Arachne Kentwell

She moves towards one of the chairs when she feels Enobaria’s hand at her back, urging her towards the chairs set up, one for each of them. She is almost in a daze as she dose so, her feet moving though her mind doesn’t seem to connect with the movements. A year ago today Clove’s hand had shot up into the air with a clear ‘I volunteer as tribute’. A year ago today, Arachne felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. She had to keep her niece alive. But she had failed. Today she has no stake in the matter, except for the two little slips of paper with her own handwriting on them. A boy named Evander Mason and a girl named Beatrix Dale, two chosen at random from the eighteen year olds at the Academy. It didn’t matter, they had volunteers she was sure. 

Arachne continues to fidget with the layers of her dress throughout the escort’s speech and the mandatory showing of the Capitol video. She has torn a piece of the tulle and now is working on shredding that piece into even smaller strips when she feels a hand atop her own. Her gaze snaps up to look at Enobaria only to realize it is not Eno’s hand atop her own. Her gaze is returned to her own hand, finding nothing there. Justice to calm her nerves she is sure, but she shakes her hand and the feeling away. She does not look for him. He is dead she reminds herself. 

The girl volunteers and Arachne pays her little mind. She will be the girl’s mentor, but she will push that off on Eddie. She does not want to go to the Capitol anyway, but is being forced. She needs a glass of wine, or something harder. The escort’s hand is still in the boy’s bowl when a voice calls out ‘I volunteer as tribute’. And she knows that voice. It’s the same one that haunts her, belongs to the hand that had stopped her tearing at her dress just moments before. Her gaze snaps up to see the young man as he saunters to the stage. She is thrown back nearly a decade. 

She stands on that same stage. Hair pulled back in braids. Black skinny jeans and a flannel that’s easily two sizes too big hanging around her shoulders. She’s just volunteered. She is grinning. It leaves though the second she hears Justice’s voice ring out through the District Square. No, this was supposed to be her turn. She couldn’t go into the arena with him. Her heart is racing. She prays someone else will kill him, but even that thought kills her inside. She can’t imagine a life without him. Why did he do this?

“Welcome!” The escort exclaims into the microphone. “What’s your name young man?” Arachne is suddenly lost in her own mind, her own memories.

‘Justice Shade.’ 

‘Welcome Justice.’ The escort pauses as if listening to something and then glancing to Arachne. ‘Do you know Arachne?’ The cameramen move in, one aiming at her, the other on the escort and Justive.

When he glances at her, there’s a look of betrayal on her face, but also hurt shines behind her eyes. 

‘Yea she and I are… we’ve been partners for years.’ 

She fells as if her heart is shattering. Fuck you, she mouths to Justice.

Gladly, it is mouthed back with that stupid smirk on his face. He thinks this is a game, but she is pissed. Her chest hurts. She wants to scream and yell at him. But she can't. This is their first impression for the Capitol. 

“Lazarus Shade.” The alteration to what she so clearly remembers, drags her back to the present. He looks so much like his brother though. He was barely to her shoulders when she and Justice had gone into the arena. But now, he stands head and shoulders taller than her. He is a spitting image of Justice and it sends her heart racing. 

“Lazarus Shade!” The escort repeats as she steps back to take both his and the girl’s hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your tributes of the 75th Hunger Games!” There is thunderous applause, but it is drowned out by the sound of her heart beating in her ears. 

He takes her hand and raises it high. She wants to kill him where he stands, but she can’t. She won’t kill him. She snatches her hand away and stalks towards the Justice Building. 

There is a clatter as her eyes drop to her hand, feeling again that ghostly touch, only to see blood on both her hands. Her chair tumbles backwards as she stands abruptly, wiping her hands on her dress and fleeing towards the building behind them all. Enobaria is hot on her heels, but much more graceful in her exit. But she doesn’t want Eno. Eno had to know and Eno didn’t tell her. 

Arachne didn't want to be here. Not with Cato. Not with Eddie. Not with anyone. Clove had died the year before. She'd had to go on Cato's victory tour with him. She was over it. And if that wasn't enough. Justice wouldn't leave her alone.

She couldn't be on the second floor, just couldn't deal with the familiarity, the memories, the haunting of everything from the past. She'd already shed the stupidly girly dress her stylist had forced her into for the reaping - since when did she wear pink? - and pulled on a familiar flannel that hung big enough on her frame to almost be a dress. Before Eddie could stop her, she'd disappeared from the second floor and made herself at home on District One's floor - specifically behind the closed door of Cashmere's bedroom.

Arachne had helped herself to a platter of strawberries and a bottle of wine undoubtedly left out for One's team in the lobby, glaring at an avox who looked as if he might try to stop her. Now she laid across Cashmere's bed with what remained of the strawberries beside her and the half empty bottle of wine on the other woman's nightstand, a glass of the red liquid in hand.

The sound of the door opening didn't phase her. Green hues merely swept up to meet brown. "Can I sleep here tonight?" She asked instead of greeting Cashmere. It wasn't even afternoon yet.