line with ease while she stands there, arms up in the air awkwardly. She loses herself in the lazy back and forth as they begin to warm up.

               "It's alright," Cordelia tells her as the rally starts up and the ball is hit between them; while she speaks to Mara she keeps her eyes trained on it. "Now I'm going to pass to you, and you will launch it high into the air. Can you do that?"

               "Doubt it," Finnick calls from the other side of the line.

               "Ignore him, he's heckling."

               But the difference in skill becomes clear as Mara's arms don't move the way she wants them to ─── or at least how they're supposed to ─── and the leather ball goes bouncing off her forearms to the side, giving a sorry little bounce before rolling into the sand. She glares at Finnick as if it's his fault, but he only laughs.

               It's not that serious. Mara hasn't played innocent games like this in years.

               As the rally starts up once more and the ball is hit between them, it's glaringly obvious that there's a reason why Annie and her aren't on a team together. Cordelia and Finnick match each other, as do she and Annie, merely on different levels. Between the two, they balance the teams out. Though there is some back and forth between her and Finnick before he hits it over, so it at least isn't her first time playing.

               Mara, on the other hand, learns slowly. The sun peeks through some clouds eventually, giving the toddler digging through the sand a great cause for excitement ─── Mae sits with her father and Mags, who used to be a great player. She would carry on, but her knees cannot take the pressure of leaping and lunging as well as they used to. She now prefers to watch from the sidelines and keep score. Occasionally, Mae clambers onto her father's lap, covered in sand, and tugs at his hair until he inspects whatever hole she's dug and praises it. As the afternoon wears on, she becomes tired and in all honesty, so does Mara.

               She's atrophied since the games. Her breath is drawn a bit more shortly than she remembers, and her muscles begin to ache after many short sprints attempting to hit the ball ─── were she in the arena, this would be nothing at all. She'd ran and walked for days back then, ─── but that had been fresh out of work from the orchards. Mara hasn't had to work like that for over two years, and while she hasn't let herself go completely, she's begun to slip.

               Soon enough, Cordelia passes her the ball once more and ─── much to her delight ─── it sails through the air, and would've landed cleanly on the other side had Finnick not slid to his knees to bounce it back up. While it's a small move, hardly noticeable or memorable as the game goes on, she cannot shake the grin from her face.

               Even when they call the end of the game and Mags reveals the score ─── Finnick and Annie slaughtered them, ninety three points to seventeen ─── Mara is revelling in her own . . . well, she might even call this happiness, however brief it is.

⭒ ➷ ⭒ ➹ ⭒ ➷ ⭒ ➹⭒

victor's village, district four.
february, 73 att.

               THAT NIGHT, THE GHOSTS ARE FACELESS. Her dreams, fraught between fragments of sleep, are the worst they have been in a long time. Yesterday was a brief calm where she genuinely enjoyed herself ─── the sun may hide the shadows, but they never really leave. It only prolonged the limbo between drinking and withdrawal. At night, demons crawl from them, taking on the face and high, cruel laugh of Septimus Pyre. He is cold and his lips are like ice; she is helpless, bleeding, again . . . she wakes with a sheen of sweat on her face and a scream dying on her lips.

               It's not yet dawn when she wakes, and she huddles up in the sheets like a frightened child during a thunderstorm ─── oh, does she even remember what it was like to be a child? The hammering of rain on the tin roof, the wind howling through the gaps, wrapped up in her mother's arms. Because with Mother, everything was safe. Everything would be okay ─── she was there to heal the sick and fix what was broken. But then Sephone died and bit by bit so did Mara.

               She doesn't want to leave this room until very suddenly she does. Mara is dressed and nearly out of the door when she realises she hasn't eaten ─── yesterday, after the game by the beach, they'd returned to Victor's Village where Mags had cooked them some kind of fish for dinner. Mara hated it the moment it touched her lips, but emptied her plate nonetheless. Don't you know everyone else is starving? It was then that she had a revelation of sorts: such behaviour is an insult to everyone she left behind before the Games, who still go hungry while she has the nerve to sit there and complain.

               She hovers long enough to have some pancakes ─── April notes her more sour nature ─── and brushes her off. She walks to Victor's Village again. It's a blustery day and her curls are whipped around by the wind ─── when she gets home, she'll ask Mercy to rebraid them.

               It's a punch; she physically feels the blow to her stomach. Mara stands there, on the winding path, mentally counting the days. It's been almost an entire day since she was due to arrive and she hasn't told them about this delay ─── she breaks into a run. Her mobile doesn't have any sort of connection here, but Victor's Village has a line that connects outside of district borders ─── is it a stretch to think there might be a link to her Victor's Village? Mara never used her own or bothered to look through the phonebook.

