❖ Book 2 of 3 ❖
【 Slow burn fanfic 】
║ Catching Fire Reimagined║
It's the year of the 75th Annual Hunger Games. Isla Dunne, victor of the 73rd Hunger Games, can tell something is off after last year's games. They had tipped the scales, thanks to the...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
┅
"ISLA, ISLA... COME on." His voice is gentle as he softly places a hand on her shoulder.
Finnick had given up on respecting Isla's wishes of being alone not long after the end of the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games victory tour. He would insist he couldn't just watch her sit in her home for months. Not even Mags had been able to convince her to go to the beach or the markets once the harshest months of the winter had passed.
Even her Capitol entourage had to visit her now instead of vice versa. She still had to shoot catalogue photos for the newest victor's designs, but she was deemed too ill to travel by train to the city. President Snow had authorized that any of her work could be done in District Four within the four walls of her house in Victor's Village. As long as it was getting done.
It was the one thing Isla admitted she could thank Snow for.
"Maybe tomorrow." It was her signature line, and the two District Four victors knew it was full of lies.
"You said that yesterday, and the day before- oh, and the day before that, too." he wanted to be delicate with her, but he hated seeing her so lifeless. Everyone did. Her usual argumentative self had long disappeared, and the two hadn't gotten into any kind of disagreement since they'd left the Capitol months ago. She could tell he missed her challenging him every time he spoke. It was better than her not speaking at all, she guessed.
"Well, I do say maybe." Isla answers. It was responses like these that gave Finnick hope, a small glimmer of the victor's former sarcastic self. She could tell as his mood would change ever so slightly when she would give him just the smallest bit of attitude. But as abruptly as the snarky comments came, they were gone. And he would sometimes go weeks without another one.
"I'm at my wits end, Isla. I'm going to call him."
"Finnick, don't." It was the first time she finally looked at him, not looking through him as he begged her to speak with him, but straight into his soul. Her eyes burned with a fire he hadn't seen in a long time.
"Isla, I don't know what else to do." The man pleaded now. Isla felt bad, she knew she couldn't go on like this. And the last thing she wanted was for Finnick to call Lucius and let him know of her pitiful state. He thought so highly of her, and her of him. Every time he came to assist Cinna with her shoots, she had enough notice to put on a convincing act that everything was just fine. Of course, he knew it wasn't, or else she'd be visiting the Capitol. But, he had no idea how bad she had become.
"Why should I get out of bed? There's nothing to do. No one to see." She let out a sigh, curling back into her soft, silk sheets. Her father, she hated. Anyone else she had cared about was dead.
