Chapter Text
Coriolanus had been in a state of denial about the taxes.
The reality of his family’s displacement had been a glaring problem, sure, but he always imagined it would atleast be a faraway one.
A terrible miscalculation on his part, truly.
Not that he'd admit it. Not to anyone, not to himself even, but as he stands suffering from making judgements based off unreliable sources alone, Coriolanus relents how he'd been set up to fail from the start.
Because that's where everything began, hadn't it? From the rampant rumors intentionally spread to cause misinformation among the masses. To maliciously allow them to be reliant on it, unconsciously molding their beliefs from the rumor mill, of all places.
In hindsight, Coriolanus belatedly acknowledges how pathetic it would seem for their esteemed family to fall prey on false rumors. As the Snow heir, Coriolanus should have known better. Done better. But as it was, he and most Capitol citizens were taken off guard overhearing the rampant rumors that their beloved city was deciding to levy a property tax for the first time ever in its history.
It was absurd, Coriolanus initially thought. Unthinkable. Afterall, only the Districts ever get taxed. That, among others, was the price to pay for their failings in the war.
Another chain linked to their shackles.
The ever-tightening noose that the Capitol tied around the District's necks ever since they were brought down to their knees for their attempt to break loose from the Capitol's hold.
The same rope which the city had wielded expertly for the menagerie of reasons evident for all to see; To flaunt their victory. To smother the last embers of the rebels' aggression. To bring all Districts to heel. To remind them who it is that holds their fate, who holds the iron-grip on their necklace of rope.
But what Coriolanus, and most Capitol residents, had not expected to see was a rope being made to fashion around their own necks. Their rope, while studded with gems and gold, while presented perfectly inside a velvet lined box, was still that, a noose.
Coriolanus refused to believe it. Denied it even as he watched the rope being made, decorated, and knotted in front of his very eyes.
This isn't supposed to happen, he'd insist still. Not to them, never them.
Never the Capitol's citizens that housed Panem's most wealthiest and most influential families. They, who were the true victors from the egregious war, they who played and won the games, they, who should be standing on top over all the Districts and not beside them on the execution hall.
Recent murmurs, however, had proven otherwise.
It was overdue, some had said. Inevitable, even. Seeing as post-war finances had been lacking and reconstruction needs had to be met. With a select few lobbying for the implementation, claiming that it was necessary. To help rebuild the Capitol, to finally start getting over the dark days, to move on with their lives and put the bloody war behind them. While a growing sum had feared what the levy implied, speculating that the funds pooled had been in preparation for something. For what, they weren't certain, but that didn't mean they couldn't theorize over it. The most popular of theories was that it was to better arm them for another civil war that was bound to break out from the districts. Maybe even from here, in the heart of Panem, where rebel sympathizers might still be hiding, keeping their heads low until the right moment and then they would strike. For a reoccurrence of the Dark Days and even darker times to be upon them once more.
But those were just that, rumors.
The details were obscure as it always seemed to change by the very minute, from every pass of lips. Of which, immensely helped Coriolanus to brush off as hearsay. As nonsensical conspiracies created by those with too much time on their hands, seeking to sow fear in the masses. Whereas, personally, Coriolanus could only find solace in the uncertainty of it all, in knowing that those rumors were neither here nor there.
Nothing definite yet, he would tell himself.
Nothing in their near future to worry about, he would say.
Just as all rumors repeated, he would parrot those two assurances to himself.
Those two things that all rumors had in commonality. Giving him something similar to consolation to revel in.
Because based on all the numerous rumors circulating, it had those two things they could agree on: That the city had still been in heavy discussion over implementing the taxes. That it was more than likely to continue to do so indefinitely.
Thinking that the discussion would still be a long time coming, Coriolanus thought they were safe. But then the televised conferences started airing. Of which gave way to another set of problems he didn't have the headspace to worry about.
So every day after class, for months on end, Coriolanus would helplessly watch their esteemed officials and how their so called 'talks' in the conference would play out. And that's exactly what they were doing, weren't they? How their decorated leaders were behaving? Playing around. No better than schoolyard children fighting for the same shiny, new toy they had been given. Screaming, crying, throwing tantrums, and making a general spectacle of themselves. It made the business of how their talks were progressing, which was to say, not at all, reach a standstill.
Watching them left Coriolanus feeling conflicted.
