HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 81

After surviving primary school, her mother's passing, a valedictorian speech, the almost-loss of her best friend, all of university senior year, all of university, all of her academic career—even Livia Cardew's wedding—choking on a spoonful of yoghurt and muesli seemed like such a foolish way to go. Yet, it had felt so undeniable, so unavoidable, as if her destiny.

Lilith had never felt closer to death than as she was asphyxiated by sludge studded with shards of nuts and fruits that jabbed painfully at her windpipe—closer even than when she was engulfed in darkness. The panic seemed so extreme it was beyond perception, her end so imminent and certain there was nothing to do.

For a moment, Lilith had resigned herself to her fate. Her remaining seconds while she waited for her mother to fetch her—maybe Andromeda would be there too—were not wasted bemoaning how laughable it was, but spent savouring a few of her most recent memories, glad she had them, glad she didn't have to hide them anymore...

Then the bittersweetness soured, and her diaphragm hurt with the effort of expelling grains and seeds trapped in a fermented medium, her throat throbbed where the odd-shaped solids had been lodged then forcefully dragged across its walls, her tongue burned with the taste of rancid milk and ultimate shame, her ears rang with her father's voice.

"Are you seeing General Snow?"

She had been so stunned by the question, delivered so matter-of-fact and without preamble, that her Sunday breakfast went down the wrong track. As Mae pounded her back, Lilith coughed out the final obstructions, adding flecks of strawberry and pecan and saliva to the mess sprayed across the tablecloth. Hastily, she wiped her mouth with her napkin and sloshed down a gulp of orange juice—it only augmented the nauseating tang.

"Daddy!" cried Lilith, heaving as she stared at him in disbelief and accusation, hopefully enough to conceal her guilt. "What makes you say that?"

His brows furrowed, his eyes traveling up and down her, her father regarded her in silence. Eventually, as though convinced that she was alive, the concern dissipated from his face, and he shrugged.

"I hear things."

"From who?"

"People." Placidly, he forked a wedge of pancakes into his mouth. Her father always sliced his while they were still stacked; she had picked up her habit from him. He chewed and swallowed. In the same casual, unhurried manner, he prompted, "So?"

"He's my boss!"

Her father sipped his tea—not honeysuckle, or even anything remotely floral, but a stronger, darker concoction brewed from shriveled, oxidized leaves—and replaced his cup to its saucer, wholly unperturbed.

"What's your point?"

Beside him, from Criseida, whom he had forced to dine here rather than in Val's room since the boy's screams could be heard from the other end of the house, came a stifled laugh. Immediately, her face lowered to her bacon and eggs, the only sound left was her knife serrating through the crisped meat. Still, it was crystal clear to Lilith what had just happened. The realization that her argument, her defense, was no defense at all spread inside her both cold and hot. She gaped at the couple that once composed exactly of a superior and a subordinate, wide-eyed and speechless.

Somehow, she managed to announce, "I'm going to change. I'll see you in the car."

In her room, Lilith peeled off her cream-coloured silk blouse speckled with stains and buttoned up a fresh, silvery one of a similar cut. Her skorts—comfortable soft shorts on the inside, a pretty pale blue mesh skirt sparsely embroidered with coin-sized doves carrying olive branches in their beaks on the outside—were thankfully still pristine. As she tucked in the tails of her top, Lilith could not help wondering about what her father had said.