REVENANT | Coriolanus Snow

Chapter 1

He killed his mother when he was born. He didn't even have a chance to be held by her before she haemorrhaged in her hospital bed while a nurse wrapped him in blankets.

He doesn't remember this original sin but many other people do.

He was a sinner from the very moment he took his first breath.

There's a vacancy that overtakes his mind sometimes- distant and scared at its core.

It's when his mind wanders off to the darkest depths , where he struggles to breathe or find his own thought...

Beneath the harsh spray of the shower head, Coriolanus considered remaining here for the rest of his life, which he gathered would only be a few minutes at most.

It was a tempting thought, almost too tempting, to simply stand there and let the stress of life seep out of him as the water seeped in.

Alas,

The promise of a band playing at the Hob that night had filled the peacemakers' bathrooms with excitement.

Coriolanus and a couple of others headed out ( more like he's been dragged, but oh well), wanting a change of pace from the usual routine.

Coryo couldn't remember the last time he had more than a few minutes of fun. The weight of his new duties on his shoulders pushed on him too heavily, almost crushing his ribs and suffocating him from the inside.

He wanted out.

His life was back in the Capitol.

Not in some dirty district.

He doesn't know which part of his situation he despises the most. Is it Sejanus' smug face? Looking as though he has achieved something, when all he has done is take what should have been Coryo's? And also has the guts to be ungrateful about it?

Or is it that he has to endure this whole ordeal for who knows long before getting sent back home?

Either way, it was before long that the group arrived at the Hob, which looked like a warehouse of some kind. It had definitely seen better days.

Along the walls, a few makeshift stalls displayed odds and ends, much of them secondhand. Among the offerings, Coriolanus saw everything from candle stubs to dead rabbits, homemade woven sandals to cracked eyeglasses— and so on.

Coriolanus looked over at one of the guys in his group and asked about tickets but people waved him off.

"They don't take their pay 'til after," he'd replied "Better get a seat if you want a good one. Expecting a crowd. The girl's back."

Lucy Gray, he knew of.

Getting a seat involved grabbing an old crate, or plastic bucket from a pile in the corner and staking out a spot where you could see the stage, which was no more than an arrangement of wooden pallets at one end of the Hob.

Coriolanus chose one against the wall, about halfway back.

Did Lucy know he was here? Probably not, as no one would have informed her. In this place, he was just another guy, and his achievements in the Hunger Games were hardly acknowledged.

The Hob began to fill with a mix of Peacekeepers and locals, mostly men but with a fair number of women as well.

There must've been close to two hundred assembled in all when a skinny boy of about twelve, in a hat adorned with colorful feathers, came out and set up a single microphone on the stage, running a cord to a black box off to the side.

He dragged a wooden crate behind the mic and retreated to an area blocked with a raggedy blanket.

His appearance had set off something in the crowd, and people began to clap in unison, in a manner that proved contagious. Even Coriolanus found his hands joining in.

Voices called for the show to begin, and just when it seemed it never would, the side of the blanket flipped back, and out stepped a girl in a pink swirl of a dress.

She gave a curtsy.

The audience cheered as Lucy Gray began to play the guitar that hung from a strap around her neck and to dance her way to the microphone.

"Hey, everybody, thanks for coming out tonight! Is it hot enough for you?" she asked in a sweet voice, and the crowd laughed. "Well, we're planning on heating things up a bit more. The Covey's back!!"

The crowd rose to their feet and applauded.

And then she started singing.

Coriolanus waited to feel something, anything. Maybe a pang, or a tightening in his chest.

But he felt nothing.

He'd come to terms with the fact that she had been a means to an end, albeit an unexpected one, and he was at peace with it.

He's helped her survive, and it cost him. He didn't regret that, but...he did wish he hadn't been caught cheating.

the sink of teeth and groping hands, wine in his throat and sugar clumped between his teeth, the stench of sweat and blood - what wouldn't he do for this? His every sense overwhelmed, buzzing, devoured—

Lazy blue eyes slide through the crowd as the music continues to play, only stopping their expedition when they fall on her.

Her.

There was some sort of circle getting formed around her, the men and women cheering as the girl's body moved fluidly to the rhythm, in sync with the music.

Coriolanus found his feet guiding him closer without even realising, his arms pushing the people out of the way absentmindedly as through he wasn't in control of his own body.

He didn't know her, but he had a feeling that if he'd pointed to her through the crowd, someone would say her name. Everyone knows her, they'd say. And he'd nod because he did, even if he didn't, which he will by the end of the night — not because he had spoken to her, perhaps, but because he would have spoken to everyone about her, and they would tell him all the things he needed to know.

She was a blur of wild curls, so bright that when he looked at her, he felt the need to shield his eyes, no better than a slice of sun rays, but he couldn't , of course.

Because he couldn't look at anything but her.

"Hey..." he trailed off, as he tapped the guy next to him, gaze never once leaving the girl. "Who's that?"

The old man next to him turned to look at the direction Coriolanus was staring at, realisation dawning upon his face, soon followed by a knowing chuckle.

"That my boy, is Enya Fedorov"