Had this been the Capitol's best and brightest? Was this all they could offer to their gem of a city?
Certainly not.
He was still here, wasn't he? All was not lost.
And Coriolanus truly believed that he could have done better. Given the chance, that is. On different circumstances his father could—Oh. His father.
Coriolanus refused to believe that his father would have died in the war for this. To leave his family and their city to the whims of these— these incompetent and spoiled children parading around with their full pockets and empty heads thinking they knew better.
How his father would have despaired at the sight of them making a fool of themselves, how it would reflect badly on them all. How he would have raged. He must be turning in his grave now if he knew what had become of his beloved city.
His father's city, Coriolanus thought. Not theirs.
He thought of how Panem had once been their family's responsibility to protect. To serve.
Not the mockery they made of it now. That was the worst, wasn't it? That their leaders of today had the gall to try and chalk up their endless bickering as heated debates. Lobbying that it was for—what was it? Ah, yes.
'For the sake and well-being of the citizens and the good of Panem.'
What a load of bull, more like. Their words were empty. Their promises of caring for their well-being, hollow.
Nothing but pretty little lies to distract them from the real agenda; To bleed the people dry.
And they thought that was service to the nation? The audacity of the lot of them. Coriolanus would've been entertained if only it weren't his future they were playing with. His family's. They do so with very little regard, no less.
That being said, the back and forth alone between the high-ranking officials would probably take years upon years of further discussion before they could eventually decide on the specifics, which was good for Coriolanus and his family. By that time, he and Tigris would've already graduated and be employed, and their fear of the tax implementation would already be far behind them. No harm done, really.
Take as long as you need, Coriolanus implored them internally. He imagined that the officials were taking their sweet time, too busy arguing for their own benefits. Trying to get an edge for their selves and their respective families. Not unlike the Plinths had done, profiteering as they did from the long-suffering war that devastated both the Capitol and the Districts. Only to come out victorious themselves. Wealthier than ever, to boot.
What unprecedented luck the Plinths had. Or was it old Strabo's cunning that led his family to it? Either way, their success had been sought after by the old families. Not that they would ever admit to doing so, but they were trying to replicate it. They couldn't be upfront about it, though. Oh, no. Their social upbringing called for class. To be discreet about their efforts in trying to use the levy and the property tax as means to reach newer heights.
And try they did. He witnessed time and time again as the officials try to mask their greed with faux care. Claiming that the tax was essential. Citing everything had been in the name of their duty to serve and protect the Capitol and its citizens, or whatnot.
But who would believe them to be as selfless as they claimed to be when they could not hide such hunger in their eyes? With their methods, so crude? So blatant. So plain to naked eye that even a child could see through the veneer they hide behind like a sheer scarf.
It was pathetic, but despite it, Coriolanus couldn't blame them for doing exactly what he would have done if it was him and his family in their shoes. He would do exactly that and more. Coriolanus would have stolen, cheated, lied, and manipulated anyone without question. If it meant they would not be as they are now, then so be it.
Not that Tigris would've approved of that, but still, it's the thought that counts.
Anyways, that was the current situation of their politics. Seemed to stay that way for a good while, anyway. Not a great situation to be caught in between of, to watch it had laid heavy for Tigris and their grandmother, so they had stopped watching the broadcasts altogether.
Which was how Coriolanus came to rely on rumors as of late. And last he heard of the situation was the usual. That they're still fighting over every clause, every notion ranging from whether or not to implement the levy altogether, the merits of it, whether the Capitol residents would subject themselves to comply to it. Which they obviously would not, therefore, talks on how to delicately handle the situation. To try and prevent the possible backlash of the residents that could perpetually swallow their city whole. Afterall, a civil war breaking out would only serve the Districts if the Capitol turned on itself now.
So, overall? There was nothing for him to worry himself sick over. Not yet anyways. It was but a bridge to cross and conquer for an older Coriolanus Snow. Who, in his mind's eye, he had always imagined as someone better equipped to handle everything life throws at him and his family. Someone more capable, who would have more experience under his belt, who could do more with the various opportunities in his grasp, someone with more connections to pull and angle to his advantage.
A problem for his future self to deal with and not for him to pull his curls over to solve. In fact, he had been secretly hoping that anyone else could solve it for him. For someone to swoop in and somehow take the burden from his shoulders. He would welcome help from anyone, even from the grandma'am at this point.
