As a kid, I really liked The Hunger Games books. I bought the first book and then a teacher lent me the second one, which I read in basically a single sitting. I stayed up later than I’d ever stayed up to that point in my life because I couldn’t put the book down and went to school the next day feeling really guilty about defying my bedtime. The third book hadn’t come out yet, so I had to wait awhile before I could get my hands one it. When I did, I found my self incredibly disappointed by it. Or rather, by the epilogue in which Katniss describes her life several years on from the events of the book. She seemed so broken and that hurt to read. Like I said, I was a kid at the time, so I didn’t really understand that given her experiences, it made some sense that Katniss would still be traumatized twenty years after a war. But the thing that really stood out to me was the way she describes her relationship to Peeta, by then her husband. Throughout the books, I did understand that her obsession with Peeta wasn’t really love. It was something else, something darker fuelled by her rage at the injustices of her world. This comes to a head in the third book and I given how unhealthy their relationship obviously became, even as an elementary schooler I could tell that it needed to end. But it doesn’t. In fact, the epilogue informs us that not only does Katniss stay with Peeta, she has kids with him. I can’t describe how angry that made me. Katniss didn’t want to bring children into the world she lived in. She’d made that pretty clear throughout the book. And the epilogue makes it pretty clear, to me at least, that even though she loves them, Katniss still doesn’t necessarily feel like she made the right decision for herself. She agreed for Peeta’s sake. She does a lot of things for Peeta’s sake in that book. And as a kid, I didn’t understand this. Why was she giving up her own agency, her own beliefs and needs for a character who could not be more literally ‘some guy’ if he tried? This soured me on the books almost immediately. A heroine I loved and looked up to because she was so self possessed had been reduced to a wreck motivated by an obsession with a pathetic man. I put down The Hunger Games and didn’t think about the series again for more than a decade.

AND THEN

Last year, I was reading some Nietzsche. I don’t even remember why, but I was. And as I was reading about how the over-human is ‘drunk on life’ it occurred to me that I had been reading The Hunger Games all wrong as a kid. You see, Katniss Everdeen is an embodiment of the Nietzschean Übermensch. Nietzsche’s view is that the over-human is capable of overcoming the world around them and shaping it totally in their image. Throughout the first two books, this is exactly what Katniss learns to do. In the first book, she periodically is confronted with horrors that drive her to act. However, she doesn’t let her actions be constrained by conventional wisdom or the structures of society. This culminates in that brilliant moment at the climax where she threatens to rob the game makers of the their finale. In the contest between her own will and the structures of power that try to constrain it, power blinks first. It’s brilliant writing! And the reason why I never felt like Katniss really loved (or even like Peeta) is because he too is just an extension of her willpower. His life belongs to her in the sense that she willed him to live when he otherwise would not have. To Katniss, he is not really a person but rather a symbol of her own power, which is why she becomes so obsessed with him.

In the second book, we see the Übermensch at the height of her power. She willingly goes back to the games and in her every action, makes it clear to the world who really possesses power. This again culminates in a victory of her willpower over the game makers as she destroys the forcefield creating the arena, breaking down the physical and symbolic barrier between the artifice of the game and the artifice of reality. This act is what makes her into the symbol of revolution more-so than any other, because this act is the one thing no one else had managed to do. Katniss alone was capable of showing that human will could overpower complex social structures of control. So naturally, she is taken in by the resistance. And this is where things begin to change. Whereas before, the Übermensch was acting on her will alone with no other considerations beyond what she wanted, now she willingly subordinates herself to the resistance. This destroys her power completely, rendering her will impotent. In hindsight, the entire conflict of the third book is between Katniss’s desire to be the Übermensch, to will fully and completely, and her desire to see something beneficial to all built and outlast her. This conflict begins to centre around the question of Peeta. Katniss’s obsession with him grows deeper because he represents what she can be. He is a symbol of what she was at the height of her power, when she was most drunk on life. She feels that by just retrieving him, she can go back to that person and begin to reshape the resistance in her own image. Without any other lens through which she can interpret this need, she rationalizes it as love. The need to reassert herself through saving Peeta becomes an increasing necessity as she realizes that despite using her literal image to fuel the civil war, the new regime is shaping up to be little better than the old one. Thus, it becomes clear that she must once again take up the mantle of Übermensch to right the wrongs of the resistance. But steeped in her obsession and trauma, she cannot remember how to find the will to power. That is, until the resistance murders her sister.

After the unnecessary carpet bombing of the Capitol by the resistance, Katniss finds herself in a state of disorientation. Delirious with rage and grief at the loss of her sister, the one whose life Katniss set out to save in the first book thereby putting all of the events that follow in motion, she is imprisoned with the man she is set to execute. Snow, the president and the symbol of the ancien régime, seems so human in this part and Katniss, possessed by a madness she cannot really understand, begins to see a way forward after seeing him defeated and imprisoned. When she is brought out, broken and angry, to execute him with her bow, she instead turns on President Coin, the woman who led the resistance. And in a moment that now fills me with awe, Katniss kills the woman who symbolizes that to which she had subordinated her will thereby asserting her total will to power and embodying the Übermensch one last time. Killing Snow as he’s bound and waiting to be executed would be meaningless to her, so the Übermensch once more asserts her power to define herself and her narrative by killing Coin instead. Coin, who has repeatedly stood between the Übermensch and her willpower, must die for Katniss to live on without her sister. However, this final act of willpower comes at a grave cost.

You see, what Suzanne Collins recognizes that Nietzsche perhaps didn’t is that human beings are not built to be the Übermensch all the time. Our psyches are fragile things. And for Katniss, whose will to power is always a reaction to trauma, losing her sister proved to be too much. Even as a child, I was able to recognize that everything — everything single thing — Katniss does in these books is downstream from the need to protect her sister. That’s why it’s Prim’s death — and nothing to do with Peeta — that reminds Katniss how to find her will to power again. And at the conclusion of the story, Katniss has nothing left without her. Peeta is a consolation prize, a symbol of the person she is no longer strong enough to be. That’s why she seemed to me to be so miserable in the epilogue. She’s once again subordinated her will to another, to her husband, and while she still might chafe under this yoke she’s chosen, she lacks the strength to throw it off again. Katniss Everdeen is the result of the ultimate mortality of the Übermensch. Nietzsche himself argues that the Übermensch is symbolic of the morality of ancient gods. But Katniss isn’t an ancient god. She’s a woman. A human. And like all humans, she breaks. In this way, she is a hero, but not the kind we’ve grown used to in our modern age. Katniss Everdeen is a tragic hero. And now, as an adult, I love her for that even more than I ever could as a kid.

So Who Am I?

Well, I suppose from my first post, you kind of know that I'm not going to tell you exactly who I am, or other identifying information, but I can give you a general sense of who this person writing the blog is. First, call me Kat. That's easy enough. I suppose you could call me Turtle if you wanted to, but the real cat named Turtle might get a bit upset. She's partial to her name and hates when we accidentally call her adopted sisters by said name. So Kat it is. Short for Katniss...or Katherine. The choice is yours!

And as you've probably guessed, I'm not a just bloomed flower, entering into my twenties. No, that ship sailed. And apparently the mid-life ship cruised into my life without me realizing it. For almost a year. Bloody nice realization to have while cooking dinner last night. Surprising it took that long actually. But then, the last two years have been full of tremendous change, health challenges, and death.

Not my own death, of course, but beloved pets and family members.

It does show how much I've grown over the past twenty-plus years that the various challenges since 2020 have not found me curled up on a therapists couch again, crying and paying them to be my only friend. Yay for that.

An introverted homebody, I'm truly happier at home with family, and chatting with my close circle of friends. Not that I'm not open to adding more friends - I just find it so very difficult to actually make friends as an adult, especially as I mentioned I'm more of a homebody. Who doesn't drink. Or particularly like bars and clubs. Or large groups of people. Or small groups of people where small talk must be exchanged. As you can imagine with those fine endorsements, I'm single and haven't really dated much since those days of LiveJournal. Part of that was from a broken heart given by the lies of my first love - and long-term middle school/high school boyfriend. The other just that I always feel so very old fashioned in the modern world of dating.

But I do have family that I'm close to - my mom, who you'll learn about as she's one of my best friends and the person that I try to take care of as she's got her own health issues, my younger brother and his wife, my adorable nieces, and the three furballs who I lovingly call my children. There's Turtle who is the oldest, a 5 1/2 year old grey tabby, Goat the middle child who is just over 2 years orange tabby, and Bear who is the youngest at 1 month younger than Goat and who is a Calico. I love them all dearly, and love that we were able to rescue them and give them great a home.

Do I wish I was married? Ask those around me, and you'll hear I'm always telling them no. But I'll let you in on a secret, I do wish I was. Or at least in a long-term committed relationship. Being single has its advantages - no sharing the remote to think of one off the top of my head - but I always pictured myself married with children. Or divorced with children depending on the day. Having a child or children is so much a dream of mine. And I get that people do the single mom things all the time. I'm totally up for that. Yet one of those challenges that life has thrown at my over the past twenty-plus years makes that more difficult.

Go out and sleep with some random guy.

I've been told that. Not sure that's the best route to take, inflicting potential parent-hood on some random stranger. More than that though, I've known for close to twenty years now that I can't safely carry a child. Oh I can get pregnant the doctors think, but the potential for stroke and death are apparently high for me. It's also one of the biggest reasons I probably never dated much - aside from that broken heart.

Dating means sex.

Sex potentially could lead to pregnancy. Not birth control is 100% effective aside from abstinence.

Pregnancy most likely would lead to death. Or abortion.

And while I fully support a woman's right to choose, I choose that abortion is not something I could do or would be comfortable with.

Abstinence it was and is.