               She has to stop several times to catch her breath, but sees the orderly roofs poking up from the zenith of a hill; she wills her limbs to carry on moving and races down the road. By the time she gets there, she sees three figures ─── the tallest is easily Finnick; she picks out his sandy hair from a distance. There's also Annie, distinguished by her head of red hair, about the same height as Mags. They're standing in the doorway, talking about something, She collides directly into them.

               "Mara───"

               "Yeah, yeah, no time." She pants, pushing herself away from Finnick and straightening her back. "Can I use the phone? The landline?"

               He frowns, brows creasing. "Sure, if you want. It's in the hallway.

               Mara tilts her head back up at the sky, an exhausted sigh escaping her. She puts her hand to her lips as a gesture of thanks. "I'll be a few minutes."

               Hurriedly, she flips through the phone book ─── and finds the numbers One through Twelve and then the series of numbers written next to Eleven in neat handwriting. She dials it and calls, every ring of the phone twisting her gut further. What seems like an age passes, just standing there in limbo.

               She recognises her father's voice. "Who is this? How did you get this number?"

               "It's me. Mara, your ─── daughter. I . . . well there was a complication with getting back." The other side of the line goes so quiet for so long that she thinks he must have hung up. "Are you still there?"

               "Mara Persephone Cayden."

               She pales. Her father has never been angry at her before. "Where have you been? Where are you? Are you safe?"

               "I ─── I . . . there was a mix up of platforms," she says. A small shudder passes through her as she thinks of that night. "I'm in District Four right now."

               "Excuse me? Four?"

               "I know, I know." She tries to admonish.

               Alec isn't even slightly calmed. "I don't think you do, young lady. It has been over a day since we waited at the platform and you did not get off the train! Your grandmother has been sick with worry, and I . . . so have I. Explain yourself."

               She pulls in an embarrassed breath. "I got on the wrong train. It was late and dark and, well I did. I ended up here. I've got myself a place to stay until the next train out of here to the Capitol. It'll be in about three days. I've booked my ticket already."

               Mara can hear his deep exhale on the other end of the line. "Why wait to call?"

               "My phone doesn't have a wide network." She says timidly ─── and it's not a complete lie. "Dad . . . I'm really sorry I've made you worry.

               A long beat of silence. Alec Cayden lost the revered title of Dad years ago.

               "I know." He says. There's a delicate underscore of gentleness to it. She stands there, listening.

               The door opens. In walks Finnick, hair effortlessly tousled by the wind, his eyes finding her straight away. He nods his head briefly. "Everything alright?"

               At the same time, her father says: "Is that a boy's voice I hear?"

               She nods to him briefly, a faint smile on her lips, before turning around and leaning against the bannister of the stairs. "Yes," she says. "I have some friends here. I'm staying with them ─── showing me around, that sort of thing."

               "Who? Who is with you?"

               "Oh, you know, Mags and Finnick. Annie, too. I met her yesterday."

               "As in Finnick Odair?" He asks quickly, voice tight.

               The victor standing over the ashes of her brother's body? The darling of the Capitol? Yes, the very same. But how could she possibly begin to explain that she has forgiven him when Alec was enveloped by catatonia after his son's death? "Yes, that one." She says, trying not to glance at Finnick to give it away ─── but her eyes betray her.

               His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly and his eyes dull. Though Alec Cayden is hundreds of miles away ─── though he has never met the man and doesn't even know his name ─── he knows what thoughts are going through his head.

               "Put him on."

               She blinks; she can't have heard him correctly. "What?"

               "I want to speak to the young man." Alec's voice is irresolute.

               "What?"

               Wordlessly, she hands the phone to Finnick ─── she searches every one of his reactions, but other than simple introductory pleasantries and nodding, she can't tell much. He is utterly neutral. "Yes." He says. "No, no. Not at all." A beat of silence. "I know that."

               When he hands the phone back to her, she makes sure that he'll tell Mercy about this little situation ─── "She's incensed," he tells her ─── she reassures him that they'll see each other in a few days and hangs up, putting the phone back on the receiver.

               She immediately turns to Finnick. "What did he say to you?"

               He says nothing, the barest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. If only Mara hadn't seen how hollow he looked before speaking to her father, she'd think it was genuine. "I mean ─── you don't have to tell me if it was bad, but ───"

               "Essentially, once I clarified I have absolutely no interest in pursuing you, he told me to look out for you." Finnick says, a more animated glint in his eye as they walk together down and out of the hallway.

               "Oh. That's . . . sweet. Of both of you."

               It really is remarkable how quickly he molds himself into a certain persona. "Oh yes, I'm your sworn protector now. My life is at your service, Mara dearest."