As long as it was not his burden to carry. Not his problem to solve. Because realistically? He knew he couldn't. Not at mere fourteen anyway.
Not now, as he was getting his things ready for school tomorrow. Especially not as he stood shock still at the entrance of his cousin's bedroom, hands frozen on the loose button of his uniform dress shirt he was planning to ask Tigris to mend for him. But the request died on his lips as he stared at the tax notice clutched in her needle-pricked, calloused fingers. The seemingly innocent letter (not at all unlike the ones they received from invitations to Capitol parties, parades, or national events) that managed to stare back at him somehow. It was like staring at a car crash. It was a damn horrible sight to witness, and yet, you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from the burning flames.
Not like this. Never like this, was all his mind could supply.
This was not what he imagined for himself.
Never in his wildest dreams would Coriolanus have wished to be caught unaware and unprepared facing the most challenging development in his life with only a threadbare shirt and a button hanging loose off its cuff as his only weapon in hand.
Now his wishful daydreams of the future, that someone, somehow would take care of this problem for him, that all that would be required of him was to focus on was his studies, finding something to eat, and keeping up appearances for the public, was laughable.
How idiotic had he been? How desperate? To push the levy from his mind, and for what purpose? So that he could hold delusions of grandeur that would lull him into a false sense of security? So he could sleep better at night? How pathetic.
The mere thought that the world would wait for him to get his bearings was a mistake.
Why would it would give him the luxury of time when it could not even grant him the slightest ounce of kindness? Of common courtesy? Or at the very least, some semblance of respect? No. It would not wait for him. It certainly didn't wait to give him the chance to grieve. Not as his father was killed with the rebel bullet that found a home in his head during the war, not as his mother died in heartbreak over losing him, not as she had taken his unborn little sister into the hereafter with her, not as their entire fortune had gone up in flames along with District 13. It would not give him a reprieve, not one moment to catch his breath. And he could not spare so much time lamenting his losses when he could barely keep their heads above water as it was. So, why had he ever thought that this time would be different? How could he be so—
Stupid. So very stupid!
Instead of searching for a solution early on, he had wasted precious time wanting desperately to put away the thought, trying not to keep himself awake at night from overthinking, wanting to delude himself that it would not affect him yet despite the rumors of the tax implementation having already reached his school. The levy muttered within the hallways, whispered around corners, from curved fingers murmured to listening ears. He thought himself smart by focusing on his studies. Trying to maintain his position at the top of his classes. How short sighted of him. What good did it do him now?
Looking back on this memory later, he would have pleaded with any higher being to have prevented this night from occuring. The catalyst of the string of events that would unfold due to it. Knowing that it would have suited him far better if he had just stayed in his room, blissfully unaware, and slept as he should be doing and not barging in to his cousin's room in the dead of the night.
Why couldn't he have waited until tomorrow? Or better yet, mended the damn button himself and saved himself the heartbreak? But deep inside, he knew why. That he was abysmal at sewing at best, that he couldn't risk botching up his sole shirt, not when he had a perfectly needle-gifted cousin that could do it for him a couple of doors away, not as he saw the streaming warm light that was still on underneath her bedroom door.
And so, there he was, knocking on the pink door of her room. Opening to see the familiar sight of the cracked ceiling paint and peeling outdated wallpapers. Not at all prepared to find his cousin crouched over her sewing table staring at the tax letter she had clutched tightly on one hand and trying hopelessly to muffle her cries with the other, as tears upon tears had streamed down her face.
Some detached part of himself had briefly wondered when she had last seen her crying like that? Not moved to tears because she found something touching, or her enduring capacity to give empathy to strangers, or because something had tugged at her heartstrings, but genuinely crying her eyes out?
Coriolanus didn't know. He couldn't remember.
His next thought was how she hadn't cried herself to death yet, with the amount of fluids she seemed to be losing. Thinking that it couldn't have been healthy, nor advisable. But neither was her slowly suffocating herself to death. Atleast, that's what she seemed to be doing judging by how tightly her fingers were clasped around her mouth and how little she seemed to be breathing, if she was at all.
Both seemed to be a painful way to die, he thought morosely.
Surely there were other methods. Personally, Coriolanus thought poison would be easier, if not a quicker way to go. Less painful, to boot.
But his macabre thoughts were halted as the unbidden thought crossed his mind.
Of Tigris gone.
That maybe that was what she was planning.
