" THE WREN'S FALL - DEATH SCENE " Wren fell to the ground as Ciana landed a final blow. Blood rushed across their pelt. How had they failed to dodge that...? Their net hang loosely from their claws as they lost their grip, too weak and unfocused to notice. They could hardly move, just laying there on their side. Something screamed in their mind, they were picturing the voice of someone outside the games, someone from their past, but they were too tired to try to recognize it. That's right, they could hardly pull their own thoughts together. They tried to claw their way further, hooking their claws in the rocks and trying to move forward to maybe, potentially, find herbs of some sort, but they couldn't, it was impossible. They could already see the light fading from their eyes, and after a while, they just laid there, unable to keep moving forward as the last of their life faded. Yeah I'm not ending the angst here >:D
" BREAKING WILL - EXTRA " The cave was silent other than a few rocks tumbling down, perhaps causing a few ripples in the water, the only noise other that that was a cold breeze, drifting over the body of the District 11 cat, the light and confidence had completely disappeared from their eyes, killed by Ciana, of District 1. In those last moments, would it be believed that the thought of Freya...Latte...even Sparrow had been gone. Those last few moments were alone in their thoughts, a killer instinct driving them forward. Strange how in the last moments, despite the fact of fighting Latte's killer, they hadn't even thought too hard of him. A ghost formed at the nearby corner of the cave, ah, Wren's ghost. They could communicate with the living world at least, they could feel feelings. Empty. They felt purely nothing, not the fear of their death, not anger that it happened, not love for Freya...or anyone for that matter, no regret. Absolutely nothing. It was like someone had taken those emotions, frozen them over and given them back. Wren may not have been a puppet of any sort, but they had the amount of emotions equivalent to one...or a rock even. On that ghost, as they emotionlessly leaned against the cave wall, a black swan mask began to form, feathers appearing. As it formed, the loss of emotions only deepend. Everything remaining of the true Wren, the poet that wanted to prove themself, faded away. Of course, this was indeed Wren themself, nothing was making this happen. Some just happened to have an unreasonably cursed afterlife for no reason, it was simply caused by nothing. Now, there was only...the swan left. Only a deep and hollow emptiness.