One Life to Live

Here’s the latest chapter.  Thanks to Ronja for permission to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.”  It can be found on A03 as this can too (under Kris22).  Thanks for reading. Chapter 35 I wake to bright sunshine and the citrusy perfume of evening primrose wafting in from the open window.  Such a lovely dream I had last night.  I was following Prim through the woods and the further she took me, the happier I became, even though we never arrived at any place. But then I remember my current predicament and my spirits plummet again.  I turn to face Peeta, expecting to see him, but he’s not here.  The only sign that he was in my bed last night is the impression his head made on the pillow close to my own.  Somehow, we both seemed to have gravitated to the middle of the bed during the night. From downstairs I hear movement and two voices in conversation.  That could only be Peeta and Haymitch.  No one else would be in the Village and in my house at this hour.  The clock by the bed tells me I have an hour before it’s time to leave for work.  I use most of it to shower and dress.  I don’t want to face either of them just yet. They’ll only talk strategy.  Haymitch seems to have relished getting back into his old mentor role which is odd, because he hated it when he actually was one.  As for Peeta, I haven’t seen him like this since the Quarter Quell when he had us all training like careers.  There’s the same energy and focus.  It’s as if he’s determined to get me home a third time.  Only this time his reasons are . . . well, I don’t know what his reasons are but it is good to see him back to his old self.  I should make an effort to stop being so sulky and disagreeable around him.  It’s not his fault he doesn’t love me anymore and he is doing me a huge favor at risk to himself.   As soon as I see the food laid out on the table, I wish I had come down earlier.   Peeta has cooked my favorite breakfast of sausages, eggs, potatoes, bread, juice and hot chocolate.   I tuck in, ignoring Haymitch’s scowl.  It’s my house.  I’ll come down when I want to. “We keep to the schedule as planned,” says Haymitch.  “And it goes without saying – “ “Stay in love,” Peeta and I say in unison.  “And don’t be afraid to lay it on thick,” Haymitch adds.  “That’s what the public is used to seeing from you.  This isn’t an old settled relationship.  Or a continuation of one.  It’s brand new.  You want to avoid any talk that this has been going on behind Lace’s back and it’s why the wedding was called off.  After the cameras are gone, you still have to live amongst these people.  No one likes a cheater.” “It won’t be a problem,” says Peeta, as he starts to clear away the dishes.  I grab the plate with the potatoes before he takes it.  “It actually works out well.  Lace was worried that people might think the same of her and Arthur if their relationship became public too soon.  But if she and I both have partners, they’re far less likely to think that one of us had cheated on the other.  I’ll let her know sometime today that Katniss and I are together.” I bet that will shock her.  After all his talk of me being an illusion, he’d better have a convincing excuse for why he’s changed his mind.  But at least I know that he’s aware that Lace is with Arthur now. What’s most surprising though, is that he doesn’t seem upset about it.  And they’re still talking to each other. On Haymitch’s advice, we take the most public route into work so as to be seen by the maximum number of people.   That takes us through the main street past Lace’s shop.   I catch a glimpse of her through the window sorting through fabrics.  She has her back to us.  The shop next door is vacant but there’s carpentry in progress, probably for new fittings for Arthur when he moves in.  We turn down a side street and pass by Arthur’s shop.  He’s opened early as usual.  I don’t see him but I know he’ll be hard at work, saving for that factory he plans to own one day.   The salon is closed at this hour but I spy Flavius at the front desk, head down, consulting the appointment book.  He raises his head as we walk by.  I move closer to Peeta and rise on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before giving Flavius a wave. The news will be all over town by the end of the day.   We meet for lunch at the small park adjacent to the school.   It’s a hot day but the old oak tree provides plentiful shade.  We eschew the bench seat and sit on the grass because it looks more romantic that way.   I kick off my shoes to cool my feet and smooth out the folds of my dress.  It’s the sunset dress that Peeta likes.  It just happened to be the first thing on hand when I reached into my closet this morning. Peeta has brought us food from the bakery.   He holds out in each hand a white paper bag with the Carter logo on it.   “Beef or chicken?” “Um . . . beef,” I say.  Peeta hands me one of the bags and keeps the other.  It’s not a pie but a sandwich with layers of thinly sliced roast beef, cheese, lettuce, tomato and some kind of sauce. I take my first bite and moan appreciatively.  This might just overtake cheese buns for me. “Since when did the bakery sell sandwiches?” I ask. “Since last week.  And coffee and other beverages too.  It’s an experiment, to see how well it does.  In the Capitol, the bakery also functioned as a café, with indoor seating.  It will mean moving to larger premises but it might be needed anyway.  Did I tell you we’re getting cake orders from as far away as the Capitol now?  The one I did for Cressida’s wedding seems to have started it.” “That’s great, Peeta,” I say, genuinely happy for him.  But then a terrible thought occurs to me.  Cass told me that Peeta could get work anywhere.   What if he leaves 12 for the Capitol for bigger opportunities? I’m suddenly consumed with fear. I don’t want him to go. “I’ve also been offered a fourth share partnership in the business too, along with Julius, Cass and Cornelia,” he adds, his face alight with enthusiasm.   “They want to keep you,” I say. “Probably,” he concedes.  “But there’s more to it than that.  We’re more than just coworkers.  I feel disloyal saying this and no one could ever replace them, but in a way, it’s like having my brothers back.  And Cornelia is the woman one of them might have married.  Does that sound bad?” “Not at all,” I say, thinking of Johanna and how she’s like a sister to me.  Loved ones can’t be replaced but it doesn’t mean your circle can’t expand to include others.  “I suppose you won’t be opening a bakery of your own any time soon then?  Wasn’t that one of the plans you made with Lace?” Peeta gives a short, self-depreciating laugh. “That was never going to happen.  Responsible for running a bakery? Ugh!  I like what I’m doing now, decorating cakes and leaving the management side of it to others.   I think we just chose what we thought the other expected of us, not what we actually wanted for ourselves.    Lace would never have been happy giving up her shop to work from home.  She’s worked too hard for it.  And five kids?  At this stage of my life, I’m not even sure about one.” “Really?” I ask.  That was the only part of it that made any sense to me – that Peeta would want a large family.  “I thought you’d like to have children.”   From the school grounds nearby, I can hear the shrieks and laughter of children at play.  It wasn’t long ago that the mere thought of having to teach Peeta and Lace’s children had filled me with dread.  I was sure that if it was Peeta’s choice, they’d have had them straight off. “One day, perhaps,” he says.  “But I want to be in a better place than I am right now. You know, with the attacks and everything.  And we’re only twenty.  There’s plenty of time.” Twenty-one.   Lace is twenty-one.   “You?” he asks. “Oh, um, the same as you, I guess,” I say, surprised to have the question turned back on me.    “I’ll think about it when the time comes.  But for the moment, no.  I want to see how things turn out.  With the new government, I mean.  Whether the peace lasts.”  I want to be certain the Games will never return before I’m be ready to bring children into the world.   “I meant more general that that,” he says. “How do you see your future?  What do you want to do?” I take a moment to think about it.  My future isn’t something I’ve given much thought to other than in terms of what I can’t do because of my confinement.   But it dawns on me that even if had the choice to live wherever I wanted, I’d still choose Twelve.  It’s my home and the people and places I love are here. “Keep on teaching, I suppose, and finish getting my qualifications.   Mr Matson suggested I could teach archery to the older students.   So maybe I’ll do that.  I doubt there’ll be much hunting once the woods officially become national park so it seems a good compromise.  I can continue to use my skills and pass them on at the same time.” “Sounds perfect,” says Peeta, smiling at me. We go back to eating our lunch.  I see a few people walking past on the opposite side of the road but foot traffic around here is thin and sporadic.  It’s an out-of-the-way place to be seen but Haymitch’s rationale is that we can’t just frequent the popular places because that would cause suspicion in itself.  We have to appear as a normal courting couple doing what a normal courting couple would do. Picnicking in a sequestered park is apparently one of them.  But there’s at least one onlooker.  A squirrel, perched on one of the lower branches watches expectantly.  He seems used to people as he doesn’t show any fear. And probably used to being fed by them too.  I break off a piece of crust and throw it a short distance away.  He doesn’t hesitate.   He scampers down the tree, grabs his prize, and scurries back up.   I catch Peeta observing me, a look of amusement on his face. “What?” I demand.  He had better not be laughing at me. “It’s just seeing a new side of you, that’s all.  You know, relaxed.   One time, that squirrel would have ended up with one of your arrows through its eye. But now you share your lunch with it. I like it.  It means you’re in a better place now.  Not so concerned with survival.” Humph! The last time I heard anyone talk about me and survival was in the basement of a dingy little shop in the Capitol that sold fur underwear.  “Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can’t survive without.”  Gale said it, and Peeta didn’t refute it.  The same resentment I felt then wells up in me.  There it is again, the implication that any finer feelings are subservient to my need to survive. Not love, or desire, or compatibility, or even just throwing a crust of bread to a squirrel.  I didn’t get to defend myself then, but I will now. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”   Peeta’s eyebrows shoot up in a surprise.  “I hate that people think that of me – that I’ll put my own wellbeing ahead of anything else.  If I’ve tried so hard to survive, it’s because I had people depending on me.  What would have happened to Prim, or my mother, if I hadn’t been around to make sure there was food on the table?  Prim would have ended up in the Community Home and that meant as good as dead.  I’ll do anything for the people I love.  Die for them if need be.  I would die for you.  I –“ I stop short, remembering all of a sudden that I’m supposed to keep those feelings hidden.  Heat rises in my face.  “I mean – “And then it’s Peeta who cuts me short.  He takes my face in his hands and kisses me.  Really kisses me, not the closed mouth playacting kind, but softly, insistently, plying my mouth open with his own.  For a few seconds I’m stunned into inaction.  But then I feel that thing.  That thing that happened in the cave and on the beach.   And I put my arms around his neck and kiss him back hungrily, greedy for more.  He pulls me closer and we sort of meld together, the points of his body picking out the counter-points of my own and I moan somewhere deep in my throat. I forget we’re in a public space and only a short distance from a school.  Nothing exists but Peeta and me and when I feel his hand slip between my thighs under the cover of my dress, lightly as if seeking permission, my legs fall apart in open invitation and I will it to go higher, to that place that wants him so badly.

His fingertips barely make contact when from some faraway place the pulsating ring of a school bell sounds.  With great reluctance, I am dragged back into the present and reality returns with a thud.  I pull away, confused.  What just happened?  Why did he do that?  My head whips around looking for the audience he’s playing to, but there’s no one about.

“Don’t.  Don’t let’s pretend when there’s no one around,” I say, getting quickly to my feet.  It’s not . . . we shouldn’t do it.  It’s how lines get blurred.”  And people get hurt. People being me.  I shove my feet into my shoes.  “I have to go.  Class is about to start.  Thanks for lunch.”

I don’t wait for a response from Peeta. I race off, leaving him to dispose of the remains of our lunch, a look of bewildered concern on his face. The kiss leaves me shaken and it takes a concerted effort to concentrate on my work.  That was so close.  Too close. How am I going to get through this without breaking down?  There’s at least three weeks to go.  This week before the television crew arrives, the following when they set up, and after that a week of filming.  I don’t know how Peeta did it.  All that kissing and hugging on the Victory Tour.  And the nights on the train.  And then when we shared a bed in the Capitol just before the Quell.  It must have been torture.  As it will be for me tonight, and every other night until this is over.

Luckily, Peeta and I don’t finish work at the same time so I’m spared walking home with him.  As I’m home first, I set the table and prepare the food for dinner, allowing extra in case Haymitch turns up, which he probably will.  And then I go into the living room and take a book from the shelf.  I hope reading will be a distraction because I just can’t get that kiss out of my mind. It’s a book on conservation that Marcus left behind, and it’s as dry as you’d imagine but it does nothing to lessen the wetness between my legs.  I am so aroused; I’m fit to burst.  There’s only one solution.  I slip my hand under my dress to take care of it myself, and I’m just on the verge when I hear the front door open.  It’s Peeta.

I quickly open the book and pretend to be immersed in it.  

“Good book?” Peeta asks, as he comes into the room.  He takes the seat opposite and reads the title from the cover.  “’Wetland Techniques.”  I suppose we could all benefit by brushing up on our wetland technique.  Maybe I should read it after you.” “

Maybe,” I say noncommittedly, and lower my eyes back to the page.  I hope he’ll take the hint that I’m not in a sociable mood and go away.  

There’s a long pause.  “Katniss, I think we should talk about what happened at the park.”

I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.  If Peeta has a flaw it’s that he likes to talk about things that shouldn’t be talked about. It would be better for both of us if we pretended it didn’t happen.  

“Things got a little carried away, that’s all,” I say.  “It was bound to happen with us forced into this situation again.  We just have to be more careful next time.”  

“Is that what you want?” he asks, frowning. “I think it’s best, don’t you?  If we’re to get through this, we need to set boundaries. After all, we have to go back to living normally after this.  We have to stay friends.” I try to sound convincing but there’s a faint tremor in my voice.  I stare down at my book to avoid looking at him.

“All right, Katniss,” he says tiredly.   He rises from the chair.  “I’ll get dinner started then.  Haymitch should be here soon.”

After he leaves the room, I let out my breath. I don’t think he believed me but maybe that’s not important.  We only have to preserve the veneer.  But he makes it so hard.  Always wanting to open wounds instead of just leaving them alone.  I’ll just have to stay on my guard and make sure to keep him at a safe distance.  Obviously, Peeta isn’t averse to having sex with me if what happened at the park is any indication.  But then, I was practically begging him.  I know you don’t have to be in love to have sex.   And if sex is all I wanted from Peeta, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But I know, I just know, that if we went down that path, the floodgates would open and I’d be as helpless as ever and in an even worse place than I am now.  Nothing will have changed.  I’d still be in love with someone who isn’t in love with me.

While Peeta makes dinner, I take a shower.  A cold one. And change out of the sunset dress into something that makes me feel less vulnerable – tight-fitting trousers and a t-shirt.  I’d wear a chastity belt if I had one because I don’t really trust myself.  I wait until Haymitch arrives before I go downstairs. The less alone time I have with Peeta, the better.

Unfortunately, Haymitch doesn’t stay for very long after we’ve eaten.  I was hoping that he and Peeta would get the chess board out again so I could avoid interacting with him.  

“It’s Monday,” I tell Peeta, when he comments on Haymitch’s early departure.  “He wants to be home to watch “One Life to Live.” He’s something of an addict.”  I dry the last of the dishes and put it away while Peeta makes tea.  

“That’s the show Plutarch talked about, isn’t it?” he asks. “Yeah, that’s the one.  It’s the most rubbishy, most stupid thing ever. I was insulted when he compared us to Celia and Blake.  Idiots, both of them.”

“I can’t really comment.  I’ve never watched it,” he says, as he pours tea into two mugs.

I sniff derisively.   “Well, you haven’t missed anything.  I can’t think why Haymitch likes it.”

“Let’s find out.” “What?  You actually want to watch it?”

“Yeah.  I do.  You can explain the plot so far.”

He picks up one of the mugs and I take the other. “That will take about two seconds.” Nonetheless, I follow him into the living room and sit down beside him on the sofa. I guess there are worse things to do than watching television together, even if it is “One Life to Live.”  At least it’s a distraction and we won’t have to talk much.  My gaze flickers over to Peeta.  I’m acutely aware of him.  His well-muscled thigh only inches from my own. The fine blond hair on his strong capable hands.  Hands that can lift heavy sacks of flour yet wield a paintbrush with the most delicate precision.   Hands that were on me only hours earlier.  A throbbing starts between my legs at the thought of it.   I cross one leg over the other to alleviate the sensation but then quickly uncross them. The movement makes the crotch seam of my trousers rub against me in a most stimulating way.  I should have worn a dress.  

With a click of the remote control, the opening credits of “One Life to Live” appear on the screen.   I swallow hard and force myself to focus. “Well, Celia and Blake are from neighboring districts . . . “

Ship Tag

Ship: Everlark

Love:

Who fell in love first?

Peeta. Hard to beat 5 years old.

Who asked who out?

Katniss invited him back to her cave to drink broth and chill after she dug him up from the mud <333

Who said ‘I love you’ first?

Technically, Peeta. It was common knowledge that he actually loved her during the Games, but after returning to Twelve, she was the first one to admit it when asked.

Who kissed who first?

Katniss. Had to get those sponsors, ya know?

How was their first kiss according to your muse?

Not ideal. Peeta was bleeding out, and it was broadcasted to the entire country. Wouldn’t exactly call it romantic.

Are their kisses more sweet or passionate?

Sweet. They share plenty of passionate kisses, but prefer sweet kisses throughout the day.

Who touches (non-sexual) the other more?

Surprisingly, Katniss. Being close to him is extremely comforting for her. His touch often keeps her grounded.

Dating:

How was their first date?

Hot. Oh wait, that was just his fever.

Who pays on dates?

They have more money than they know what to do with, so things like that aren’t really a concern.

Who picks where they go on dates?

Twelve is pretty small, so I’m sure they both usually agree on where to go. Peeta is far more likely to suggest going out vs staying in, though.

Who drives? Who holds the door?

Even if they drove, Twelve ain’t big enough for that. Peeta holds the door, even though Katniss always teases him and insists he doesn’t have to.

How often do they go out on dates?

Pretty often. Katniss usually likes to stay in, but always agrees to go out whenever he wants.

Wedding:

Who proposed?

Peeta. Both times. Though the second one wasn’t for the rest of the world to see, and they had probably talked about the idea at some point before that.

Who did most of the wedding planning?

They had a traditional Toasting instead of a wedding, so there wasn’t much to plan.

Where did they get married?

In front of the fireplace in their living room.

Who did your muse pick as best man/maid of honor?

Their Toasting was private, but they celebrated later with the people they would have wanted beside them had they had a wedding.

Did your muse cry at the wedding?

No. There was only happiness that day.

Did your muse get drunk at the reception?

I’m sure they drank a little when they celebrated later.

Aside from being married to their love, what would your muse say was the best part of the wedding?

Making the decision because they wanted to, not because the Capitol did.

Sex:

What does your muse fantasize about?