               Annie greets them with a bright smile, the winter sunlight catching the fine wispy hairs and making them a deep golden red. "You walked, well ran, here again? It's quite a way."

               "I don't mind it."

               "I bet Finnick could pick you up next time. He drives, you know."

               She turns to him, looking up at him through her lashes and tilting her chin up. "I suppose I could twist my ankle if I walk. Or get mugged."

               "Leaves me with no choice then." Finnick says sardonically, and she suspects that little exhale could've been a laugh. Mags and Annie don't understand, but glance between them.

               Mags' hands move and Mara does her best to read the signs, but they're too fast even for her, and she ends up reading Mags' lips. "The three of you will pick up my package."

               Finnick raises open palms in a circle gesture. "Where?"

               "The docks." They hover around for a moment more, and she signs again: Off you go."

               "Y'know, you're really getting the authentic experiences here in Four," Finnick remarks, "being made to run errands with the rest of us."

               Annie surreptitiously coughs. "I . . . I can't go, Finn. I didn't tell Mags but I promised Cordy I'd look after Mae for a few hours."

               And so they walk back into Korralo, with Finnick pointing out certain places. The fish hook shop he used to buy from. The academy turned to rubble when an earthquake struck ─── Mara hadn't even known those existed, but they're apparently not uncommon here ─── and then into a shelter for those rendered homeless. ( Entirely, of course, from the pockets of the people. The Capitol wouldn't send a single dollar ). The schoolhouse and the swings some kid in his year set on fire for the fun of it ─── the various merchant shops. In the city, they're selling various goods, but as they approach the sea, the smell of salt becomes stronger and more pervasive. Fishmongers dot the wide, dusty streets. Cobbled road fades to a wide dirt path, but still they get closer to the sea.

               She glances around at the stalls of fish; the soft, babbling chatter around the pop-up market of haggling and otherwise unintelligible words; the ice in which they're kept drawing goosebumps from her skin. "Aren't we getting it from here?"

               Finnick shakes his head. "Mags likes them much more fresh, and well ─── we can afford it straight from the barge."

               She glances at him and sees the briefest glimmers of guilt. Her heart almost lurches: seeing herself in someone else in uncanny, yet also . . . comforting. She is not the only one. She is not the only one. Mara, of course, knows that there are other Victors far more accustomed to this than her, far more intimate with the cruelties presented to them, yet she's hardly connected with any of them. Not in a way where she can read their expressions so clearly, not where she notices every last detail.

               They come to a halt. Mara, almost lost in a daze staring at Odair beside her, walks straight into a large, burly man holding a crate. She stumbles, and rights herself. "Apologies," she says, blinking.

               The man, tall with deep olive shin and black hair pulled beneath a cap, grumbles. "Watch yourself, Missy. Don't want to end up in the water."

               She suppresses a shudder at the thought ─── and had been distracted, until now, by a boy with bronze skin and ocean eyes who shares her pain. Mara hadn't realised how close the sea is. It's several shades murkier than the cove yesterday and far more unappealing, though that irrational fear reaches up, climbing from the depths of the arena and clutches her nonetheless.

               Finnick nudges her. "I'll sign off and you'll help carry this, 'kay?"

               She nods, not tearing her eyes away from the sea. In certain lights, it almost looks cyan; it almost looks like what Hestia drowned in all those years ago. As Finnick and the Captain ─── called Ped, which must be a nickname for something ─── get into talking about the details and the conversation then derailing to other matters, she wonders what it would be like to truly drown.

               And, she finds out. Several small hands push her forwards and she goes tumbling down, down . . .

               The water is cold and envelopes her with death's touch: panic claws up to her as she begins to thrash uselessly. Limbs flailing, looking for some support. But this isn't the arena, this is far deeper. She sinks like a rock, screaming, and eventually the bubbles run out.

               Mara has been drowning since the arena, and water fills her lungs once more.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 :

( 6,076 words! )
although the updates will not be as frequent
anymore (as i write them, they're published)
i can promise that inured is far from over !! &
things are   happening  down in district four,,
like mara  is ... happy?? is it a genuinely light
chapter?? well,, not  quite. i  could never.  we
still  have the  looming  threat septimus pyre
and   the deep  anger she  holds towards  the
inequalities   between   eleven and four. that
being said, though, other things are starting
to get better😌(a side note: i refer to british
sign language in inured instead of american)

alec cayden has  turned his life  around  and
become a better  man !! he's still  not perfect
but mara  calling him  dad after so  long  had
me tearing up just a little🥹 && she's having
some revelations about finnick and realising
just how well he could know her <33

and she might drowning right now, oh dear.
we're returning to a sad chapter next time !!
(but an important one too) so don't forget to
vote and maybe even comment if you feel a
bit bold <3

───e.