It didn't seem to match his endearingly vibrant cousin at all. To die quietly alone in her room, that is. With no one to bear witness her passing.
To go so quietly that no one would notice her leave until she was already gone. For her to die without her beloved family by her side, to bring her comfort in her final moments. So very at odds with how she lived. How she loved. How she liked to dress. Ever so colorful, ever so lively.
Always burning brightly and proudly.
It was concerning. The very thought of losing his only cousin in that way.
To be left behind taking care of grandma'am by himself, having to shoulder paying the apartment bills, the upcoming monthly taxes, and daily meals all alone. All whilst balancing his education among everything else.
The mere thought had him feeling light-headed and wrong-footed. Made him feel a deep sense of loss. An ache in his being that couldn't put a name to.
It frustrated him to no end. Not knowing.
What was it called? This pain? Was it grief? But that didn't make any sense.
How could you grieve for the living? Coriolanus asked himself.
Someone who was alive, sitting right here in front of you? A bit broken and a little pained, perhaps, but still here. Still breathing.
More sobs broke free from her, leaving her as a shuddering mess. All of a sudden, Coriolanus thought that he didn't want to know the answer to that question, nor did he plan to find out.
And so, he had knocked again, to call her attention to him. Three loud raps in quick succession but Tigris did not seem to give notice of it.
Still hunched. Still crying her eyes out.
Not that he could not see why she couldn't hear it, not over the sounds her pitiful sobs, certainly not over her loud spiraling thoughts which he could hear all the way from the entrance of her door.
Therefore, it was a surprise that she heard the small, broken cry escaping unwittingly from Coriolanus' throat. Something he was too late to stamp down on.
It wasn't a sound he had known to make before. It didn't sound remotely human either. More wounded animal than anything really.
Any given time, it would have embarrassed him to no end. But all he could think was how his cousin looked so very, very tiny like that. All the more seeing her bent over and curled in on herself like she was. She appeared smaller and insignificant, like that letter in her hand, the two words printed in its front. Seemingly benign, like the words had not just condemned his entire family to their deaths.
The sound that had passed his lips, came unbidden and unwelcome. All from the mere sight of his strong cousin breaking down. At the sight of that damned letter that would do the same to him if he didn't get a grip on himself sooner.
But what's done is done. The sound escaped from its holdings in his chest, unable to recall it back. His broken cry had snapped Tigris from her despair and she turned her attention to him.
Her reddened eyes rounded in surprise at the sight of him awake. It must've been from the shock, but Tigris had finally, finally stopped crying. It was a relief for Coriolanus. He didn't know what to do if it continued to persist. He didn't know how, he never had to console his cousin before. It was always the other way around, her comforting him.
Tigris belatedly remembered the contraband she was holding and tried to hide the notice behind her back. Like she didn't want him to see.
She shouldn't have bothered. Coriolanus already saw it in it's entirety.
The thick white paper with Panem's red wax sigil as well as the black, bold, no-nonsense text with 'Tax Notice' stiffly emblazoned on the front of it instead of the gold, curly-script lettering Capitol letters usually favored. Or maybe that was only reserved for happier events instead of formal documents like this one?
Who knew? Coriolanus couldn't bring himself to care about it all that well anymore.
What he needed to know was its contents.
"Oh, Coryo. Did I wake you?" She tried, and spectacularly failed to seem unaffected.
It was never her strong suit. Acting nonchalant and unaffected, those were a core-trait of a Snow.
From acting collected when you were anything but, to putting on a mask of cool indifference, to acting as if nothing could touch you, hurt you.
Like you didn't bleed like the rest of humanity did.
Tigris was the only Snow he met that couldn't manage to do so.
Even his mother, a true lady with all her gentleness and grace, could hide behind a calm facade if need be.
Their upbringing called for it. Demanded it, even.
But Tigris was a Snow that wore her heart on her sleeve. Always has and most probably always will.
Coriolanus didn't know which was worse.
To her ever growing benefit, what Tigris couldn't make do from cool indifference, she made up for by putting on a ever joyful front. Usually sunny, warm, and happy.
It didn't do her any service now, though. Tigris had tried to give a smile but it seemed more like a pained wince than anything.
Her voice cracking, hoarse and defeated as it was, hadn't helped her case either as she tried to apologize for waking him and asked what she could help him with.
He couldn't, for the life of him, get his mouth to open to answer her. To ask her instead, What are you doing? What was are you playing at?