Being on top. Even though it’s one of their go to positions, it never gets old. At first, she had been concerned with how much of her body he was seeing. The Rebellion hadn’t exactly left her looking beautiful, but seeing the way he reacts underneath her completely changed her mind.

Who is more dominant in bed?

Katniss.

Who initiates sex?

It’s pretty equal. It just depends on who’s more in the mood.

How often are they having sex? (1 as never touching themselves or others and 10 being humping on the couch right now)

6 or 7. They didn’t waste any time getting to know each other’s bodies after their first time. It did become more difficult to get time alone once they had kids, however, but they made it work.

How kinky are they? (1 being vanilla with the lights off and 10 meaning they have a sex dungeon in their basement)

I’d put them at a 4 or 5. There are obviously certain lines they won’t cross, both out of safety and preference, but that doesn’t mean they’re opposed to trying new things. Their sex started out vanilla, but once they were comfortable and figured everything out for themselves, they started exploring different positions and places.

Do they fuck, have sex, or make love?

Make love.

Is it important that both people orgasm?

Katniss wasn’t even aware she could have one until it actually happened. After she got over the shock and confusion, though, she welcomed the feeling. It was never something she had to ask for again either. Both of them know what the other likes.

Which time was the best according to your muse?

The first time they did it in the bakery. Something about it being risky and wrong made it ten times more exciting.

Which time was the worst according to your muse?

Their first time. Katniss would never call it bad, just awkward. Neither of them had any experience, and it was difficult figuring out how their bodies fit together at first.

What’s something your muse wants but is too afraid/embarrassed to ask for?

It was never really about being scared to ask so much as it was about not knowing what to ask. Her knowledge of sex and even her own body was very limited, so sex was a learning process. Letting go of her pride was difficult, but Peeta is by far one of the most understanding partners anyone could have. That alone eliminated a lot of embarrassment.

Marriage:

How often do they cuddle?

Often. She’s always enjoyed being in his arms.

Who does the most housework?

Peeta.

Who cooks?

Peeta. Katniss is better at catching their dinner than she is at cooking it.

Who does the grocery shopping?

Peeta gets things like produce and other essentials, but Katniss hunts and trades for their meat.

Who cleans?

Peeta. Katniss helps, but sometimes she ends up making more of a mess than there was before.

Do they own any pets?

No. They probably got Sage a bunny, but she always kept it in her room.

Have often do they have date nights together?

Whenever they’re in the mood or have the time.

Who is better with the money?

They have too much of it, but always try to put it towards the right things.

Who decorates the house for the holidays?

Peeta. Katniss likes seeing the decorations, but Peeta has more of an eye for that kind of thing.

Who invites guests over?

Peeta again. Katniss likes having their friends over, but he’s more likely to reach out.

Who is more likely to do the handiwork (fixing the sink, mowing the lawn)?

It’s shared. Katniss is much better at handiwork than homemaking, but Peeta is stronger and taller than she is. He gets some of the bigger tasks. 

Children:

Who wants children first?

Peeta. Guess who won that battle.

How does the idea of babies come up?

He catches major baby fever after Eli is born and brings up the idea of them having a baby.

Do they have children naturally or use IVF/adopt?

Naturally, but I’m sure they’ve fostered children from his program, too.

How does your muse react to the pregnancy/being pregnant?

She’s absolutely terrified, even more so when she finds out that their first is going to be a girl. Once Sage was born, though, she wasn’t as scared. Eventually, she embraced being a mother. 

How many children do they have?

Three. Two kids, and one Reidtard. 

Who gets stuck on diaper duty?

It’s shared, but Peeta’s more attentive at night than she is. She just never wants to leave the bed.

Who is the stricter parent?

Peeta. He’s not exactly strict, but he’s always on the lookout for “teachable moments”. All of the kids have had to sit through his famous talks.

Who is the fun parent?

Katniss, but only because she usually lets them go with a warning and the classic “just don’t say it in front of your dad” line. 

Who spends the most time with the kid(s)?

It’s equal. Katniss is home a little more often than Peeta, but he always makes time for the kids.

Who remembers to pack lunches, sign permission slips, and go to conferences at school?

Peeta. He’s much more thoughtful when it comes to stuff like that and will even slip little notes into their lunches. Katniss goes to conferences, but he’s much better at talking to their teachers than she is. 

Who helps with homework?

They both do their best, but neither of them got the chance to finish high school. Sometimes the questions leave them stumped, too. 

Misc:

Who takes longer showers/baths?

Peeta. Katniss doesn’t have to worry about removing a limb every time she wants to bathe. 

Who is most likely to sleep until noon?

Katniss. 

Who plays the pranks?

They both do. Katniss is better at being sneaky, because she can always hear him coming when he tries, but he’s a fantastic liar. He’s better at tricking her that way. 

Who surprises who with flowers/gifts/cards etc.?

Peeta.

Who remembers all of the important dates and who is rushing out last minute to by a present?

Peeta always remembers. Katniss tries and succeeds most of the time, but some things just slip her mind.

Who works?

Peeta.

Who stays home?

Katniss.

Is your muse happy with their partner?

Happier than she ever thought possible.

If they could change one thing about their relationship or partner, what would it be?

Peeta still struggles and has the rare episode. Sometimes Katniss wishes she could do more or magically make him better, because seeing him in pain is still easily one of the worst feelings ever. Despite the lasting effects of the Games, though, they’re always there to take care of each other.

The Firebird - Chapter 23

Step 23 : Dance (Santiago’s Dream)

My deepest thanks to @xerxia31, @titaniasfics and dandelion-sunset for their expertise in grammar, spelling, commas and everything that needed to be corrected … and there was a lot. Ask xerxia about my meltdowns …

To @akai-echo  – thank you my friend for everything you’ve done for this fic – the banners and aesthetics are beyond gorgeous.

Only one chapter left, folk – and a epilogue – should  I post them separately ?

Here on AO3 - FFN

It was easier now to start her day. The burden of the show was gone, the pressure off her shoulders. The company got excellent reviews, praising Cinna’s creativity in terms of costumes, as well as the ensemble performance of the dancers. Katniss herself even got some very good ones pointing out how her performance made the Firebird believable.

But all those good words were nothing compared to how proud Peeta was of her, staying by her side the whole evening long, ending up at Chez Valerie with all of the other dancers, like in the good old days, but always keeping his focus on her, never on his aborted ballet career.

There was a hilarious moment when Finnick called, after his own day of rehearsals, to congratulate her on her hard work. Apparently, Peeta had sent him pictures. For the first time in a long time, Katniss felt free, happy and light. She knew the big show of the season was coming up, and she hoped she would have a role to play in it - one of the fairies, maybe, whichever would be a fit for her. But the nominations wouldn’t come for quite some time, and she didn’t want to think about it yet.

For now, her only concern was finding tiny Rue in the crowd of people surrounding the Arena, rushing to get inside the theater. Tonight, along with a bunch of other dancers from the National, they were going to see Peeta’s show. And she didn’t mind seeing him dance on a stage. She enjoyed the way his body moved with an almost feline grace. She’d seen it in hours of rehearsal together, and in their newfound intimacy - hands wandering under the clothes, tentatively mapping each other, even if they still had yet to take that big step together.

“Katniss!” Rue’s high-pitched voice tore her out of her memories of Peeta’s hands under her camisole two nights ago, his fingers brushing the sides of her bra, the shivers it elicited on her heated skin. Katniss could see Thresh following his girlfriend, a polite smile on his face - he apparently wasn’t as excited as Rue to come.

“I’m so glad we can go together! And Thresh told me Peeta would be on stage tonight?” Rue said, fumbling in her purse to find the tickets.

“Yes he will be, I hope you don’t mind, Theodore?” Katniss chimed in, taking her ticket out of her jeans pocket. Being the girlfriend of one of the dancers had its perks, as she had realized when he had handed her her free entrance pass. Thresh grumbled an answer, clearly not as happy to be the only man in the group.

They were all ushered inside, their seats near the very front of the Arena, and waited until the now familiar music started. Familiar for Katniss, at least. She wasn’t surprised anymore by the music of Ricky Martin blasting out of the speakers, and focused her attention on Peeta’s appearance on the stage, to Alfredo’s music.

Katniss remembered that night he danced with Delly in the opening number, making her spin and turn, dance in the light. Katniss didn’t feel any jealousy towards the woman in his arms - their relationship was one of brother and sister, and Delly was clearly head over heels about her fiancé and couldn’t wait to marry him.

But her practiced eyes saw something more to her dance - something a bit off. Like Delly wasn’t as sure as she had been the previous time.

Of course, she smiled to the crowd, but Katniss’s trained eyes noticed a little limp, a little something that was amiss, like how Delly leaned onto Peeta a bit more. She turned her head, meeting Thresh’s eyes and nodded, answering his silent question.

She made a mental note to text Peeta at intermission, to ask if everything was right with Delly.

The first part of the show passed in a whirlwind of colors and applause, of latin music and dance. Even Thresh was sucked into the spectacle, Katniss could see his fingers tapping the tempo on his thigh.

As soon as the intermission started, her phone buzzed with a text from Peeta, asking her to come backstage as soon as the lights were on. Katniss quickly excused herself from her friends, dialing Peeta’s number as she tried to find a secluded place to talk to him.

“Kat, can you come backstage? We need you!”

“What do you mean you need me? Oh, Peeta, did you hurt yourself?”

She could hear him chuckle on the other end of the phone.

“No, nothing like that. But I, well, we have something to ask you. Can you come backstage? Gloss will let you through.”

“Okay - let me tell Rue and Thresh and I’ll be right there. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Sweetheart, I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Don’t call me Sweetheart!” she answered, her usual comeback when he used the pet name she disliked, even though she knew it was futile. Peeta was almost as stubborn as she was. His laugh was the last thing she heard as he hung up the phone.

Katniss quickly moved back to where Rue and Thresh were sitting, telling them she was heading backstage for a few minutes, before actually going to the stage, nodding at Gloss, the muscle-man standing guard - who was actually a sweetheart - and slipping behind the curtain.

She searched for any sign of Peeta, making her way into the locker room, greeting some of the dancers she recognized.

“They are in the room in the back,” Johanna said, passing Katniss. She was clad only in a tiny red thong, a bottle of water in her hand. “This is going to be fun!”

Wondering what the hell she meant, Katniss entered the room Johanna indicated to discover Peeta bent over Delly, who was lying on one of the benches lining the walls, a pack of ice on her left knee.

“Oh my god, Delly, what happened?”

In a blink, Katniss crossed the room, taking in the puffy red eyes, the traces left by the tears Delly had shed.

“She sprained her knee, I think,” Peeta said, rising from Delly’s side and coming to Katniss immediately, folding her in a hug. “Thanks for coming, Kat.”

She returned the hug, happy to see nothing bad had happened. Of course, Delly’s knee would need to be tended to, but it was nothing a few good weeks of rest couldn’t heal. Katniss pulled away from Peeta’s arms, and said, “You want me to drive her to the hospital?”

“Not exactly…” she heard Delly answering her question. “Thom is coming to pick me up… but we need someone to dance with Peeta in the finale.”

“Oh, who will do it? Johanna?” Katniss asked as she watched Peeta rake his hand nervously through his hair, his cheeks turning redder by the minute.

“You’re really brainless, Brainless.” Johanna made her entry, now wearing a gorgeous black lace dress opened high on her thigh. “You dance with him.”

“I can’t dance in this! That’s a crazy idea!” Katniss answered. “And why don’t you dance with him?”

“Because all of the other dancers are on stage in the number just before the finale, and only Dells was available,” Peeta finally spoke. “I know you can do it, Kat - it doesn’t have to be perfect, and we can rehearse a bit before the end…”

“I’ve never danced like that and you know it, Peeta!” She could feel the familiar grip of fear spreading through her body, leaving a cold feeling in her veins. She knew she should go back to her seat in the audience, should go back to Rue and Thresh as soon as possible. But there was something in Peeta’s eyes as he looked at her, something she had never seen before, something she couldn’t decipher. He was raking his hand through his locks over and over again, when a high pitched ring startled him.

“We have to go back,” Johanna said, breaking the silence.

Peeta nodded at the brunette who hurriedly left the room. Then he came to Katniss, taking her hand in his and guiding her to a quiet corner at the other end of the room.

“I have to go back, I’m opening with Jo instead of Dells,” he said, looking at her sadly. “I’m sorry Kat, I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. We’ll stop the show one number before, it won’t be too bad, the girls can fill in for Delly and it’s just one number.”

Katniss felt relief in the pit of her stomach as she realized she wouldn’t have to go on stage, perform the last dance of a show, a dance she didn’t know and didn’t have time to learn.

“Don’t worry, I understand. Go, you’re needed on stage.” Katniss leaned in, pecking his lips, eager for more, so eager, but it was neither the place nor the time for that. “I’ll stay with Delly until Thom arrives, okay? Go, be great!”

She leaned in again, wanting to feel the warmth of him again, even if it was for a split second. She allowed her lips to trace his jaw - she liked his jaw - until she reached his ear, whispering, “I love to watch you dance,” before pulling away and walking to Delly, leaving Peeta speechless, with sparkles in his eyes.

Or maybe it wasn’t sparkles.

Maybe it was desire.

But his look did something to her too, elicited feelings from deep down and a warmth that she wasn’t sure she could staunch much longer.  She turned back to see the look in his eyes, then turned again and felt his gaze burning between her shoulder blades, as she walked towards Delly, until she heard the door closing.

“He’s a good guy,” Delly said as Katniss sat next to her head. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I know.” It wasn’t news to Katniss that her boyfriend was a nice man. Maybe the nicest she’d ever met.

“He’s been happier the past few weeks, I guess I understand why…” Delly added, with a small smile on her face. “I guess he’ll change his mind about the +1 at our wedding…”

“What do you mean?” Katniss was startled, not really understanding what the other woman was saying.

“He said I didn’t need to send him an invitation for a plus one for the wedding, but that was months ago. So I’m going to send him one, because I bet he will want you by his side.”

