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⋆࿐໋ ˖‧ ¹RAW WOUNDS PRT. 𝖎, CH. 𝖎.
━━━━━
𝖎 ✷ my god, my god / why hast thou forsaken me? . ༢ ﾟ.
( 𝑳𝑶𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵: district 1 ) ·° . ✧ ▌ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐀𝐘
⠀ Mornings of always left a pit in Florence's stomach.
⠀Despite the occasion, the sun had risen in a beautiful place this morning, shining down on the plethora of citizens in District 1. Days like this, sunny and gorgeous days, always clashed with the events that would soon happen as the day continued. It urged anyone who wasn't already awake to go ahead and get up and get ready for their day. Just as if it was nothing but another day. Which, in their case, it just might've been.
⠀If it wasn't for the giddy sound of children racing outside, their footsteps particularly loud against the concrete this morning, Florence wouldn't have even woken up. It wasn't long after that she began to stir back into consciousness that there was a knock on her door. Rushed and hurried.
⠀"You're going to make us late, Florence!" A familiar-sounding voice called from the other side of the door, evident annoyance laced in her tone. In response, the brunette offered a short-lived groan as she sat up on her elbows in bed.
⠀Everyone around her had seemed especially...enthusiastic given that this year's Games were Quarter Quells. Things were all the more interesting: Promises of bigger and better arenas, and that made it worth watching. Not to mention the plethora of tributes being tossed in this year.
⠀Florence's weary gaze wandered to her white bedroom door, resting there for a moment. At the bottom crack, she could see the faint shadow of her older sister, Sonnet. The shadow waned as her sister walked off, walking down the hallway.
⠀With a soft breath, the brunette lazily sat up from her bed, now messy and dishevelled as she brought the white comforter up with her. The warmth cloaked her. It wrapped around her body, not as comforting as she would've liked it to be on this particular morning. Then again, how could anyone possibly be comforted on a day like this?
⠀"You have five minutes to get up and get ready!" The gruff voice of Florence's father echoed throughout the penthouse.
⠀Rolling her eyes, Florence then glanced at the clock, which sat on her marble bedside table, only to see that it was later than she anticipated. It was already half past noon; she'd overslept. And the Reaping always began at two o'clock.
