wolf child, blood child, dark heart
"My little brother had you sent to the black cells when you annoyed him. What do you think I could do to you, if you annoyed me?”
It’s all I knew when I was a child.
Transcendence press conference, April 6th, 2014
Peeta gently lifts up the morphling and carries her the last few yards to the beach while Finnick and I keep our weapons at the ready. But except for the orange carcasses on the ground, the monkeys are gone. Peeta lays the morphling on the sand. I cut away the material over her chest, revealing the four deep puncture wounds. Blood slowly trickles from them, making them look far less deadly than they are. The real damage is inside. By the position of the openings, I feel certain the beast ruptured something vital, a lung, maybe even her heart.
She lies on the sand, gasping like a fish out of water. Sagging skin, sickly green, her ribs as prominent as a child’s dead of starvation. Surely she could afford food, but turned to the morphling just as Haymitch turned to drink, I guess. Everything about her speaks of waste—her body, her life, the vacant look in her eyes. I hold one of her twitching hands, unclear whether it moves from the poison that affected our nerves, the shock of the attack, or withdrawal from the drug that was her sustenance. There is nothing we can do. Nothing but stay with her while she dies.
hermes (requested by godmaking)
into the house came hermes in the shape of a young man, unforeseen, uncaught, eluding the doorkeeper with his robber’s foot … into a corner of the house he led her in surprise to tell his secrets, and spoke in the language of men
Of all those at the high table, only Sansa Stark was not smiling.
'This is how I greet everyone now'