Delly’s wedding. Katniss hadn’t honestly paid a second of attention to the upcoming June nuptials, even though she knew Peeta would attend. Would he want her to come with him?

“You sure you don’t want to go on stage with him?” Delly asked again, breaking Katniss out of her reverie. “To dance the last dance?”

“Delly….” Katniss sighed. “I’m not a Latin dancer, you know that. I would only ruin the show. And even if I could dance these steps, I don’t know the choreography….”

Delly rose to a sitting position, keeping one hand on the ice pack covering her knee, scowling at Katniss.

“That’s bullshit, Katniss, and you know it.”

“Delly…”

“Don’t Delly me, girly. You’re a dancer in the most difficult area of dancing, hell, you’re a ballet dancer! I can’t even begin to understand how you do it, okay? So many hours of work, so many steps, it’s so bloody difficult! And you say you can’t do a bit of Latine dancing?  I say it’s bullshit. You’ve spent enough mornings rehearsing here with our two best dancers, moving your little ass to our music to get it. You can dance anything, Katniss. Anything. And as for the choreography, do you really think Peeta would let you down? Really?”

Katniss knew he wouldn’t. Just like he had guided her in the salsa club, or in the jazz one, just like he had always been there to help her.

And the only time he asked for her help, she had said no. Out of fear, out of shyness, but she never actually considered helping him, hadn’t even given a thought to it.

“Having an epiphany, have we?” Katniss turned to Delly, who was now smirking. “Well, you know what to do, then.”

“But, how? I mean--”

“I’m planning a wedding. This is nothing compared to that. Let me make a few calls.” Winking, Delly took her phone from her purse, starting the first of a long list of calls.

--

Katniss’s heart was beating a little too fast, a little too hard, as she watched the number unfold from her position near the curtains, hidden in the dark of the backstage. In the background,  women were spinning and bending to the music, the tempo getting quicker with every pass or move, finishing in a flurry of red and black dresses and shirts. The music died, and the audience applauded. Katniss knew that was the point when Peeta would remain alone on the stage, dancing on his own until Delly joined him for a passionate tango.

Only tonight, it wouldn’t be Delly.

She smoothed the dress she had borrowed - a simple orange halter dress - flexed her ankles in the shoes Delly lent her (they wore the same size) and took a deep breath.

She looked at him, waiting for the music to begin, alone on the stage, the light on him making his curls shine. He started moving along to the music, with only a spot bathing him in white light as he danced alone, mimicking holding a woman that wasn’t there.

Rotations in the tiny spotlight, eyes closed and a look of sadness and longing on his face, he danced only in the little part of the stage lit by the white spot, never stepping a foot outside the circle, yet never lingering too long in one place.

Katniss had no clue when she was supposed to go onto the stage, just memories of the first show she had seen when Delly had stepped into the light like an apparition, finding her place in Peeta’s arms naturally. She was questioning her ability to do it when she heard a slight deceleration in the music, like it was slowing down on purpose. She took a deep breath, and walked onto the stage on shaky heels, expecting two strong arms to catch and lead her into a routine she had only seen once.

She saw Peeta’s astonishment as she walked in the spotlight, into the arms that had opened to welcome her, heard his voice whisper in her ear as he pulled her closer to him, so close she wasn’t sure a hair would fit between them.

“Thank you, thank you….”

Katniss pulled her head away and looked into his eyes, watching them smile and sparkle, as he lead her in the dance.

Sure, it was nothing compared to the one she had seen him perform with Delly some months ago.

Sure, it was nothing like it could have been, had he danced with another seasoned pro.

But it was their dance, and it was perfect.

They turned and swirled to the lament of the music, his careful guidance hinting at the steps she was supposed to take, her body adapting to his rhythm and requests, their eyes never leaving one another’s. She could feel his hands burning on her skin, his fingers drawing patterns of their own, a sensual painting as they lingered a little lower with each move they made. She could feel the caress of the fabric of his trousers, between her legs as he bent her backwards, her hair brushing the hardwood. But as she   straightened, Katniss felt his hand tracing a line under her chin, from her sternum to her navel, leaving goosebumps on her skin.

She was sure the heat in his eyes when she was finally upright in front of him again could have burned her alive.

She could still feel the place his hand had travelled, burned through the thin cotton of her dress, and she realized she wanted more, much more than just a touch. Peeta made her spin, catching her as she arrived back in his arms, and lifting her above his head, then letting her slide down his chest. She was sure he was able to feel how erect her nipples were when they rasped along his thin white undershirt, if the gasp that escaped his lips was any indication.

If the way his tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips was any indication, eliciting the same reaction in her.

She almost forgot there was an audience behind them, almost forgot they weren’t alone on the stage.

Peeta’s hands drew her even closer to him, so close they shared the same breath.

She felt his pelvis brushing against hers, and had to use all her restraint not to moan when she felt him so close to where she wanted him.

Katniss let her hand leave the comfort of his shoulder, sliding down his chest, until it reached his ribcage, started her own fantasy drawing on his white undershirt, making him lose his breath. He had his sweet revenge too, as he nuzzled her neck with his mouth, hiding in her loose hair, before whispering, “In eight, you go backstage… but I’m not done with you. Keep the dress.”

And sure enough on the eighth beat he spun her out of the light, until she reached the backstage.

Breathless.

She had danced the most difficult ballets, been on stage for more hours than she could count, but today’s performance - doing something that she couldn’t even call difficult - had left her breathless.

And she knew it had nothing to do with the dance itself and everything with the man who had made her spin, who was now finishing his routine alone, the same way he had started, until he too vanished into the dark, letting the music die with the light. Until the stage was quiet and dark.

Applause exploded from the audience after a few seconds, breaking the silence. As if it had taken the people watching some time to recover from the power of the final scene. The house lights illuminated the crowd of people applauding as the dancers came out one after the other onto the stage - even Delly - to accept their accolades. The clamor only grew louder when Peeta appeared at the end of the row, close to the curtain, and Katniss added her applause from the other side of the stage.

As usual, Peeta took the mic he was handed, thanking the spectators for coming, introducing the band, the dancers one after the other, until he handed it to Delly who always was the one to introduce him. She took the microphone, clearing her throat before turning to the audience.

“And finally, the last dance introduced someone new to the company, someone who has never danced on our stage before. Please welcome our guest star, Miss Katniss Everdeen, Principal Dancer at the Panem National Ballet!”

Katniss’s jaw almost fell onto the hardwood of the stage as she heard Delly’s words. Was she dreaming or did Delly just asked her to come on stage? She looked around and saw an arm outstretched for her, Kevin’s or Dylan’s, she could never remember who was who, beaconing her to come and join them. But she wouldn’t move, not when she could stay in the comfort of the shadows.

“Oh, come on, Katniss, please! Peeta, you should go and get her!”

Katniss could see the surprise on Peeta’s face at his friend’s words, then he looked at her, as if he was waiting for her approval to come and get her, even if the crowd and his fellow dancers were all applauding. She nodded a single time, and he made his way across the stage.

“You don’t have to come out, if you don’t want to,” he whispered as soon as he was next to her.

“I know.” She took a deep breath and reached for his hand, to give herself some courage, before stepping onto the stage, to the rhythm of the applause.

Chapter One - The Red Reaping

Word Count: 8,932

I remember wearing the braids in my hair. I remember watching her on every screen around. I remember the nightshade berries, and the quarter quell, and the rebellion.

I remember it all, even as everyone tries to forget.

When she lost… when the districts were forced back in line, I remember… I never forgot Katniss Everdeen.

I was only a child when the rebellion failed. The Mocking Jay was made quiet and the Capitol ruled supreme. President Snow had vanquished another uprising.

However, the people still remembered, and that needed to be changed. The Capitol had never seen a Hunger Game with more drama and although they couldn’t be happier to be safe and spoiled once more, they still adored the romance of Peeta and Katniss.

You could trust President Snow to use this to his advantage. As the districts needed to be punished, he left it to his game makers to formulate a new challenge. While the Summer months were used to continue the hunger games, the Winter would set a new game that would still cost lives. Each rebellion had to pay a price, after all.

The Red Games were instituted. A game that would give the capital the love and drama they so craved, while acting as a punishment to the districts. A twisted bloodbath for the next generation.

It was the morning of the Red Reaping. It was easy to tell, what with all the noise outside. With a groan, I turned onto my stomach, face in my pillow.

“Quiet please,” I couldn’t help but groan as I reached for my remote. I knew well enough already which button to press to hush the outside world and block out the light. One tap and my favourite starry night sky played on the window screen.

I should be lucky to live in the Capital, but some days it was damn near intolerable.

On a day like today, I knew my family would want me up and dressed as early as possible but they knew not to come wake me themselves. I never liked this day, and only my father understood.

I never enjoyed any of the capital events. Not since my family and I returned from District 7.

My father, Damiin Silver, was a peace keeper assigned to the Lumber district. I only spent three years there before dad got a promotion and moved back to the Capital. Still, the memories remain the same. The hunger, the weight on their shoulders, it made an impression that no amount of wealth could fix. My Mom, Letta, always said I was too young and impressionable when we lived there. She blames that time on why I’m so hard to handle. She’s not wrong.

Finally dragging myself out of bed, I move to the mirror to braid my hair.

Mom also blames my fascination with Katniss on my time in the district. She’s not wrong.

I’ve been a fan of braids for so long most people don’t even relate it to the Mocking Jay anymore. It’s just an out of date style I refuse to give up. Though that seems to make sense from the way I wear my clothes as simple as possible. I remember a time when I dressed like everyone else. Now the idea of such ostentatious clothing seems uncomfortable.

I looked in the mirror when I finished. Brown hair that faded into gold swept into a side braid, my curvy figure made obvious in a simple peach dress and gold belt. The silk flowers in a pale pink peach sewn to the dress would be about the only thing that seemed ‘capital’ about my outfit outside of its colour. Painting my face might be the only thing I actually enjoyed about getting ready. Glueing gold lashes to my own, adding a peach colour to my lids, applying another gold bar of colour down the center of two delicate pink lips, it was like crafting a mask, one I hid behind as much as I could.

I tried to live between words. Just colourful enough not to draw attention but never enough for the standards of fashion applied to the Capital. A sense of invisibility was always the aim.

“Alright, Gemma. Let’s get this over with.”

With a heavy breath, I walked out of the room. Downstairs, Mom and Dad were already eating and celebrating. Havvery, the Avox assigned to my family, served as Mom twitted on about her plans for the day. There was a time I’d have to endure those plans but for this year, I’ll be graciously separated, just as I was last year and the year before that.

“Oh Darling, you couldn’t have… tried a little?” Mom asked.

Of course, my style is never more critiqued than on days like today. At 20 years old you’d think she’d get tired of judging my looks. They’d been the same for quite some time.

“Leave her be,” my Dad chimed in, eyes on his screen working already. Busy days like today demanded a lot from a peacekeeper as high in rank as he.

“Just, a bit of glitter, or maybe a necklace or two,” she continued to complain.

“I’m fine,” I brushed off, heading for the food set out in a bright spread. A sweet orange would be enough while getting me out of the house quickly. I was only just starting to peel the skin when I felt a snap on my ear.

“Ouch!” I cried out, reaching to feel cold metal on my ear and turning to see my mother. She’d clipped on a gold dangling earring and waited with the other.

“Please,” she begged.

I turned around to my food, which she took as an invitation to add the other. I flinched again.

It was such a talent that my mother could so easily reach my limit of her shallow vanity. Of all the people I knew, she was the most like the capitol. No wonder the Districts revolted.

Standing from the table I moved with my fruit in hand.

“I’m meeting Belba before everything starts,” I didn’t want to spend anymore time with my mother than I had to. Not today.

“Darling, I thought we could head down together-”

I didn’t let her finish. I was out the door and into the loud chaotic streets before she could stop me.

The Red Reaping was one of the big parties of the year. It was the first party of the Red Games and although it was a brisk fall day, everyone dressed up for the event. I slipped on my knitted coat with the thinnest of fur trims and continued to eat my orange. Around me everyone was shouting and laughing. Parts of the city played music and there was literal dancing in the streets.

Absolute luxury paired with excited gossiping. It was so different from District 7.

I could easily imagine the trepidation and fear as each citizen from age 18 to 29 dressed for the reaping. It was a more conservative fear, cloaked by the brave faces the older citizens wore. The Hunger Reapings, with their younger children, laid their terror quite plainly on their faces. It had always been so strange to watch a child my age make for the town square knowing I was safe and they weren’t.

‘Trig…’ I thought, the name scarcely on my lips when a familiar voice stopped me.

“Gemma! Over here,” Belba called over. She was a tree amongst most people, that was only worsened by the tall heels she always wore. I rushed through the crowd to her side, accepting the hug she had to bend over to give.

“You made it out of the house, I see.”

“Not unscathed,” I added, showing off the earrings that had turned my earlobes red from their sudden addition. They were fake and so they pinched to stay in place.

“Here,” Belba smiled. She took them off of me gently and turned me around. I could feel her moving a bit at my hair and soon the clips framed by braid instead of tormenting my ears.

“Thank you,” I genuinely spoke, my hands feeling behind my head to where they now sat.

Belba was always so wonderful at fashion. She had dreams of becoming a fashion icon in the city and was well on her way with an internship under Tigress’ guiding hand. I trusted her as Belba was my best friend and understood my minimalist wishes. She always took my odd desires and found ways to merge them with the excessive expectations of the city. In a way, she hid me in the crowd, misdirecting others from my near rebellious tendencies.

“I’m at your service,” Belba giggled. She gave an elaborate bow and it was then I noticed the ring on her left hand. It wasn’t hard to see, sparkling silver against dark ebony skin. Not to mention the ring was huge.

“Is… Is that…” I stammered.

Belba nodded. “It is!” She excitedly exclaimed. “Fredrick proposed!”

