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✧ ▬ ˋˏ 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 ˎˊ ▬ ✧ ❝ 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒔 ❞ ༻#ˋ 。✩ 。ˊ#༺ in death we trust
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❝ maybe one day you'll understand why / everything you touch dies ❞
LET HER GO / PASSENGER.
﹙ chapter twenty, act two ; empty words ﹚ mara cayden.
darkmoor, district eleven. january, 71 att.
BY MARA'S COUNT, THERE ARE THREE MORE PARCEL DAYS. The last one, however, arrives spoiled by rats; the generosity of the Capitol is not as boundless as they promised. Every year before, the screens showed the other districts being showered with gifts ▬▬▬ but was it ever really wise to expect something in the same measure? After all, Eleven has always been the runt of the districts; subhuman slaves that aren't supposed to win.
Still, a gift is a gift, and those next three deliveries don't solve the problems that run deep into the bones of the city, but postpone some of the worse effects. With the knowledge that a few people have gone through the day ▬▬▬ the lucky ones, who arrived first at the deliveries ▬▬▬ without hunger, she slips back into routine. Mara doesn't leave the house again, though, no matter how easily she drinks and sews and sleeps; occasionally answering Alec's gentle questions of what haunted her dreams. Not after her little episode in the market, because it drove a wedge right down the faults in her newly healing armour.
