Lotus Blossom

Astra held her air for far too long. She held him in an even longer embrace. "We'll figure it out," is all she said, in a quiet, power-filled voice.

"When," Astra took a shaky breath, "When we get out of this, there will be so, so many that will demand repayment from me. I won't let my mess hurt you." She had wanted her life for herself. But it was unfair to drag someone else into the careful balancing act of the black market, juggling bets and deals. She never would want to bring someone else into that world. It was a world of cruelty. But how could she escape her past? Kayra brushed sweat, blood, and debris from her face. She was tired, she was hurt. But what was the life she could return to? I am a fool, but I am doing the right thing. The right thing. Such a strange concept, for a gambler like her. Was there truly a moral compass in her soul? Or was she simply risking her life for the belief that she would get something out of it- that Astra, the legend of all casinos, would help her, raise her status in the underground? The right thing. It was true. She just had to keep fighting. She swung her gun through her fingers carefully, with admiration and ambition. Let's end this. Aeryn's eyes narrowed to slits. I will not lose another to the games. She clutched her weapon to her chest. It reminded her of the days defending her home. Defending her life. Defending her son. Defending her sister. That didn't end well. She would save Astra. That was a promise. Her constant hunger for fighting. On the streets. In the town. She would always carry an anger that Amyra never had. If only Amyra had her anger, her independence, her rage for something greater. No, Aeryn would win this time. This time, she wasn't doing it alone.

"Don't" Astra choked a little, "Don't say that." Her voice got softer. "Don't say that yet." She held his hand, her own cold and shaking, and stayed there gently. "We're still alive."

"I suppose we'll see." She tightly pursed her lips.

---------- Aeryn Ay (see here) Her tea seemed cold. It was as if the world was scoffing at her collar, her high head. It was as if the scowling sun was saying "Look at you, sitting all high and mighty as your son falls into insanity after his wife's death and your grandchild fights for her life in the games." Well, Aeryn thought bitterly, Let me tell you. The world cannot scoff at me for leaving my child defenseless, and my granddaughter out to die. No. The world cannot. Not after it took away my light. Why must I bend to your wishes when you keep taking and taking and taking? My mother died. My father went insane. My sister died. My twin sister died. I went insane. My father died, my siblings cried, I left and life moved on. I should be able to enjoy my tea hot. The TV crackled on in the parlor. Yes, her son was left with nothing. He was a mess. His art was indecipherable. He lived in bars and prisons, drunk or hung over, wailing for his wife's death after childbirth. Aeryn never liked that woman. She reminded her of her twin. Gentle, kind. But too much so. Weak. Aeryn had always been the one to speak her mind. Independent. She knew little of her granddaughter, but it seemed she was the same. Astra was her name. It had been years. Many years. The guilt of leaving the girl with no home scarred her mind. Who raised the girl? Her father certainly didn't. A single father, unable to keep either of them afloat. Had she made friends? Had she gone underground? Was the black market stained with the Ay name? This haunted her, the living memory of her granddaughter. There was a child out there, struggling in the world to stay a live. There was a child out there, carrying her last name. There was a child she owed something to. A descendant of Amyra Ay, still in the world. Aeryn had already lost one sister to the Hunger Games. She wouldn't lose a granddaughter as well. There was only one choice left in her life. To join the rebellion.

---------- Kayra (see here)*don't pay attention to everything about Aeryn, instead, look to my post with the flashback to Astra's mothers perspective (i.e. I changed my plan and Aeryn is still alive) I am a fool for this. It wasn't her job to clear other's debts. Acquaintances were disposable. Astra was disposable. She fell into the wrong crowd- no, she embodied the wrong crowd- and here she was, dying on the dirt of the arena. It was only natural for her fate to wind in a wicked course. She was always taking risks and making empty promises. Who was Kayra to obstruct the deal between Astra and that devil? There was no reason for Kayra to care. There was no reason for Kayra to go back to the life she lived with Astra. To contact all their friends. Beg Sibnon to see reason. There was no reason for Kayra to join The House and seek rebellion. But she did. I am a fool for this. What was one more life lost? Who would mind? Astra had many secret debts, many enemies, many owed favors. Astra's father wouldn't mind. Sibnon wouldn't. All that she would hear after Astra's death would be annoyed nobodies angrily knocking on doors. There would be no funeral, no acknowledgement of the death of an incredible personality, a wonderful sense of humor. The world would continue. Kayra had always learned to move on. Never develop any attachment. So her joining The House was as much of a shock to her than it was to anyone. But she would act on her impulsive decisions, Astra taught her that. Her soul had spoken before her mind's filter, and now she would give herself to setting Astra free. Astra. Not an acquaintance. A friend. A gambler shouldn't have made friends.