I took her hand and examined the ring. I couldn’t have been more excited for Belba! She and Fredrick deserved happiness. They were wonderful but…. “You’re not in the Reaping then.”

The smiles on both of our faces fell. Belba shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want to leave you alone in this but—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted.

“We could wait to register out until next year.”

I shook my head at Belba’s offer. “No point in putting your name in for my sake. Capitol forbid you’re picked and married off to some district boy,” I joked.

She laughed out of kindness at my joke but the pity never left her eyes.

“I know you hate today,” she added quietly.

“I hate all days like today. No need to make this one special,” I forced a smile which Belba understood. I was done talking about it. She was so supportive in ways I could never fully thank. Of everyone in my life, Belba was the only one I could really stand. She let me be me.

“Let’s go,” she sighed and looped her arm with mine. She’d walk with me to the city circle, where she wouldn’t be able to stay with me.

It was odd the first years of the Red Games. Capitol citizens had never done their own reaping and so they looked unorganized and almost comical as those eligible stood in the centre of the circle. There were many of varying ages, a colourful pageantry of dull witted singles. It took a few years before age restrictions were put on the capitol entrants. When a 73 year old woman was picked as the Capitol’s 4th Red Games Rose, they limited the ages to match the districts.

Any single capitol citizen between the ages of 18 to 29 must participate. The gender required switches ever year. Of course this isn’t forced in the capitol. Everyone is beyond excited to play the Rose in the games. Well, apart from myself… but to refuse to be part of the reaping is to show rebellion and the last rebellion was too recent to risk pointing yourself out like that.

The districts were different, of course. Two tributes between the ages of 18 and 29 of each district are chosen, their gender is picked by the Rose after our reaping. In the districts, this day is just like the Hunger Reapings. It’s the same forced participation that few survive, as deadly a game as the Hunger games themselves. So, just as you survive your time in the Hunger reaping pools, you’re entered into the Red reapings and no one is safe until they turn 30.

This year will technically be my first year. When I was 18 I was registered out by a betrothal. The next year the Rose was a male pick and so now…. Now my name rests with all the others. My mom couldn’t stop talking about it, watching previous years competitions and thrilling at the idea that I might be picked. I had to bite my tongue to keep my mouth shut, and by now I had a very sore tongue.

It was easy to be the Rose. A capitol citizen to be an object of desire for others to fight over. The arena was the Capitol, events and parties, but there was a small arena. One in the city that pitted the tributes against each other. The Rose had all the control. Who would be spared, who would be thrown in ‘The Pit’ as it was affectionately called by everyone, who would survive to continue playing. And after all the torment and blood. The Victor and the Rose would be married and live in the capitol as celebrities for the rest of their lives. It was easy to see how a normal Capitol citizen would be thrilled to play the Rose.

But not me.

Belba finally released my arm as we arrived at the check in.

“Try to have fun,” she offered but the stern look on my face told her I’d do otherwise. She rolled her eyes in response. “Just twenty minutes of your time and then you can find me. Fredrick’s got a great spot to watch the fireworks. We’ll have a blast! Just twenty minutes.”

I sighed and offered a soft smile. She was right. A short twenty minutes and I could pretend all this celebration was for something other than death. It was little asked of me in comparison to the  citizens outside the city.

“I’ll see you after,” I confirmed and turned to line up.

The line was jittery and nervous, it reminded me of District 7, though the energy there came from dread, not excitement. The line moved quickly as eager women and men rushed into the centre of the circle. Soon, chariots of doomed tributes would be standing there instead.

Cameras lined the area and broadcasted over large screens. Everyone was dressed rather extravagantly. After so many years, everyone wanted to look their best if chosen. Your future partner was watching after all.

Now the citizens have learned to line up properly. They stand in rows based on age. I couldn’t wait until I grew old enough to stand in the very back rows, covered by high collars and even higher hair. For now, I was nearer the front in spectacular view of the cameras and without many people to hid behind. Still, I managed to find a particularly tall wig to stand behind in the hopes of remaining anonymous and unseen.

Twenty minutes, twenty minutes, just twenty minutes.

I looked down at where they pricked my finger to admit me. A small prick that many whined and moaned about even if it was such a quick and easy prick. Some faced much worst pain in their beauty procedures, this was only worth complaining about because of its lack of immediate reward.

The space will get tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. We all tightly press amongst each other as more eligible citizens clamour for their chance at fame and love. In the stands on all sides the older and younger generations sat with just as much anticipation. And beyond the city circle, others would be at venues and private parties watching the broadcast.

The people around me jabbered on, pointing out cameras with waving hands and discussing their chances. In front of us all was a stage with a bowl of names. One single bowl. My name rested in their twice, unless my mother purchased more entries for me. I was never sure if the same option was offered to the districts but really, who would pay money to have their name in there more often. Here it was an option heavily used, which was why the bowl in the center of the stage held far more little papers than their were people standing. It was five times the size of the capitol bowls.

The likelihood of my name being in there more than twice would have been high were it not for my father. Ever since my engagement ended, my mother had placed all her attention on finding me another match. No one was surprised at her enthusiasm and obsession with the Red Games this year. It was her chance to force me into a match. The only thing that stopped her at every turn was my father. Thank the Capitol for him.

The excited chatter only got worse and I knew why before I saw him. President Snow had taken his place in his large golden seat. Game makers filed out to stand on the stage with last years winners. Married now, Dawn and Tennitt stood hand in hand. Tennitt was what you might expect from the Capitol. He was tall and thin with bright orange hair and a sparkling blue suite. His white gloved hands held that of Dawn’s. Her slanted almond eyes looked about the crowd. Long black hair swept down her back, much longer than they’d been in the games last year. Her pale complexion looked odd against her orange dress, puffy and made to match her new husband. She was quiet, as she’d been in the games. There was something… empty in her eyes. It contrasted with the pleasant smile she kept plastered on her lips. She belonged to the Capitol now. There seemed to be no trace left of her District 2.

Everyone roared with sound until the President stood.

“Welcome to the 8th Annual Red Games,” he began.

The president’s speech was a blathering of self satisfaction, boasting commentary and fluff to fill the spaces. It was the same warning to districts not to rebel. The first year he’d had the thought to mention Katniss by name, which created unrest and anger through the districts. The next he only called her the rebel but still that only caused unrest. Now he was smart enough to pretend the girl on fire had never existed. It was a far firmer point to the districts who fell in line now.

With his words done the crowd was in a roar of applause again, this time for the Victor and Rose as they stood together for their chance to speak. Tennitt spoke of finding his love, his words eloquent and flowery. In reality they meant nothing. Dawn had her own chance to speak but it was much shorter. The way she spoke, it all sounded rehearsed and not of her own.

Finally the Capital’s representative stood. He’ll spend his time ushering the new Rose around, a job the district representatives would have killed for. His was a position hard fought as his Rose is a winner every. single. year. No matter what.

Garth Havensbee a short man dressed in emerald green with a pocket square of orange to match his last Rose. He looked pompous, and far too pleased with himself to be where he was, a celebrity in his own right. His voice was nasally as he offered a “Happy Red Games and may the rose bloom.” It was the newest version of ‘May the odds be every in your favour’. A constantly repeated mantra through these games that caused a wave of cheers.

Garth motioned for the crowds to calm and I looked about. There was no chance of me finding Belba and Fredrick, or any of my family. There were just too many people in the stands. Still, I couldn’t help but look just in case. It was better than listening to yet another speech about finding love and fighting for its prize. It was laughable to think Love could be found anywhere in these games.

The way a tribute won, was through violence and lies. Each district would offer up two tributes of the chosen gender. Some years that’s girls, others its boys, most of the time it’s one of each. Then the tributes are brought to the capital where they must woe the rose. It’s their only chance of survival. Each week, a set of tributes will be thrown in the pit to fight to the death. The winner continues to court the Rose. This all continues until there is only one. So a tribute is expected to romance a Capitol citizen, spoiled and naive, so that they might live as a prisoner. At least the victor of the hunger games would be sent home to live their lives in peace. The Victor of the Red Games would never be free. The most they could hope for would be a gilded cage.

The crowd suddenly picked up in volume, jumping and screaming in excitement. I looked back to the front to see Garth dramatically waved his hand over the bowl. Oh, it was selection time.

“Alright ladies, are you ready?” He asked and the crowds around me screamed. I had to cover my ears to block out the screeching.

Garth dipped his hand into the bowl, stirring the names around and I held my breath as I was jostled around by the ensuing mosh pit. Trust to Capitol to show such undignified behaviour during a reaping.

‘Not me, not me, not me,’ I chanted in my head. I didn’t really think it could be my name pulled. There were hundreds of thousands of slips in that bowl. My two slips had very little chance of being pulled amongst the incredible number. Still, I held my breath while the anticipation grew and grew.

Garth lifted his hand into the air, a slip of paper in his stubby fingers. He made a great show of opening the paper and the accompanying roar was near deafening. He opened his mouth and the audience never ceased their cheering so that he had to yell the name into the microphone to even be heard.

“Gemma Silver.”

One time, when I was young, I was playing by the waters edge with some friends. We always liked the way the current felt against our legs. The nearer you got to the dams the stronger the current. I had been fooling around when I slipped on a rock and found myself submerged under the current, being pulled away towards the dam. I remember the way the water encased me, how muted everything else became around me as I was swept away without any ability to resist.

That’s how I felt now, stunned as the world slowed and went silent around me. Of course the screaming was still rampant as people turned to look for Gemma. A few who knew me began pointing and the whole crowd excitedly pushed me towards the front. I was swept away in such a daze that sound didn’t seem to return until Garth was staring right at me. He was pausing for something. It took a moment to realize he’d asked me a question.

“What?” I asked, my own voice a foreign whisper to my own ears.

“What’s your choice for Tributes?” He asked again with a nasally laugh. The crowds joined, enjoying my speechlessness.

“I….” I couldn’t speak. I wanted to scream, to tell them to redraw, to tell them I choose no gender, that I wanted no part in this. But the world watched, every set of eyes trained on my face, every voice paused in one silent moment as they waited on my choice.

“Come on darling, we haven’t got all day,” Garth prompted away from the mic for only me to hear. He was becoming impatient with my silence. The crowds itched with anticipation as well.

“Male,” I squeaked out.

“She’s chosen male!” Garth declared and the whole stadium erupted into more cheers. Garth took my hand and raised it into the air to which the audience grew impossibly louder.

I could only stand and watch as the Capitol celebrated. I… I had given in, just like that. I had become a part of what I hated most about this place. For all my desire to rebel and change the world…. I gave in. I was a coward.

It was a blur after that. The Panam anthem played and a few more words were said before I was swept away yet again, this time by peacekeeper staff, gently guiding me out of the city circle and into a tall tower nearby where what seemed to be a private party for the game makers and other important people was taking place. So many came up to me, congratulating me and complimenting me. I could only whisper hushed thank you’s and nothing more. I managed to find a window which overlooked the city streets. People filled the area so it was a messy moving river of colours. I stared down as I processed what had just happened to me.

I was reaped. I was the Rose now. I’d be married off to someone from the districts after I cause the murder of 23 men. I was everything I hated about this place.

No, this wasn’t happening. None of that could be true. This was all just a bad dream, a horribly bad dream, just like the one I’d been having every night for the last week.

It began as a memory. I was nine again, living in District 7. School had just finished and all the kids were rushing out of the school to head home. The Hunger Games were being broadcasted and everyone was to go straight home to watch it. I was heading that way when I was pushed to the ground. I spun around to look up and see Trig’s face. Her usually olive complexion was paler and her eyes were rimmed in red from tears, but she wasn’t sad. She was angry. Rage painted her face as my best friend looked down at me.

“You! You’re one of them! This is your fault!” She yelled at me.

I didn’t understand and words failed me which was the wrong answer as Trig swung back and kicked me in the side. It tore the breath from my body as a huddled on my side, cradling the pain.

“You killed my brother!” She screamed again and kicked me in the stomach. My lungs struggled for air without success as pain I’d never felt before ran through me. By now, teachers had come by and grabbed Trig, pulling her away from me. I was helped up from the ground in time to make eye contact with Trig. Her dark brown eyes held a fury as she thrashed against the men pulling her away.

“I hate you! I hate you!” She screamed to me as she was dragged back to the school for punishment.

In reality, Trig would never speak to me again. Her brother had died in the 73rd Hunger Games that day and she’d forever blame the Capitol and all born there for it, including myself.

However in the nightmare, Trig would escape the men holding her and come barreling towards me. A knife appeared in her hand as she tackled me to the ground. She’d slice at my neck and laugh as I bled out, just like her brother Carver died. I felt every moment of it and by the third dream I knew it was coming. I’d struggle against her, attempting release but she’d always manage to hold my down and slit my throat. I’d wake up wrapped in my blankets like knots and in a cold sweat.

I gasped rather dramatically when I felt a hand pull at my shoulder to turn me around. Belba stood before me with Fredrick not too far behind her.

“Congratulations!” She loudly proclaimed but as she leaned forward to hug me, she whispered in my ear. “Are you alright?”

I couldn’t speak. I could only shake my head and fight back the anger that was beginning inside me. Belba sighed and released me, holding on to my shoulders to look over me.

“Of all the people who could have been drawn…” she murmured for only me to hear. She understood how much I didn’t want this.

I opened my mouth to speak but a shrill squeal came from the room in it’s place. My mother came in, loud and ecstatic, she made it over to me and wrapped me in her arms.

“Gemma, we did it! You’re the Rose! Oh the life you’re going to lead now!” She cried. I had to pry her arms off of me to get some air. The feathers at her neck were chocking as it was, let alone her smothering affection. The last thing I needed was her joy.

Luckily, her mother turned her attentions to the other people in the room.

“Can you believe it? My daughter! The Rose! I couldn’t be more proud!” She coed loudly to the room. I could already see her eyes darting around to see who were the most influential and important people in the room. It took everything in me not to die of embarrassment.

My father came around then, looping his arm around my shoulder and only speaking to me.

