𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 ‣ 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

i. nightmares

act two, chapter one – nightmares

Nightmares. That's how every day began and ended. The blank canvas that was Fallon's mind was plagued by limitless ghosts of pain and terror that would stick behind her eyes like glue. The rarity that was empty thoughts accompanied by a tearless night, staring blankly at the ceiling was pure solace to the girl who could stop thinking. Nothingness was bliss. Funnily enough, the outrageously rare dream that didn't make her jolt awake in screams was still about murder. The murder of Coriolanus Snow.

It had always seemed simple to her. Life was not fair. The only thing that would tip the scales to balance was to dismantle the Capitol and cut off the head of the snake. This was another dream that her mind would never let her consider. The system was a life-long train that continued to send the victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games down to Hell even after she had got off her stop already. The linear path of time. The cruelty of fate. Fallon was promised a Victor's lifestyle. According to the Capitol, that lifestyle seemed to be a living version of her nightmares. Every day, every television appearance, every night with a 'client' shoved her deeper into the flames that were the Capitol's fireplace. It kept them warm, cozy, satisfied; all it kept Fallon was in a constant state of agony. Fallon was a chess piece in Snow's precious game, and the intricately fashioned pieces of wood kept her immovable in his firm grasp.

When Fallon toyed with a dagger, pricking the tip into her finger, she contemplated her plan again, like she did religiously every night. It was a hopeless, luckless dream, but giving herself false hope distracted her from the plague of Panem. It made her sick. Everything about it. The only relief was the pleasure of imagining Snow's head on a spike.

Her hands now toyed with sharpened metal rather than paintbrushes. The Capitol had turned the dreamy, young girl that she was before she turned sixteen into a hardened, grim killer. A trade of innocence to forced maturity. Love to sorrow to hate. She wasn't scared anymore. Fragile emotions didn't stop her now. The Capitol made all their Victors take up a talent so the public wouldn't get bored of them, so painting was still an escape. But losing attention from the public was never a problem for Fallon. As soon as she was reaped she had a fan base; now, much to her disdain, it was all of Panem.

The constant feeling of eyes on her was enough to drive her insane. Fallon was good in front of cameras — she had more than enough experience putting on the mask for Panem's over the span of seven years. Every appearance took away another inch of her humanity.

There were very few things that Snow had not taken away from her yet. Aris. Finnick. Iris. Callum. Johanna.

But Fallon was dangerously aware that Snow had already taken away parts of the people she cared the most about. Miraculously, they were still in her life. But it seemed like more of a chance that they would just slip away at any second.

Victors always shared a mutable understanding. Even if they weren't friends, they knew. It was the shared trauma. The burn of regret, the enslavement from Snow. Fallon, who only could extend so much sympathy these days, would always sense it. And when it came to Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, she immediately knew that they were in for the same ride she and Finnick were on.