WISHBONE ... the hunger games

000. snow lands on top

Sometimes Madden thinks he will kill her when the strings are finally worn, other days she realises he is the one sharpening the scissors that are all too eager to slice through tense ribbon.

"Tea?" He asked, raising a brow.

Madden tightened her mouth. "No thank you."

"Rose is your favourite, we have that in common." The clink of delicate china is placed in front of her, the Avox moving just as silently as he ought too.

Coriolanus takes a sip, Madden follows suit. The blood on her hands stains the porcelain a dark crimson, highlighting her errors for all to see. It brings shame to her face, a heat to her cheeks. She is dusted over with a tinge of regret and a blossoming burning rage, ready to strike her own heart down. He is mad, a silent type of mad, a mad she never wishes to inherit. Though, Madden knows, she is more of him than she is of any of her family, poor cousin Lorelai included.

Oh how she wished she saw things the way she did, tinted pink and lush with the most decadent of things a girl could ever ask for. The youngest grand-daughter lived in a different reality most days, combing her hair with pearlescent combs and crafting nimble daisy-chain-crowns for the older cousins. Cecelia thought her younger sister a nuisance, Madden cherished her charming grace. And it wasn't that Lorelai was particularly naive, the fourteen year old was more than intelligent, but she rose each morning like the twinkle of the sun. Lorelai was pure, she wasn't stained, she wasn't the heir to the fucking throne.

That was all Madden.

Even with a different last name she struggled to out-run her fate. As the oldest, by only a few months Cecelia liked to remind her, she was burdened with both reputation and intricate whispers. It did not matter to Coriolanus that she refused the Snow name, she was a Snow by blood, by birthright. It wasn't a secret her mother and uncle had been killed, just like it wasn't a secret that it had been their own father delivering the orders. Even with family, his gratitude and empathy extended only so far. So it came as a surprise when the most he had done was slap her cheek and offered her tea, she supposed being the favourite had its perks. That and being his oldest living descendant. Madden wondered if this was the calm before the storm.

"I put the honey you love so much in the mixture, it'll sooth your throat. I suppose it's hoarse from all that screaming yes?" He said, twirling the tea with a spoon, it clinks against itself every once in a while, reminding her of his temper.

Truthfully, she hadn't fucked up that badly. From Madden's point of view, they had all bloody deserved. Especially him. Ash fucking Delamar, aka the bane of her unwelcome existence. She didn't really like to think of it all that much, though, copious amounts of champagne had all but drowned her senses and left her floating through the crowds of people celebrating her eighteenth birthday she had not been looking forward too. The gold-leaf crown atop her head tilted, it wasn't heavy, but the weight of it threatened to reduce her to dust.

Maybe she should thank him, the traitor, the bastard son of a Gamemaker. He certainly liked to play tricks, he was all but ready to twist and turn her like the spinning ballerina she was, just for show. Madden wasn't usually a fool, but when it game to boys with dirty mouths and and charming eyes, Madden supposed she slipped into Lorelai's reality with ease. He had blinded her, he had stolen the pink blush from her cheeks and left the blood-vessels broken and seething crimson. She was no longer subtle in her aggression, she was barren of warmth and a girl gone mad, wild, feral.

Part of her knew she couldn't blame it all on him, she was stronger now. The cure to a broken heart? Madden wasn't sure, but the cure to a stinging betrayal? Murder, naturally.