“This is going to be quite the adventure, eh Gemma? Nothing is going to be the same,” he optimistically remarked.

It was hard to ignore the heaviness in my heart at his words. He meant them in celebration, but I felt them in dismay and despair.

The rest of the party felt like a blur. Important people shook my hand and asked me ridiculous questions such as what colour would be my signature or how tall I hoped my future husband might be. It all felt so trivial and it only worsened my mood. Guilt wracked me at every turn.

“Gemma! Over here!” Belba called at one point. I drifted over to her and the woman standing before her. “Gemma this is Belladonna. She’ll be your stylist this year!”

Belba was starry eyed as she looked over the lean woman who wore all black apart from a red rose. It would seem understated were it not for the large black cages that sat on either hip and her shoulders. A black veil reached over her left eye and gave her a dangerous look. Her blond hair was pin straight, ending in a sharp bob and complimenting her dark carmel skin.

“Charmed,” she purred, holding out her hand covered in a black lace glove. Her black lips quirked up in a smirk when I took her hand and shook it in a daze.

“Quite a shock to the system, this sudden surge in fame,” Belladonna offered but there was something in her eyes like she meant more that she couldn’t or wouldn’t say.

I could only nod before the designer began to circle me. She gently touched the few flowers on my dress and the gold clips in my hair with her spidery like fingers.

“A flower to be sure, but is there anything beneath it,” she commented to herself.

It was then my mother came barreling over. Letta had indulged too much on wine already. Her bleach blond hair was falling out of it’s careful curls and the literal nest she’d secured this morning was falling to the side.

“Gemma! My sweet girl,” she came over and pinched my cheeks. It hurt nearly as much as her checkered dress hurt my eyes. “You’re going to get married. You’ll have a wedding after all,” she explained a little too emotionally.

I looked about at the attention she was drawing. My shoulders tensed with it.

“You know, when Marcius broke off the engagement I was afraid you’d never find a man, or a partner. Honestly I thought Belba might have been your girlfriend for a time but then she found fredrick and I thought you’d be all alone.” Letta continued.

It was all too much, too loud, too embarrassing.

“Stop it mother,” I tried to speak through gritted teeth but she either didn’t hear me over her performance or didn’t care. Instead she placed her hands on my shoulders to speak directly to me, and the crowd that gathered around us.

“You were always such a hard one to match up. No matter how hard I tried, and believe me I tried, I couldn’t seem to get a man to stick around for you but now! Now they’ll have no choice, eh piglet?”

It was a cruel nickname my mother had for me when I was young. I carried too much weight in her opinion, my body not quite the style it should be and my refusal to take Capitol measures to fix it was what spurned the name. I grew out of it to some degree, my baby fat becoming a fuller womanly figure. Still, she could not help but comment on the willowy form that was popular in the city and my much curvier shape.

It was that name that made me snap. “Enough!” I screamed and pushed aside my mothers doting hands aside.

The room was silent from my outburst but I didn’t care. The startled eyes could look at me all they want, it wouldn’t help calm the simmering rage beneath my skin.

“The one thing I’m most grateful for mother, is the time I’ll have away from you,” I hissed before turning and storming out of the room.

All eyes watched and I could hear one quiet comment over the silence.

“The flower has some thorns,” Belladonna spoke.

I walked home that night. Few people stopped me as few people thought the Rose would be anywhere but the largest party of the night. I managed to get home with relative ease and went straight for my bedroom where I locked the door. The room was still silenced from this morning, the first quiet I’d found since this morning.

Finally I could have a moment of peace. A moment to process. A moment to sink to the floor and cry.

It felt like hours alone. I managed to pick myself off the floor and into my bed where I hid under the covers, hoping this was all a dream. No matter how many times I shut my eyes when they opened, it still wasn’t a dream.

A pounding fist on my door startled me. Letta’s voice came through.

“Gemma! Open this door this instant!” She screeched. I could hear my father trying to make her see reason and not confront me but she wasn’t having any of it.

My rage renewed I stood and marched to the door, opening it to both of their surprise.

“Gemma!” My mother seemed as angry as I was, even more of a mess than the last time I’d seen her. “What were you thinking!? Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me!”

“I embarrassed you?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes! Your blow ups, Gemma they’ll be the death of me I swear,” she tried to head into my room for her next performance but I refused to step out of the way for her.

“I wish they would already,” I spoke through gritted teeth.

“Gemma,” my father scolded but Letta took the insult and ran with it.

“You wish me dead? Is that it?” Large fake tears began to fall over her rosy cheeks. “Oh isn’t that wonderful. I give my daughter the world and she wants me dead.”

“Quit your crying, we all know you don’t mean a word of it,” I spat.

“Oh I mean it! These tears are real but they’re not for me! They’re for you!” She tried but I rolled my eyes. “You know this is the reason Marcius left you,” she tried.

Without thinking I reeled back and slapped her across the face. Silence prevailed as shock replaced my mothers dramatics. Not even my father dared to say another word.

“How DARE you!? I should-”

“You should what?” Letta was interrupted by a nasally voice. Behind her and my father stood Havvery and some guests he’d let into the house. Garth stood with Belladonna and a few others behind her.

“I.. I… she…” Letta sputtered but Garth was already moving past her towards me.

“Might I come in?” He asked and I stepped aside for him, casting Letta another dirty look. The others followed and when only Letta and my father were left in the hallway Garth offered a pleasant thanks and shut the door.

“Gemma Silver, I believe you’ve had the change to meet Belladonna Ivy.” I gave a not to Garth’s words. “Well this is Remington and Imogen, members of her, and now your, style team.”

I had no words, the sudden change from a fight to such polite introductions was staggering. Garth used this as a chance to speak a rehearsed welcome he must have given to all the Roses.

“As we begin the 8th Annual Red Games you will become the centre of focus for all of Panam. As such it is imperative that you make a good impression on the country. As such I will help guild you through these tasks and assist in any way I can. Together we will craft your love story and show Panam that life is always better unified.”

I was barely listening as he spoke and it seemed Garth didn’t care much.

“Now, I will take my leave. Belladonna will see that you are ready for your send off and we’ll head out on this marvellous adventure,” he spoke, again rather board.

I only nodded again. Garth accepted that and left to no doubt calm my mother down, perhaps scold her a bit if I was lucky. Though luck hadn’t exactly been on my side as of late.

Belladonna began rounding me once more. Her assistants, Remington and Imogen, who happened to look like twins with their lavender hair, near white skin and sweeping fitted cloaks. The only differences lied in their eyes. Remington’s were a soft grey and Imogen were a deep jade. They began taking notes on a small tablet while Belladonna circled me like prey. She came to the front and took my chin, raising it to meet my eyes.

“Tears of joy perhaps?” She commented, noting the redness of them and what must have been streaks of gold carried down my cheeks with my tears. She didn’t need me to answer. Instead she moved to my bed where Imogen placed a large box, unsnapping latches and opening all the various folding trays. Inside lay a smattering of colours, all waiting to paint my face. Her collection of paints and brushes put mine to shame. Belladonna spoke while examining the many tools and trays.

“My job is different than most stylists. Where most stylists are meant to help tributes find sponsors, my role is far more important.” She stopped and turned to me. “I am to make you worth dying for.”

My heart dropped at the idea. I hadn’t even thought of what the tributes might think of me.

“Now now, not to fear,” Belladonna sensed my fears all too clearly and reached for me, pushing my hair back and taking my face in her hands.

“This is your kindness to them, do you understand? They will be chosen, no matter who the rose is, tributes will be chosen and will die. It’s a service to them, you see, that you make yourself a worthy prize for all the loss they’ll face.”

Her words added more pressure that I hadn’t even thought to add to my shoulders. I would be their ruin and now I had to make myself worth that ruin? I had only hours ago let myself down. How could I not do the same to 24 unfortunate souls I’d yet to meet?

“Where are they?” Belladonna asked, confused.

For a moment I thought she might be speaking to her assistants but it seemed she was looking for something on my face.

“What?”

“Your thorns dear, where did they go? I saw them at the party,” she clarified with a kind smile on her black lips that didn’t match her usual mischievous grin.

She waited until I cracked the smallest of smiles before she released me and headed back to her work. My face was cleaned and drops were placed in my eyes to calm their redness. I was stripped down and placed in a robe as well, my hair untied around my shoulders to start from scratch.

“You made a sweet impression at the reaping, but let’s not have them think you’re some kind of soft girl. You’ll need to be capable. You’ll need to seem in control.”

The way Belladonna spoke, I had the impression the tributes were still more on her mind than the Capitol. That did ease my worry in some way. If her worries were alined with my own it would make this all so much easier.

Belladona began, painting my face with brushes and powders. She and her large cages stood in my way that I couldn’t see her work. Behind me I could hear the twin assistants working and moving, all in silence.

All the while Belladonna made small conversation. She asked me questions, about my family and my life. I wasn’t sure if it was to get to know me or to ease and distract me but it worked on all accounts. Soon she turned me and began working on my hair. I could see now that the twins were laying out clothing options, accessories and more that Belladonna gave the most subtle cues to. I couldn’t even perceive them but they seemed to know what she wanted.

The colours that laid on my bed weren’t far off from my peach choices this morning. White crossing strips of ribbon were embellished by flowers in blues, lavenders and soft pinks.

“So we’re taking the rose thing rather literal this year,” I commented to Belladonna. I instantly regretted it, I shouldn’t have been so rude to someone who was just trying to help.

“Oh the flowers aren’t about your title,” she corrected without skipping a beat. “The capitol can be cold, fake and cruel. Every district knows this but you, you will be different.” She finished with one last pin in my hair and encouraged me to stand with a push to my shoulders. The twins were already removing my robe and holding out a nude strapless one piece. The lines in it and corseting gave detail and shape as I stepped in.

“Though the Capitol look can be very alluring, it won’t be to tributes. I want to make a statement that separates you from the rest of us. A beacon for tributes to flock to.”

Once laced into the corseting, the white ribbons were lifted over my head. I could see now what the idea was. Each white ribbon wrapped around me as though the outline of a dress rather than the full piece. It began around my neck in a chocker and down my shoulders. More lines moved across my waist and at my hips the ribbon became stiff, moving away from me to create an a-line gown that reached to the flood. Through t it reacted the illusion of a dress my full leg was shown all the way to my one piece. This would have been rather risqué were it not for the flowers that wrapped around my waist and flowed down the ribbon cage. It was beautiful to be sure but…

“Ah, ah ah,” Belladonna waved her finger before me. “No second guessing yourself.” She took my shoulders and turned me towards my mirror.

On the other side of the mirror stood a beauty. Every line of ribbon the dress created was meant to accentuate my figure, making me look mature and kind of sexy, while the flowers made me look feminine. My make up matched that tone, colours that were reflected in the flowers of my dress had been painted on my lids, making my eyes large and my skin dewy. My hair was far less tamed than most in the capitol these days. My hair was pulled back in loose braids, nearly falling apart, that ran down my back. Delicate flowers had been woven into my brown hair all the way to its gold ends.

Belladonna picked and perfected a few of those flowers as she stood behind me. Imogen placed simple pearl earrings on my ears while Remington added a perfect violet gold band to my finger.

“You, my dear, will be a natural beauty amongst a world of harsh illusions.”

I gawked, unaware my curvy shape could be celebrated rather than altered. The look felt, simple and authentic yet would not be questioned by the capitol citizens. “Thank you,” I whispered as my hands began to explore the garden at my hips.

“Don’t thank me yet, we have a long journey ahead of us,” Belladonna added as she made a motion to the twins. In mere moments the entirety of their tools and things were packed away and ready to leave.

I was lead out to my living room where Letta and my father sat. Father read from his tablet while mother bowed her head. It was clear that Garth had been disciplining my mother. He all but ignored my father behind him and stood directly before Letta.

“We’re ready,” Belladonna announced and Garth lifted his gaze with a smile.

“Ah, aren’t you lovely,” he complimented and moved to my side with an offered hand. “Now, we’ll take you to the train station where we’ll begin the Reaping Tour. It is customary to say your goodbyes here.” He let his gaze turn to my uninterested father and emotionally exhausting mother.

“Goodbye,” I gave in a short tone. Father gave a wave and a smile, knowing he’d see me soon. Letta only made a blubbering sound, unhappy she wasn’t being doted on for her fake tears.

I gave Garth a nod and he seem to be quite understanding of my lack of sentiment. He lead me out the door without question into an awaiting black car.

This time I, or rather the car, was clearly noticed. They waved and screamed from either side even though I was sure they couldn’t see me through the tint of the car.

“You can stand and wave if you’d like,” Garth informed me when he noticed where my attention was. He motioned to the sunroof above us.

“No,” I spoke and cast my eyes down to my floral ring.

I’d been right not to wave. There was no need. It seemed the whole city had turned out at the station.

Citizens and reporters with their insect like cameras trained directly on my face all pushed to get just a little closer as the car doors opened. Peacekeepers kept them at bay but it seemed a struggle for them, especially once they caught sight of me. They screamed and hollered for even a second of my attention. This was fame it seemed.

I caught a glimpse of myself on a television screen on the wall that was airing my arrival live and felt gratified that I appeared just as Belladonna hoped. I looked natural, especially amongst the capitals vivid colours and multitude of augmentations.

I gave small sweet smiles but I just couldn’t hide how overwhelming this was.

I was ushered towards the train, eager to be out of the spotlight. Still, I was forced to stand a few minutes in the doorway of the train while the cameras gobbled up my images, then we were allowed inside and the doors close mercifully behind us. The train began to move at once.

The speed initially took my breath away. It had been years since I’d been on a train. The last one brought me back to the capitol almost eleven years ago. It was one of the high-speed Capitol model just like this one. I ran a hand over one of the chairs, it even smelt the same as before.

The staff on the train wore Red outfits with golden trim and showed us each to our rooms. I was surprised as I passed door after door. Twelve to be exact, one for each district on this section of the train. Their handlers and designers would be at the other end of the train. My room was larger and set just before the last car of the train. I’d be close to the viewing room with all it’s windows, but every single person on the train would know where to find me.

