CHIONOPHILE - Coriolanus Snow

PSYCHOMACHY

Psychomachy(n.) A conflict of the soul (as with the body or between good and evil)

"People always describe jealousy as this sharp, green, venomous thing. Unfounded, vinegary, mean-spirited. But I've found that jealousy, to writers, feels more like fear." - R.F. Kuang

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Coriolanus carried Calida to his bed that night; her sobs echoed like the cries of a wounded creature.

She clung to him, her tears staining his shirt.

Gently laying her down, he noticed her delicate features softened in sleep and her vulnerability bare.

He adjusted the pillows under her head, remembering how she had once remarked on the firmness of his pillows.

The next day, he had replaced them with softer ones, not out of concern for her comfort but merely to silence her complaints and ensure his own peace.

He had long ago convinced himself that his actions were driven solely by practicality, not by any genuine concern for her well-being.

Well, he had tried to convince himself of that.

Coriolanus wrestled with conflicting emotions, all somehow tied to his relationship with Calida.

He felt a peculiar unease settling within him tonight—a sensation he couldn't easily dismiss.

It wasn't entirely guilt, but it certainly wasn't the triumph he usually derived from orchestrating events to his advantage.

Months ago, when he orchestrated that charade with the peacekeeper posing as a district rebel, his intentions were clear: to demonstrate the dangers of fraternizing with the districts and to assert his control over Calida.

At the time, he revelled in his victory, convinced he had acted in her best interest without a hint of remorse.

Framing Fabian had followed a similar logic—he believed it was necessary, the right course of action to maintain order and control.

But now, as he witnessed Calida's distress, a gnawing discomfort crept over him, casting doubt on the righteousness of his actions.

Victory no longer felt so satisfying in the face of her evident suffering.

Coriolanus couldn't deny the twinge in his chest as he beheld her broken state.

It was an uncomfortable sensation, one he preferred to ignore.

Yet, when he pictured her in Fabian's company, any hint of guilt dissipated like mist under the sun.

He hadn't erred; he had acted out of necessity.

Seeing Fabian's hands on Calida and their embrace unsettled him profoundly.

Coriolanus prided himself on meticulously caring for his possessions, and Calida was no exception.

He guarded her closely, ensuring she remained within his sphere of influence.

As he grappled with these conflicting emotions, he struggled to comprehend the depth of his feelings for Calida.

It was a departure from his usual disdain towards others—a shift that intrigued and perplexed him.

Calida was like a delicate flower he had carefully plucked from the garden of life.

Her presence was as fragrant as a bouquet of flowers, with a scent that enveloped him like a warm embrace.

While Coriolanus had always preferred the purity of white roses, he found himself drawn to the unique fragrance emanating from Calida.