Antiscians (n.) People who live on opposite sides of the world, "whose shadows at noon are cast in opposite directions"
"It doesn't take a declaration, or an invasion, to start a war, all it takes is an "us" and a "them." And a spark." - Ada Palmer
———————————————————————
Calida packed in a frantic rush, anxiety bubbling within her.
The dilemma of finding something suitable to wear stressed her out.
Her wardrobe, filled with opulent garments, felt inappropriate for a visit to District 8.
It seemed tasteless to parade around in attire that cost as much as a year's worth of food for some.
District 8, the very place that crafted her luxurious clothes, would find it even more tactless—a reminder of their meager earnings for creating such extravagance.
In contrast, she couldn't help but envision Coriolanus in one of his ostentatious suits.
After an extensive search, she settled on a selection of clothes, hoping the ensemble struck a suitable balance.
Packed and ready, she pondered whether she should bring some money for Isaac's mother.
Aware of the losses the woman had endured—Isaac's father and sister gone, and now her last living child—the gesture felt insufficient against the weight of grief.
Yet, Calida believed it might offer some respite, a small comfort in the face of such tragedy.
Checking the clock, it blinked 4 am.
She was going to meet with Coriolanus at 7 am outside their apartments.
Sleep eluded her; the nerves of the impending journey refused to let her rest.
Instead of futile attempts at sleep, Calida opted to get herself ready, indulging in a lengthy shower.
Post-styling her hair, a glance at the clock revealed ample time to spare.
Seizing the moment, she retrieved her new journal from the bag and sank into the couch, the crisp pages awaiting her musings.
The previous journal had been consumed at an accelerated pace, a testament to the stress that gripped her.
Surprisingly, stress seemed to fuel her creativity, each scratch of the pen on paper an outlet for the tumult within.
As she inked her thoughts, the words flowed, a therapeutic release in the quiet solitude before the impending journey.
As the clock approached 6:45, Calida decided to head downstairs, opting for timeliness over tardiness.
The prospect of early morning arguments with Coriolanus, coupled with a night devoid of sleep, was an undesirable scenario.
Exiting the elevator, she maneuvered her suitcase through the lobby and onto the pavement. There stood Coriolanus Snow, a remark about her early arrival escaping his lips as the driver deftly took her luggage, stowing it in the trunk.
Calida and Coriolanus settled into the car, his approving comment lingering in the air.
"An early bird," he remarked with a trace of a smirk.
"I wouldn't say I'm an early bird when I never slept in the first place," Calida sighed, her weariness evident.
"Hmm, a flamingo then," he quipped, checking his clock as the car meandered towards the train station. "Why couldn't you sleep?" he inquired.
CITEȘTI
CHIONOPHILE - Coriolanus Snow
FantezieShe hated him. She wanted to smash his chiseled face into bits. The problem was that, more than that, she wanted to kiss him. Between the two options, she would instantly choose the latter. ᴏʀ Calida Bellerose lost control. And Coriolanus Snow tak...