Astra met both of their eyes, and then lowered her own in what felt like shame. They think I know. They believe I am the person I was, the gambler who took any risk and won. The drinker who laughed and shook out her hair. They believe in me, and my act, but that is all it is. An act. And as the games get harder, the heat sears into my skin, the dust fills my lungs and my blood churns through my arteries. It is harder to keep up. It is harder to hold out this act I have. They believed in me, and I have let them down. I do not have the answers. I do not have any clue what is happening. No one can save me. I live in this lie, this fantasy I wrote for myself. But no one can know. "Best of luck to us all," was the only words she said, though weak and quiet. She doubted either of them could hear her at all.

Amyra dropped low on her platform, craning to see the battlefield in a better light. Her teeth grit. It doesn't matter who wins. Mark and I bet on the same tribute. So either both of us are advantaged. Or both of us are disadvantaged. .....or, they don't even pit us up against one another. For some reason, the thought of killing Mark was a clear image in her mind- the slice of his throat, the slit of his chest, the gaping wounds torn open, the blood flooding the ring- and it made her stomach churn with nausea. Bile built in the back of her throat, her eyes fluttered, suddenly too heavy to hold them open, her mind pounded on tempo as blood filled her skull. She was dizzy and over-heating and all she wanted to do was fall and close her eyes and disappear back to the casinos where she had so much power, so much confidence. She hated the idea of killing him, fulfilling the dream that haunted her every moment, with so much burning rage that she felt sick. Had she really cared for this poor tribute so much? She had once thought that she would never care for anything- anyone. How foolish she was. Perhaps her life wasn't just about setting the hopeless free. Perhaps her life's path wasn't set on unlocking the chains of the wretched. Perhaps she wasn't just a Willshaper, but also a person of her own, a person who's life could wind and twist in unknown ways, a person who wasn't stuck and trapped in bets after bets... A person who could care about someone, about something, more than a game of cards and a glass of alcohol. A person who could love someone else, and die for it. Or kill for it. No one was coming to save her now. Everyone had hated her, or left her in the dust. But Kayra was right. She would've done the same, if one of her connections was trapped here on the dirt of the hunger games arena. She would've done the same.

