The Desert's Edge ➣ Gloss/OC

Each silvered note the very stars astound,

Chapter Eleven | Each silvered note the very stars astound,

"Why, such is love's transgression.

Grief of mine own lie heavy in my breast,

Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest

With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own."

1.1, 184-188 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

"Tell me about District 1," she asks him one night. They're both coming down from the high of being together, wrapped up in the blankets to stave off the chill of early winter. Gloss isn't used to the cold as much as she is, and he's got the blankets tucked over his chest as they lie side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Soft silence cascades around them, broken only by the sound of her sudden and rather odd question. She's never bothered asking about his home before. She'd never much cared to know more about him, but for some reason she wants to know everything in this moment.

He turns his head to look at her and asks, "District 1? Why?"

It's an understandable question. They've never spoken about their personal lives. Not the ones that aren't dictated by the Capitol, at least. Somehow, it always felt like an invasion of privacy to bring the subject up. Almost as if it is a barrier that shouldn't be crossed.

Elara is curious, though. Her mother always said that her curiosity would be her undoing.

She catches his eye and shrugs, lifting her arms over her head in a soft stretch before replying, "We might as well talk about something while we're lying here." There's a slightly sarcastic drawl in her tone that makes him snort.

"I don't like pillow talk," he tells her gruffly, but the shard of amusement in his gaze informs her that he doesn't really mean it.

She nudges his side with an elbow and laughs, "Fine. I'll tell you about District 5, then, and you can just lay there and listen until you fall asleep on me."

This time, her voice is joking, but her eyes are serious. To be honest, she is waiting for him to fall asleep. He looks exhausted. He'd mentioned before, briefly, that his schedule is hectic this week. That he can't wait to get back home so he can actually sleep. She's suggested that they do this again at some other time if he's so tired, but Gloss had just pulled her into him and that was that. Now, though, his eyes are drooping and his breath is deep, and even though he's blinking at her from the other side of the bed, he looks like he's seconds away from falling asleep.

Still, he manages a smirk. "Do whatever you want, Winston."

She does, as usual. Her stubborn nature is strangely addicting to him, as well as the confident way she rolls over, props herself on her elbows, and begins to spin a picture of her home. To his surprise, he actually finds himself paying close attention to her. She's got a way with words. When he closes his eyes, he could almost imagine the landscape that she paints for him.

"Of course you've heard about the Coriolanus 9 plant," she begins, resting her chin on her hand. "It's huge – you can see it from anywhere in the district. On a rare day when it's actually sunny, the panels on the sides shine like silver. It's usually overcast, though. There's a gigantic lake just outside the district that we use as our power source – hydroelectrical energy, you know? – and no matter what time of year it is, everything's always cold and damp."

Gloss hums dryly, "Sounds awful."

She chuckles, "You get used to it. It rains a lot. There's nothing like the sound of the rain though. It's comforting."