He saw her eyes drop to the shirt he was clutching for dear life. The vice grip had left wrinkles on it. It wasn't ideal since he still had to wear it come morning, so he relaxed his hold on it.
Tigris tried to reach for that, a lifeline. A way to divert him from the letter.
"Ah, did you want me to fix that up for you? Give it here, Cor—"
"When did the notice arrive?" He asked instead, cutting her off.
He didn't want to play whatever game his cousin was trying to pull right now. They needed to talk about the proverbial elephant in the room instead of acting like he didn't see it. Like it wasn't behind her thin frame, holding the death sentence to their lives as they know it.
He had extended his palm in front of her. Silently bidding her to pass on the notice to him. She made no move to give it.
"Tigris, please. Let me read it." His voice was calm, if a little on the quieter side, but it seemed steady. That was best he could hope for right now. Maybe if he seemed reliable right enough, he could coax the letter from behind his cousin's back. "Give it here and we'll figure it out together, okay? Please, Tigris. Let me help."
Tigris seemed to deflate at his pleas, she never could deny him much of anything. "Oh, Coryo. I'm so sorry. I meant to tell you earlier. It's just—" He stopped listening after she finally took out the letter again. It seemed like decades before she slowly reaching over to place it on his hands.
The date on the front had showed it had nearly been a day since it was delivered. Yesterday afternoon it seemed. Coriolanus closed his eyes and breathed deep to keep himself from shouting at his cousin and inevitably waking up their grandma'am and the whole Corso in his flare of anger.
How could she? Something of this importance? Something that all their lives had depended on?
It was a good thing he had caught her red handed, because how foolish he would seem at school in the morning as the entire student body would surely have known about the tax notice. The same notice that would have arrived for everyone's doorstep yesterday as well. They all had to know by now. Well, everyone else but him. It would been seen as a failure on his person to be out of the loop. To not be on top of his household.
Coriolanus breathed deep and slow for a good minute. For two. He needed all the seconds to ground himself.
"I wanted to tell you after you came home from school. I didn't want to distract you from your studies." He heard her say in a small, quiet voice.
He opened his eyes to the sight of her looking up at him in trepidation. With wide, red-rimmed eyes full of (what he quickly realized) was fear. Maybe his cousin knew him well enough to brace herself for the upcoming assault of words he would use to lash out on her. He never was a physical person. No, he wouldn't lower himself to assault. He wasn't district. Instead, he brandished words like you would a weapon. To strip you bare and leave you raw and bleeding.
Maybe he would have done it if it he weren't left so defeated after seeing her cry so much. Maybe he would revisit this another time, to rehash it when he's recovered enough from the shock. From his own despair. But right now, he was exhausted.
So instead, he crossed the threshold of her room and sat by her bed. Thinking better of it, he slumped and laid down on it. Tigris looked at him as if he had grown two heads in the span of time it took him to cross her room. When he turned his head to look at her, he gave no explanation, he simply patted the space left in the mattress. Beckoning her to join him.
And she did, if not a tad more wary than she should've. He was irritated at her hesitation, she knew that he was like. He wouldn't have hit her. He wasn't barbaric. But laying down on her bed like that had reminded him of when they were younger. Of how she had comforted him during the war. Comforted him when he'd fallen ill. How she patted his head so he could sleep, and little by little, he felt that wasn't as irritated with her anymore.
"You're taking this a lot better than I thought you would," she told him nervously.
It made him huff out a laugh. "I'm not. I'm just tired. Haven't slept well for some time now," Coriolanus explained simply. "I'm too exhausted."
She nodded solemnly. "Me, too."
Coriolanus knew she didn't simply mean that she was exhausted from crying. Coriolanus believed Tigris had been bone-tired from everything. Keeping the tax notice hidden from him and the grandma'am, from burning through her nights with her Academy classes, her work as Fabricia's intern slash servant girl, from taking care of them, from all the years she had to be the one to bring food to the table, from being everyone's emotional punching bag, and who knew what else. She was never one to complain.
That's why he couldn't bring himself to prod her. Not for answers he already knew the answers to, nor any explanations she couldn't give him. That wouldn't help their situation in any way unless he wanted to open them up for another argument.
So they stayed like that.
Both staring at her crack-lined ceiling for a good eternity. Just laying down, lost in their own thoughts.