Astra wrapped her fingers idly around her shardblade in one hand, and clutched her wrist with her other. In eidolon. ----------- "Shall we bring her, madam?" the voice whispered. Frail, weak, in her petty scarlet dress she stood in front of the mirror vainly. She was pale, her face blank, and thinning brown curls rested at her shoulder after having been brushed over and over. She was sick, in her mind, it had been long since she had spoken. She'd always said 'no'. It had been months. She had escaped to her husband's parents house, destitute, beggarly. She wouldn't speak to her husband. She wouldn't see the baby. Not after she had tried to kill the poor thing. What a mother she was. All she could do was stare at her own hollowed, sickly eyes in the mirror. Everyone expected so much of her. Her husband's mother despised her. She constantly chided her. You've never taken care of your infant. She wasn't welcome here, in her husband's family. Aeryn Ay, her mother-in-law, was a weather-beaten woman. She had seen much, and was sour to the weak. Occasionally Aeryn would call her Amyra, and turn bitter. Aeryn's son was a mess, an artist, who claimed he was destined for greatness. An artist who married a fragile, delicate girl, who was now sick and turned to the family for help. But Aeryn was happy to leave her alone. Even her baby wouldn't recognize her touch. So she stayed in the room provided her, crying blood and locking the door. Eating little, sleeping little, combing her hair shakily. "Madam?" the voice at the door persisted. "I am sick," was her response. "The doctor came in the morning." Yes, the doctor came, and told me I was sick in the mind. It was that child that destroyed her, after all. She wasn't weak before the child. But now, that poor infant, months old, took everything from her. Her husband tried every day to speak to her, try the lock, hope the door was open. But her pride would keep her silenced. And her mother-in-law scoffed at her son, who kept trying. And her son grew more desperate as his wife grew weaker. And the child, the small child, would cry and cry. She was like her mother. "Yes, the doctor came in the morning." "Your child, miss? Shall we bring her?" "Yes." Sitting down, a small infant was brought to her arms. A girl, with thin light hair and bright eyes. Only months old. Astra, she whispered as she held her daughter close, I'm dying Astra. Your family doesn't want me here. But you'd have wanted me here, Astra. You'd have held me. I tried to kill you, dear. I'm not well. Not now. But I will see you again. I will see you again. I will see you again. ----------- The mug hit the wood bar with confidence as foam splashed about. A low chuckle rose from his chest, "The deal is done then." "Done," she dug her nails into the wood, but still smiled haughtily to counter him. A crooked grin widened across his face. It was all a game of power. Astra looked him angrily in the eyes: "I owe no debts, they are paid." "None," he confirmed. She was now the prey, in the games. "But be aware--" he paused, grabbing her hand and slowly crushing her knuckles, "I'm betting on you." Astra swung her wrist around, almost dislocating his arm by surprise, and jumped over the counter to his side. She grabbed his ragged shirt and pulled the tall, large man down close to her, snarling. "Your bets mean nothing. I will win." He laughed. "I like you." Before he left, he paused to turn back at Astra, "You will win, and our deal is set. Or, you will die, and you've paid in blood." The mug slid off the counter and shattered, but it couldn't have bothered Astra now. Because now, she had a mission. Even if they weren't counting on her, they were betting on her. And in her world, that meant more. She hated having unpaid debts. She couldn't lose now. Not yet. ---------- I wish the lighthouse were the sun And all the land, the sea. I wish all sailboats seas have spun Came back to carry me. I wish the wind would be my shawl, Not bite my neck and skin, I wish my feet would slip and fall, A silence in the din. The raging rocks would rip my flesh, The stinging salt would slice, The sinews shucked, the blood all fresh, The sea my only vice. No, my limbs won’t tear today, The rocks won’t see the sound Of my shrill voice, lost on the way, My mind was never found ---------- Standing here in eidolon.

Astra fell to her knees, holding Mark's shoulders shakily, tears streaming her face. She tried to speak but all she could do was grip him tighter, and look into his frantic eyes as she felt the pain within her hollow chest grow. Away we came from away and I never felt so shamefully belonging and I want to leave but I can’t I need to stay like an animal who only knows a prison but I love the people and hate the people and it’s so suffocating it’s trying to kill me but it’s easier but it’s painful but it’s what I know and it’s all I know and everything I know and see is filled with that and I have a dream of the world but could I ever go or would that dream fail to me maybe it’s better I stay here but I want to start again and I love the blood but I want a community and I like the fight but I don’t like it too and I never felt so shamefully belonging in my blood-thirsty greedy casinos of bets and bets and wins and losses when all I want is to be different in a mass of difference and all I need is to be accepted in a crowd of danger and all I do is cry when I hold my love "Mark" her voice cracks slightly. I won't sear my flesh- not yet- as I stand here in eidolon. Astra's glistening pained eyes tinged with bitterness as she heard Corin's voice. They changed you, dear, they changed you. She shook her wild hair out by her shoulders. She held eye contact with Mark and just nodded, pulling him in for an embrace. Quietly, she whispered into his neck, "I'm proud of you." And then, summoning her own shardblade, she stood, shakily once more, gazing at the platform. She whispered to herself, "And I don't want to die." Of course Corin made it a bet. A casino, again. Didn't she miss it? Her life? Yes. Because here, the roles were switched. Back home, she had the luck of the draw. She had the upper hand. She had the advantage. She loved the risk and always won. Here, she wasn't so confident. Here, everything was on the line. Here, the risks were high, and she was in the role of the poor beggars crying on their knees at the casino, praying for a kind roll of the dice. Place your bets. It didn't truly matter, did it? Before the games, she would bet on both, and tell everyone she'd bet on someone different. Never be clear. It was only a matter of time before she endorsed the winner. Now, she was clueless. She had nothing- no one- to save her. And she hadn't seen Corin for what seemed like years. What seemed like a fever dream. But time was ticking, and bets were in. Someone needed to put money in first. Who could it be, but her? Pick a name, pick a name. What had she to lose? Her life? Mark? Pick a name, pick a name. It had been long since she had heard Corin's voice. Pick a name, pick a name. She glanced over at Mark. Pick a name, pick a name. She made no enemies here. Pick a name, pick a name. Tinker. It was a dark in the casinos.

