REVENANT | Coriolanus Snow

Chapter 9

" Just like that Eve, good job!" Enya encouraged, grinning warmly at the dancing nine year old.

The local children, all filled with excitement, laughed as they attempted to mimic her moves, their enthusiasm more than palpable in the air.

It was a Sunday afternoon at the hob, a day Enya liked to spend with the kids of her district, which was not only enjoyable for her, but for the exhausted parents as well.

A member of the Covey was playing the guitar for them, sitting cross-crossed on the edge of the stage.

Enya, ever the patient one, gently adjusted the children's positions and demonstrated the steps, trying to keep up with their boundless energy.

"Enya, Enya, Enya, look!" Screamed Ollie, the ten year old who never missed any of her lessons , as he started gliding and moving his arms along with the motion, earning an enthusiastic applause from the brunette.

"You're killing it, Ollie!" She laughed, looking down when she felt someone tug at her skirt. "Cole?"

"Me too, me too. I can do it too." He insisted, still tugging repeatedly at her clothes.

With a big smile, Enya crouched down and picked him up, balancing him against her hip. "Of course you can." She cooed, booping nose with the six year old.

Enya had a particular soft spot for the youngest child to attend her Sunday lessons.

"Enny, who's that?" He asked, his words coming out muddled as his fingers fiddled idly with his mouth.

Enya frowned, turning her head to the main entrance of the hob, face immediately lighting up when she realised who it was.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Coriolanus greeted, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

His story was always meant to be a grand one – one of those great, exciting tales that parents tell their children at night when the fire is dim and their blanket can no longer stave off the cold.

Though they might fall asleep with empty, aching stomachs, they would, at least, have rousing dreams of the great Coriolanus Snow. The war hero.

He would study people in order to figure out how he could win. That was always his goal, something Gaut had beat into him.

It isn't about the effort if you don't win.

He's still not quite sure how he's managed to be dragged here. A place so far below him it might as well be in hell, and yet he's here, in this grimy, nasty place with lights that flicker and make the already dim place even more dim.

He'd harboured a deep hate for the district even before setting foot in it. But that was the price he had to pay for being a winner.

"And what is something a winner should never have, Coriolanus?"

"A weakness."

"And do you know what is the most dangerous weakness of them all?"

Love.

That one-of-a-kind feeling teenagers and old musicians speak of.

Love gave you a weakness. A liability. Something anyone could use against him. Something he would use against someone.

and most of all, love was not something he needed.

And he was convinced that he will never harbour such emotion for anyone. Not even for his family.

He cared about Tigris. He cared about Ma. He liked Enya.

He didn't love.

Why Enya? one might ask.