𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 ‣ 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

vii. paranoia

act one, chapter seven – paranoia

The night was riddled with nightmares, as expected. Every time she jolts awake in screams, only to be sucked into another. Needless to say, the girl didn't get any worthwhile rest and woke up feeling more drained than the night before.

It must've been dawn when she awoke because soft orangey light soaked through the blinds, dim enough for the girl to know that clouds concealed the sun. Since it was early, light-footedly, she walks down the stairs to the main room. The crown Snow gifted her now rests on a stand protected in glass cube beside a plaque that read 'Fallon Black, Victor of the Sixty-Eight Hunger Games.' It's pure gold and the letter are engraved, setting the unmovable statement in history. Even if she wanted to, the metal was far too formidable to crack. If she slammed it to the ground the floorboards would break before the plaque did.

It would hang on the wall forever undamaged by the course of time. That linear path she knew she was near the end of. Constantly reminding Fallon of the blood running through her fingers and how her life was in the hands of Snow.

Speaking of being watched, if she knew there would be Peacekeepers monitoring the building around the clock, Fallon would have preferred living in her old house even if it was a fraction as nice as her new one. A few patrolled her door and a row of statue-like guards manned the gate of the Village. At the sight of her warily creeping closer, one opened the door. "Miss Black. If you will follow me?" he used his arm to signal in the direction.

Fallon, glaring at him, slowly advances towards the man. Every step she took closer was calculated. Wary steps, just like she was slowly getting near enough to throw the killing blow. He leads her in front of the door before opening it and holding it for the girl, similar to how a waiter would. "He's expecting you."

The Victor shifts her glance to the desk placed in the middle-back of the study, large windows flaunting the crashing blue waves behind it. Blocking the view was a larger man with hair so fine and pale it appears almost see-through. A well-fitted suit and trench coat adorns his figure, an unusual outfit for anyone visiting Four. He stands in a pose like one of those Roman sculptures her mother used to show her. He looks to the side, his nose pointed in the air, giving the impression of great importance and luxury. He appears like a Titan among the waves that seemed minuscule behind him. The man begins to fix the white rose that was buttoned to his lapel, brushing the non-existent dust off of the classic flower.

In a state of uncertainty and resentment, Fallon stands still in the doorframe. Blood rushes to her face. Weight drop to her feet.

This was the man that ruined her life.

What annoys her the most about his character is that he believes that he helped her. That he saved her family by giving them a beautiful new house and more money than they could spend in a lifetime. That he was ordained by God himself to rule Panem and in some pharisaic way willed to send children to kill each other. She balled up her fist, driving new buds of nails into her palm, turning her knuckles bone white. After a few seconds, he finally glances over to her, like she hadn't existed beforehand, despite the fact she was standing in the doorway or that he was in her house.