"NO Jaksyn," Astra's eyes widened and welled. She tried to grasp breath but no such air existed. "You can't die now." She held his cold palm with one hand and the flower in the other. "You can't die yet." Her voice grew willowy and strained. Sawyin. Corin. Jaksyn. There was a relentless curse upon her, she was sure. "Stay with me." Astra helplessly glanced at Mark. "Stay here." Her weak 'please' was drowned in the silence of the death. Her hallowed eyes grew darker and mustier still. "Too long." Astra offered a flimsy excuse for a smile, her mind elsewhere. She eyed the spike carefully and turned back to make eye contact. "Shall we?" Astra stared into the distance blankly for a moment. In a low voice, her monotone semi-conscious couldn't help but ask: Where would I stab myself? She couldn't tell if it was a question to Mark or the spike, but any answer was better than what she had.

"I don't believe I am."

Astra smiled bitterly, her fear almost lost to the winds. Instead, her core hollowed out and filled with dust and dread. Her fist clenched, she stepped casually, almost drunkedly, towards the figure. Slowly. Step. Step. Approaching the deep black cloak. Hearing, not heeding, Mark's aimless words as they floated by her. The only thing she could hear- or feel- was the wind. The icy cold wind. And then there was her. And this cloak. And her life. "Hello."

Astra shrugged sourly. "Suit yourself."

"That's what they all believe, I'm sure." Astra almost scoffed. "It was the only way."

"Would you still kill her? If you could, again?" She lightly shook her head. "Knowing that when she died, the worst part of your nature would be born."

Astra's breath catches and she turns quickly to attend him. "Jaksyn?"

"I... No. I love the idea of her if she wasn't a spy. I was in love with the fake part of her, the facade, the mask. I don't think I ever met the true Sereine. It was all a farce." Marks eyes flare with anger. "She modeled herself to be perfect for me. There was nothing real about it." It was almost as if he were trying to convince himself of that fact. " I don't love her. In fact, I hate her. But I hate myself more, for killing her. Because she could have done great things. " He paused. "In killing her, I realized that all of her potential was eliminated from this world. Everything she could have been. Gone." "But no, I don't love her." "So you love her potential." She smiled softly. "You do not love her. You hate yourself."

"Mark." Astra was contemplative. When she did decide to speak, she said very little, asked simply as an inquisitive remark. "Do you still love her?"

"Stop- I need it- to stop-" Astra mutters incoherently, batting away at her hair, clothes, and eyelashes as the whisper surrounded her... grasping her... choking her- "STOP!" Astra shouts, hands at her ears, eyes shut. The wind was silent for only a moment. Or was that just her mind? Trapping her then encouraging her to run free. It was always a game. They're teasing me. She looked up. Vulnerable. "I'm fine." She straightened herself and her hair, the wind still nipping her whenever she wasn't looking, and her heartbeat thudding like fast footsteps in her chest. "I'm fine." She tried to foucs on her breathing, then on the others. "How are you?"

Astra tugged at the door but, upon realizing it was shut firmly, cursed under her breath. Astra's hands immediately go across her arms, wincing in the cold. She was caught of gaurd. Spinning her head left and right to check her bearings, she narrowed her eyes. "Let's move away from the wind."

"Oh. What-" Astra glanced around anxiously, eyes softened, "What killed him?"