Stepping inside my chambers had a lavish suite. It would have been a well sized room were it not for the monstrous bed taking up most of the space. There’d have been room for a sitting area otherwise. Instead I had only a bathroom and dressing area apart from the sleeping area. I wouldn’t have seemed so… spoiled if I didn’t know exactly why the bed was so large.

Though I’d avoided watching too much of either games, it was impossible to ignore. It was broadcasted everywhere and all anyone talked about. I’d seen the blood and carnage. I’d seen the parties and events. I’d even heard of and seen one of the more heated nights between the rose and a tribute. I could never understand how the rose agreed to allow the broadcast of such an intimate moment. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it, let alone be broadcast doing it.

The drawers were filled with fine clothes all approved by Belladonna, as was expected. They were simple and comfortable. The real dresses were in Belledonna’s room, those were the dresses for the cameras. For now I was free to wear whatever I wanted.

After carefully taking off my outfit I looked over the clothing and opted for the thick, warm robe instead. I pulled out my hair and all it’s flowers as well as wiping off my make up. They’d just re-dress me again when we arrived at district one in a few hours. That was our first stop. District one. The district took turns deciding which way they would be reaped. The rose was to be present at each so the order the districts were reaped mattered strategically, it added time alone on the train with the rose. This year would begin at 1 and end at 12B

The only thing I kept on was the violet ring.

Flowers weren’t often real in the Capitol. They were silk or other materials and the ones that were grown were genetic mutations meant to look perfect. The petrified violet on my hand however, that was a real flower. Or it had been once upon a time. I let my finger stroke over the now preserved petals. Real, genuine beauty. That’s what I wanted to be. Belladonna’s natural look was to make me stand out and it had certainly done that. I wanted more. I wanted to be separate.

I’d always played the rebel. I stood up to the capitol in meaningless, insignificant ways. A braid, a secret aversion to games, a reluctance to participate fully. It was pitiful attempts to make up for my birth given status. This time I would make it clear, I would pick a side. I would choose the districts and their tributes instead of the capitol I was born to. No matter what happened, I would be on their side.

Garth came to collect me for supper. I followed him through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls. There was a table set for myself and my team.

I sat at the head of the table. Garth took the seat to my right and Belladonna to my left with the twins beside her. The rest of the table held countless chairs with no place settings. It would be for each of my doomed suitors. A shiver ran down my spine at the horrid idea.

Supper came in course after silent course. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Garth kept blathering on about all the exciting things I would experience in each district. After the Reaping they would put on some sort of feast, celebration or custom to entertain me. It would all be for me. I knew Garth was trying to cheer me up and get me excited but every word grated on my nerves and worsened my guilt.

I remained quiet until the meal was over and the moment I was free I excused myself and rushed straight to the last car to be alone. This time of night it was actually beautiful, the capitol was so bright that seeing the stars was impossible. Out here, they twinkled far above me, perfectly displayed through the glass ceiling of the car. I curled up on one of the chairs and stared at the sky.

All night the parties in the Capitol would continue. They would rerun my reaping, speak about all the things they could find out about me through the day. My age, my parents of which Letta would be thrilled, my past in District 7, my past engagement and tragic break up with Marcius, it would all be playing all night for the Capitol to indulge. My life, their entertainment.

I didn’t mean to but I fell asleep in that chair. When I woke to sunlight I ached from being curled up. It took time to stretch myself out. The sun felt too bright and I stumbled even though the train was no longer moving. We were stopped at District 1’s station, ready for the first of district reapings.

28 Fictional Couples That Should Have Ended Up Together

https://styleveryday.com/2018/03/05/28-fictional-couples-that-should-have-ended-up-together/

28 Fictional Couples That Should Have Ended Up Together

With added polls for your pleasure.

Note: We only chose couples from shows and movies that, as far as we know, have concluded. 🚨Spoilers ahead!🚨

Jack and Rose (Titanic)

“Why couldn’t Rose get on the lifeboat? Then, when Jack landed in the water he could have been on the floating wood, and then they could’ve found each other after!” —shelbys4801a11f0

“A true tragedy.” —kelsipullen

Paramount Pictures

Robin & Barney (How I Met Your Mother)

“He respected her and loved her for who she was and even gave up the idea of having his own kids to be with her. Meanwhile, Ted told her that she needed to be less independent because ‘some guys like to feel needed’ and made her give up her dogs because he was jealous that she dated guys before him.” —milkteapapi

“The last few seasons highlighting the ups and downs of Barney and Robin’s relationship felt so right. They grew into each other and made the other their priority. Their divorce wasn’t fleshed out enough and went back on all of their character development.” —lisah4f7be2850

“It’s been almost five years and I’m still pissed about the finale.” —canadagirlmetronews1

CBS

Katniss & Gale (The Hunger Games)

“They were perfect for each other, goddangit!” —edynwebbz

“The fact Katniss ended up with Peeta and not Gale REALLY annoys me.” —chloem4350bba95

“She should not have ended up with Peeta, she did not love him as he loved her.” —m4ea75f226

Lionsgate

Shawn & Angela (Boy Meets World)

“They had shared interests and connected over similar issues with their families. Even though they had difficulty confronting their feelings for each other, they understood one another better than anyone else ever could. All hope was lost after their storyline concluded in Girl Meets World, and I will forever be sad that they didn’t end up together!” —sevanak

Beuna Vista Television

Beca & Chloe (Pitch Perfect)

“They are repeatedly put in ‘will they/won’t they’ situations and are used for queer baiting.” —leot4bde01e65

“Even Anna Kendrick and Brittany Snow shipped them!” —izzy1890926

Universal Pictures

Buffy & Angel (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

“They loved each other more than anything or anyone and how their romance ended was heartbreaking. I still think they’re the greatest couple ever.” —bruce9752

“He was obviously still in love with her and vice versa, judging on the amount of times they showed up to save one another. I’m sure there was SOME spell that’s like a condom, but instead of preventing STDs and pregnancy, it prevents him from turning into a murderous beast.” —cammie81

WB

Phoebe & Joey (Friends)

“Although I love Mike, Joey and Phoebe should have gotten together and I’m still a little sad they never really did.” —kateflowerhome

“I know they weren’t actually a couple, but they should have been! They had a special connection and just got each other. Matt LeBlanc and Lisa Kudrow even pitched to the show’s execs an idea that they had been sleeping together the whole time. How perfect would that have been?” —erikas4c517eb6e

NBC

Rachel & Joey (Friends)

“The buildup to their brief relationship was fantastic, but then they killed it by deciding it was awkward. It didn’t have to be, writers! Ross is the worst and deserved to be alone.” —c452f9e68c

“Ross was whiny, selfish, and SO insecure! Joey and Rachel had such a sweet connection.” —kayleeb4390f5879

“God, I hate Ross.” —dddddddddddddd2714

NBC

Elio & Oliver (Call Me By Your Name)

“Their relationship was so raw and real, but on the other hand, the reason the story resonated so deeply with me was because it was about losing your first love.” —melissam4334ccceb

Sony Pictures Classics

Kevin & Winnie (The Wonder Years)

“All that build up so they can write letters to each other as adult friends? Hell nah.” —kellihollemans

ABC

Stefan & Elena (The Vampire Diaries)

“Despite everything the world threw at them, they trusted each other and their love knew no boundaries. They brought out the best versions of each other and would sacrifice everything for one another. They are the most beautiful love story and deserved so much better.” —carolync4178cbdc3

CW

Emily & Maya (Pretty Little Liars)

“Every girlfriend after was a total letdown and undeserving of sweet, beautiful Emily. Maya brought her out of her shell and helped her blossom.” —beemer723

ABC

Sam & Diane (Cheers)

“There were times when their relationship was chaotic, but above all else, Sam and Diane loved each other. I will never believe that Sam would’ve been happier with the bar than with Diane. WHY’D THEY HAVE TO BREAK MY HEART?” —nothankyou666

NBC

Pocahontas & John Smith (Pocahontas)

“I know what actually happened to Pocahontas was terrible, but I felt that in the Disney fictional story she should have ended up with John Smith.” —bradford97

“Disney, you shat on history in the first one, why couldn’t you have done that in the second one? John Rolfe was the most boring basic white boi.” —emily1380

Disney

Serena & Nate (Gossip Girl)

“They were such good friends their whole lives and he loved her from the start. He treated her better than anyone ever did and they were the cutest together. Dan, on the other hand, basically tried to destroy them. What a creepy jerk to do that to your ‘friends’ and the woman you supposedly ‘love’.” —c452f9e68c

“I’m sorry but the world was ROBBED OF ALL HAPPINESS when Nate and Serena didn’t end up together. I rest my case.” —oliviam4982aeb33

CW

Tara & Willow (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

“The most I’ve ever cried in my whole life is when Tara died. Twillow was the first gay relationship I aspired to have, and it broke my heart that she was HIGHKEY SHOT THROUGH THE HEART. Tara deserved better.” —mollyslays

“No one played love better than Alyson Hannigan on that show, and she lost so much and I wanted her to be truly happy. I wept.” —k44772d17f

WB

Brooke & Lucas (One Tree Hill)

“Lucas was the first guy to see Brooke for something more than just an easy lay. Brooke brought out the fun in Lucas.” —agreen1490

“If any couple should have ended up together, it should have been Brooke and Lucas. To this day, the fact that he chose Peyton breaks my heart.” —alexiselizabethp

CW

Mia & Sebastian (La La Land)

“I will never get over the fact that they didn’t end up with each other. They need each other!” —amandam4c47bd830

“Gets me every time.” —madelyndepodesta

Summit Entertainment

Annie & Jeff (Community)

“They had such good chemistry, and not in an annoying ‘will they/won’t they’ way. Watching them flirt and crush on each other reminded me of every random infatuation I had in college.” —redtoenails

“OTP, they deserved so much better!” —natashagatti1018

NBC

Katara & Zuko (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

“1. Sexual tension since season one. 2. Katara was the first to believe that Zuko could be good. 3. Zuko helped her get closure after her mother’s death. 4. He confided in her about his mother’s disappearance and his guilt over betraying his uncle. 5. HE ALMOST DIED SAVING HER FROM HIS SISTER. Enough said.” —jsws17

“The writers even said that originally they were suppose to end up together. It would have been perfection.” —supersammy

Nickelodeon

Andie & Duckie (Pretty in Pink)

“Our boy Duckie deserved better.” —athenaa44a06d389

“Why she chose that butthead Blane after how he treated her, I will never know.” —ryliem3

Paramount Pictures

Eric & Sookie (True Blood)

“Their chemistry was sizzling and I loved watching how their characters grew and actually formed a deep connection over the course of the series. All their scenes together were fire.” —rachelj43312bbe2

“He was flawed and evil, that’s true, but Bill was so much worse! At least Eric truly cared about Sookie, and they really did love each other. And in the end she doesn’t end up with either of them, only to marry some guy we never met.” —hannahcanela

HBO

Mike & Susan (Desperate Housewives)

“They battled for nine seasons through SO MUCH and then he just gets shot? No. Thank. You.” —gilliana41ef45ca1

ABC

Jack & Ennis (Brokeback Mountain)

“Countless tears. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” —jaelynnp

Focus Features

Kimberly & Tommy (Mighty Morphin Power Rangers)

“They belonged together!” —karatyrell

FOX

Jackie & Hyde (That ’70s Show)

“She was less self-centered and he was more genuine and affectionate when they were a couple. HE WAS READY TO PROPOSE. Then he randomly married a stripper? And Jackie ends up with Fez? It made ZERO SENSE.” —brittanyg4baf9d707

“They had so much chemistry and history. Then they just threw Fez and Jackie together. It just didn’t feel right.” —woodg

“I will forever hate and never understand how Jackie and Hyde didn’t end up together.” —jeneenmm

FOX

Hermione & Draco (Harry Potter)

“Ron is great, but he was way too immature for Hermione. Draco, however, is much more mature, and would be a mystery that Hermione would love to figure out. Plus, they have so much chemistry! Not like Ron, with the emotional range of a teaspoon. —bwes

“He was always a misunderstood character. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a coward for sure, but it’s not his fault the way he was raised. She is such an understanding and kind person. I like it.” —greysiv

“#Dramione forever!” —michaelas4e292a0ca

Warner Bros.

Hermione & Harry (Harry Potter)

“J.K. Rowling herself said that Harry and Hermione should have ended up together and the fact that they didn’t still makes me so mad. Ron is absolutely terrible to Hermione and suffers from some serious anger issues and to see people romanticizing their relationship is just sickening.” —hermanfreakinpotter

“They were always meant to be together.” —ccodonnell0992

“Ron is too immature, and not enough of an intellectual challenge for her. Not to mention his lack of emotional depth.” —christinac4a3c7b6b7

Warner Bros.

Note: Submissions have been edited for length and/or clarity.