When he seemed it far too long to bask in the silence, he had finally lifted the letter. "Ready to talk about this?" He waved it before them.
Tigris heaved a deep sigh and nodded.
They sat up and poured over the letter again. Crumpled and tear-stained, but still legible. Apparently, they had until six weeks to come up with the money. To scrape together the equivalent of Tigris’s income for the whole year.
It was an depressing amount of money that they didn't have. Not in hand, not saved, not anywhere to pool it from.
The cousins tried to assess what they might still have to sell, but even if they sold every stick of furniture, every keepsake and heirloom, it would only cover a few months, at the most.
And the tax bills would keep showing up, every month, like clockwork. They would need the proceeds from selling their possessions, however paltry, to rent a new place.
Eviction due to tax troubles had to be avoided at all cost. The public shame would be too great, too lasting. The possibility of their penthouse being taken by the city for failure to pay tax bills would be social suicide.
“What are we going to do?” Coriolanus asked, disheartened.
“Nothing. You don't have to do anything but to focus on your classes, Coryo. This shouldn't be your problem to deal with. I’ll handle this end. Don't worry,” she as firmly as she could. To book no room for arguments.
She wouldn't get any. Not from him. Not tonight, anyways.
Coriolanus nodded, for her sake. Tigris knew this and briefly squeezed his hand in gratitude.
She seemed to take his olive branch gratefully. She offered to him a cup of hot milk laced with corn syrup and made quick work of it before he could say no.
To help you sleep, she said as he drank the sweet milk and guided him back down. Coriolanus muttering his thanks as she stroked his weary head until he passed out on her bed.
Turns out, the sweet milk had done nothing to help him sleep.
He dreamed of concerning, unsettling things, replaying the nightmares he kept buried deep within, only to come to life before him.
Of him saying good-bye to the only home he’d ever known. To his mother, to his childhood, to those sweet memories of his life before the war he spent within the four walls of their penthouse. Watching as it crumbled into chunks.The debris crushing all his possessions, his room, his grandmother's favored rooftop garden. The roses that had been their family's symbol. Helpless, as the walls crumbled on itself, burying everything inside. No longer was it a place for fortitude. No longer was it able to keep his family safe from the world, to protect the legend of their family name.
He dreamt that not only had he lost his residence, but also his history, his identity, his dignity in one fell swoop.
Dripping in sweat, Coriolanus awoke to the usual, the sound of his grandmother singing. He looked around. The penthouse was still standing. Dingy and shabby, but solid. He heaved a sigh of relief.
Gem of Panem,
Mighty city,
Through the ages,
you shine anew.
Wincing as the grandma'am botched her rendition of the song once again. Coriolanus froze.
Grandma'am didn't know.
Would the Grandma’am still be singing if she did? No. Well, maybe? Coriolanus wasn't certain.
He was hoping to ask Tigris but there was no sign of her. Just his mended and crisply pressed shirt, a bowl of breakfast, and a note that was left for him on top of her sewing table. Waiting to be read.
He grabbed that and the breakfast first.
Dear Coryo,
Left early for the Academy, sorry I didn't wake you. You needed all the rest you could get. I'll get my paycheck today, hopefully we can try to pay off the tax in installments, I'll see if I can stop by the city office after I get home from work.
I'm sorry about last night. Thank you for being understanding. I don't think I had the chance to say it. Anyways, I made you breakfast, make sure you eat before you leave.
PS, I had your uniform fixed for you. Don't be late.
PPS, I haven't told the grandma'am yet. Be careful not to mention anything to her for now. We'll take care of it later, okay?
–All my love, Tigris
He read as he ate the potato, cabbage soup, wondering what he was supposed to do now.
Where would they be after six weeks? Their grandmother couldn't bear to live penniless and homeless.
Speaking of, how would they even break the news to their grandmother?
If they could even hope to convince Grandma'am to leave her home, her garden, her life as she knew it.
He thought of whether she'd still be singing in their rental in a month or two. Or would she be too humiliated to raise her voice again?
For all his derision of the morning recital, the thought saddened him deeply.
That's how Coriolanus prepared for his morning. Tired, sad, and hopeless. So early in the morning, and yet, he felt so exhausted already. Ready to just go back to bed and sleep.
Coriolanus pondered the merits of just calling in sick for the first time ever. He should. Instead he took a shower, changed into his clothes and made way for his school.