16 "Always." In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It's a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers. When I finally begin to surface into the sterile hospital room in 13, I remember. I was under the influence of sleep syrup. My heel had been injured after I'd climbed out on a branch over the electric fence and dropped back into 12. Peeta had put me to bed and I had asked him to stay with me as I was drifting off. He had whispered something I couldn't quite catch. But some part of my brain had trapped his single word of reply and let it swim up through my dreams to taunt me now. "Always." Morphling dulls the extremes of all emotions, so instead of a stab of sorrow, I merely feel emptiness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers used to bloom. Unfortunately, there's not enough of the drug left in my veins for me to ignore the pain in the left side of my body. That's where the bullet hit. My hands fumble over the thick bandages encasing my ribs and I wonder what I'm still doing here. It wasn't him, the man kneeling before me on the square, the burned one from the Nut. He didn't pull the trigger. It was someone farther back in the crowd. There was less a sense of penetration than the feeling that I'd been struck with a sledgehammer. Everything after the moment of impact is confusion riddled with gunfire. I try to sit up, but the only thing I manage is a moan. The white curtain that divides my bed from the next patient's whips back, and Johanna Mason stares down at me. At first I feel threatened, because she attacked me in the arena. I have to remind myself that she did it to save my life. It was part of the rebel plot. But still, that doesn't mean she doesn't despise me. Maybe her treatment of me was all an act for the Capitol? "I'm alive," I say rustily. "No kidding, brainless." Johanna walks over and plunks down on my bed, sending spikes of pain shooting across my chest. When she grins at my discomfort, I know we're not in for some warm reunion scene. "Still a little sore?" With an expert hand, she quickly detaches the morphling drip from my arm and plugs it into a socket taped into the crook of her own. "They started cutting back my supply a few days ago. Afraid I'm going to turn into one of those freaks from Six. I've had to borrow from you when the coast was clear. Didn't think you'd mind." Mind? How can I mind when she was almost tortured to death by Snow after the Quarter Quell? I have no right to mind, and she knows it. Johanna sighs as the morphling enters her bloodstream. "Maybe they were onto something in Six. Drug yourself out and paint flowers on your body. Not such a bad life. Seemed happier than the rest of us, anyway." In the weeks since I left 13, she's gained some weight back. A soft down of hair has sprouted on her shaved head, helping to hide some of the scars. But if she's siphoning off my morphling, she's struggling. "They've got this head doctor who comes around every day. Supposed to be helping me recover. Like some guy who's spent his life in this rabbit warren's going to fix me up. Complete idiot. At least twenty times a session he reminds me that I'm totally safe." I manage a smile. It's a truly stupid thing to say, especially to a victor. As if such a state of being ever existed, anywhere, for anyone. "How about you, Mockingjay? You feel totally safe?" "Oh, yeah. Right up until I got shot," I say. "Please. That bullet never even touched you. Cinna saw to that," she says. I think of the layers of protective armor in my Mockingjay outfit. But the pain came from somewhere. "Broken ribs?" "Not even. Bruised pretty good. The impact ruptured your spleen. They couldn't repair it." She gives a dismissive wave of her hand. "Don't worry, you don't need one. And if you did, they'd find you one, wouldn't they? It's everybody's job to keep you alive." "Is that why you hate me?" I ask. "Partly," she admits. "Jealousy is certainly involved. I also think you're a little hard to swallow. With your tacky romantic drama and your defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn't an act, which makes you more unbearable. Please feel free to take this personally." "You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would've had to feed you lines," I say. "True. But no one likes me," she tells me. "They trusted you, though. To get me out," I remind her. "And they're afraid of you." "Here, maybe. In the Capitol, you're the one they're scared of now." Gale appears in the doorway, and Johanna neatly unhooks herself and reattaches me to the morphling drip. "Your cousin's not afraid of me," she says confidentially. She scoots off my bed and crosses to the door, nudging Gale's leg with her hip as she passes him. "Are you, gorgeous?" We can hear her laughter as she disappears down the hall. I raise my eyebrows at him as he takes my hand. "Terrified," he mouths. I laugh, but it turns into a wince. "Easy." He strokes my face as the pain ebbs. "You've got to stop running straight into trouble." "I know. But someone blew up a mountain," I answer. Instead of pulling back, he leans in closer, searching my face. "You think I'm heartless." "I know you're not. But I won't tell you it's okay," I say. Now he draws back, almost impatiently. "Katniss, what difference is there, really, between crushing our enemy in a mine or blowing them out of the sky with one of Beetee's arrows? The result is the same." "I don't know. We were under attack in Eight, for one thing. The hospital was under attack," I say. "Yes, and those hoverplanes came from District Two," he says. "So, by taking them out, we prevented further attacks." "But that kind of thinking...you could turn it into an argument for killing anyone at any time. You could justify sending kids into the Hunger Games to prevent the districts from getting out of line," I say. "I don't buy that," he tells me. "I do," I reply. "It must be those trips to the arena." "Fine. We know how to disagree," he says. "We always have. Maybe it's good. Between you and me, we've got District Two now." "Really?" For a moment a feeling of triumph flares up inside me. Then I think about the people on the square. "Was there fighting after I was shot?" "Not much. The workers from the Nut turned on the Capitol soldiers. The rebels just sat by and watched," he says. "Actually, the whole country just sat by and watched." "Well, that's what they do best," I say. You'd think that losing a major organ would entitle you to lie around a few weeks, but for some reason, my doctors want me up and moving almost immediately. Even with the morphling, the internal pain's severe the first few days, but then it slacks off considerably. The soreness from the bruised ribs, however, promises to hang on for a while. I begin to resent Johanna dipping into my morphling supply, but I still let her take whatever she likes. Rumors of my death have been running rampant, so they send in the team to film me in my hospital bed. I show off my stitches and impressive bruising and congratulate the districts on their successful battle for unity. Then I warn the Capitol to expect us soon. As part of my rehabilitation, I take short walks aboveground each day. One afternoon, Plutarch joins me and gives me an update on our current situation. Now that District 2 has allied with us, the rebels are taking a breather from the war to regroup. Fortifying supply lines, seeing to the wounded, reorganizing their troops. The Capitol, like 13 during the Dark Days, finds itself completely cut off from outside help as it holds the threat of nuclear attack over its enemies. Unlike 13, the Capitol is not in a position to reinvent itself and become self-sufficient. "Oh, the city might be able to scrape along for a while," says Plutarch. "Certainly, there are emergency supplies stockpiled. But the significant difference between Thirteen and the Capitol are the expectations of the populace. Thirteen was used to hardship, whereas in the Capitol, all they've known is Panem et Circenses." "What's that?" I recognizePanem , of course, but the rest is nonsense. "It's a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a place called Rome," he explains. "Panem et Circensestranslates into 'Bread and Circuses.' The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power." I think about the Capitol. The excess of food. And the ultimate entertainment. The Hunger Games. "So that's what the districts are for. To provide the bread and circuses." "Yes. And as long as that kept rolling in, the Capitol could control its little empire. Right now, it can provide neither, at least at the standard the people are accustomed to," says Plutarch. "We have the food and I'm about to orchestrate an entertainment propo that's sure to be popular. After all, everybody loves a wedding." I freeze in my tracks, sick at the idea of what he's suggesting. Somehow staging some perverse wedding between Peeta and me. I haven't been able to face that one-way glass since I've been back and, at my own request, only get updates about Peeta's condition from Haymitch. He speaks very little about it. Different techniques are being tried. There will never truly be a way to cure him. And now they want me to marry Peeta for a propo? Plutarch rushes to reassure me. "Oh, no, Katniss. Not your wedding. Finnick and Annie's. All you need to do is show up and pretend to be happy for them." "That's one of the few things I won't have to pretend, Plutarch," I tell him. The next few days bring a flurry of activity as the event is planned. The differences between the Capitol and 13 are thrown into sharp relief by the event. When Coin says "wedding," she means two people signing a piece of paper and being assigned a new compartment. Plutarch means hundreds of people dressed in finery at a three-day celebration. It's amusing to watch them haggle over the details. Plutarch has to fight for every guest, every musical note. After Coin vetoes a dinner, entertainment, and alcohol, Plutarch yells, "What's the point of the propo if no one's having any fun!" It's hard to put a Gamemaker on a budget. But even a quiet celebration causes a stir in 13, where they seem to have no holidays at all. When it's announced that children are wanted to sing District 4's wedding song, practically every kid shows up. There's no shortage of volunteers to help make decorations. In the dining hall, people chat excitedly about the event. Maybe it's more than the festivities. Maybe it's that we are all so starved for something good to happen that we want to be part of it. It would explain why - when Plutarch has a fit over what the bride will wear - I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour. I'm a little leery about being with Annie since all I really know about her is that Finnick loves her and everybody thinks she's mad. On the hovercraft ride, I decide she's less mad than unstable. She laughs at odd places in the conversation or drops out of it distractedly. Those green eyes fixate on a point with such intensity that you find yourself trying to make out what she sees in the empty air. Sometimes, for no reason, she presses both her hands over her ears as if to block out a painful sound. All right, she's strange, but if Finnick loves her, that's good enough for me. I got permission for my prep team to come along, so I'm relieved of having to make any fashion decisions. When I open the closet, we all fall silent because Cinna's presence is so strong in the flow of the fabrics. Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and bursts into tears. "It's been so long," she gasps, "since I've seen anything pretty." Despite reservations on Coin's side that it's too extravagant, and on Plutarch's side that it's too drab, the wedding is a smash hit. The three hundred lucky guests culled from 13 and the many refugees wear their everyday clothes, the decorations are made from autumn foliage, the music is provided by a choir of children accompanied by the lone fiddler who made it out of 12 with his instrument. So it's simple, frugal by the Capitol's standards. It doesn't matter because nothing can compete with the beauty of the couple. It isn't about their borrowed finery - Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta's suits that they altered - although the clothes are striking. Who can look past the radiant faces of two people for whom this day was once a virtual impossibility? Dalton, the cattle guy from 10, conducts the ceremony, since it's similar to the one used in his district. But there are unique touches of District 4. A net woven from long grass that covers the couple during their vows, the touching of each other's lips with salt water, and the ancient wedding song, which likens marriage to a sea voyage. No, I don't have to pretend to be happy for them. After the kiss that seals the union, the cheers, and a toast with apple cider, the fiddler strikes up a tune that turns every head from 12. We may have been the smallest, poorest district in Panem, but we know how to dance. Nothing has been officially scheduled at this point, but Plutarch, who's calling the propo from the control room, must have his fingers crossed. Sure enough, Greasy Sae grabs Gale by the hand and pulls him into the center of the floor and faces off with him. People pour in to join them, forming two long lines. And the dancing begins. I'm standing off to the side, clapping to the rhythm, when a bony hand pinches me above the elbow. Johanna scowls at me. "Are you going to miss the chance to let Snow see you dancing?" She's right. What could spell victory louder than a happy Mockingjay twirling around to music? I find Prim in the crowd. Since winter evenings gave us a lot of time to practice, we're actually pretty good partners. I brush off her concerns about my ribs, and we take our places in the line. It hurts, but the satisfaction of having Snow watch me dance with my little sister reduces other feelings to dust. Dancing transforms us. We teach the steps to the District 13 guests. Insist on a special number for the bride and groom. Join hands and make a giant, spinning circle where people show off their footwork. Nothing silly, joyful, or fun has happened in so long. This could go on all night if not for the last event planned in Plutarch's propo. One I hadn't heard about, but then it was meant to be a surprise. Four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room. Most of the guests back up, making way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers. But I push my way through the crowd to confirm what I knew at first sight. As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie's gown were done by Cinna's hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta's. This may seem like a small thing, but it speaks volumes. Haymitch has been keeping a great deal from me. The boy I last saw, screaming his head off, trying to tear free of his restraints, could never have made this. Never have had the focus, kept his hands steady, designed something so perfect for Finnick and Annie. As if anticipating my reaction, Haymitch is at my side. "Let's you and me have a talk," he says. Out in the hall, away from the cameras, I ask, "What's happening to him?" Haymitch shakes his head. "I don't know. None of us knows. Sometimes he's almost rational, and then, for no reason, he goes off again. Doing the cake was a kind of therapy. He's been working on it for days. Watching him...he seemed almost like before." "So, he's got the run of the place?" I ask. The idea makes me nervous on about five different levels. "Oh, no. He frosted under heavy guard. He's still under lock and key. But I've talked to him," Haymitch says. "Face-to-face?" I ask. "And he didn't go nuts?" "No. Pretty angry with me, but for all the right reasons. Not telling him about the rebel plot and whatnot." Haymitch pauses a moment, as if deciding something. "He says he'd like to see you." I'm on a frosting sailboat, tossed around by blue-green waves, the deck shifting beneath my feet. My palms press into the wall to steady myself. This wasn't part of the plan. I wrote Peeta off in 2. Then I was to go to the Capitol, kill Snow, and get taken out myself. The gunshot was only a temporary setback. Never was I supposed to hear the wordsHe says he'd like to see you. But now that I have, there's no way to refuse. At midnight, I'm standing outside the door to his cell. Hospital room. We had to wait for Plutarch to finish getting his wedding footage, which, despite the lack of what he calls razzle-dazzle, he's pleased with. "The best thing about the Capitol basically ignoring Twelve all these years is that you people still have a little spontaneity. The audience eats that up. Like when Peeta announced he was in love with you or you did the trick with the berries. Makes for good television." I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He's got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn't fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn't ruled out that he's in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I'm standing about a yard from the bed. There's nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. "Hey." "Hey," he responds. It's like his voice, almost his voice, except there's something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. "Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me," I say. "Look at you, for starters." It's like he's waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. "You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?" I know he's been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. "Well, you've looked better." Haymitch's advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta's laughter. "And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through." "Yeah. We've all been through a lot. And you're the one who was known for being nice. Not me." I'm doing everything wrong. I don't know why I feel so defensive. He's been tortured! He's been hijacked! What's wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I'm not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. "Look, I don't feel so well. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow." I've just reached the door when his voice stops me. "Katniss. I remember about the bread." The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. "They showed you the tape of me talking about it," I say. "No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn't the Capitol use it against me?" he asks. "I made it the day you were rescued," I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. "So what do you remember?" "You. In the rain," he says softly. "Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead." "That's it. That's what happened," I say. "The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn't know how." "We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then...for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion." I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. "I must have loved you a lot." "You did." My voice catches and I pretend to cough. "And did you love me?" he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. "Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To break me." "That's not an answer," he tells me. "I don't know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers." "I was trying to kill all of you," I say. "You had me treed." "Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?" he asks. "Sometimes," I admit. "You know people are watching us now?" "I know. What about Gale?" he continues. My anger's returning. I don't care about his recovery - this isn't the business of the people behind the glass. "He's not a bad kisser either," I say shortly. "And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?" he asks. "No. It wasn't okay with either of you. But I wasn't asking your permission," I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. "Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?" Haymitch doesn't protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I'm so upset. When I do, it's almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.