The 'Flower of Panem' or 'The Angel of Mercy', Seraphine Reza is the jewel and pride of Panem. One of their most treasured victors in the history of the Hunger Games and a favorite of President Snow.
While she smiles, comforts and plays her part ev...
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Celsi's room was pitch black as the boy laid down on the cold hard floor, curled up into ball, wrapped in layers of blankets. His mentor and his partner stayed on the edge of his room, standing on the boundary separating his room from the hall. Silent sobs of his could be heard from where they stood along with the quiet matching ticks of the watch on Sera's and Zephyr's wrists.
"How long is he going to be like this?" Zephyr falsely whispered to Sera.
She didn't know; she'd never dealt with anyone as despondent as Celsi. The boy was quick to anger, quick to get sad and very impatient.
"You tribute. Your problem." She mumbled low enough for him to hear and threw a sad missed smile at the poor boy who was just another lamb to the slaughter.
Maybe if this was another year or if she didn't have other things to worry about, she'd spare some time to pity him but she couldn't.
She flipped her wrist over and checked the time again, nodding her head to herself—she had a lot of time to spare.
"Make sure he at least eats." She added as an afterthought as the door next door creaked open and light spilled out into the dim hallway. "Faline." She smiled at her own tribute and waved at her. "Ready for dinner?"
Faline bowed her head in response and pulled at the hem of her checkered blue dress. "Is he still—" Zephyr made a sound and moved away to get her a closer look at her partner.
"I don't think he'll be having dinner at this rate." Sera commented airily, hoping to get a reaction out of the boy.
He couldn't just die of starvation before he entered the arena. That used to happen in the olden days of the Games; she'd read about it in the Capitol library—most of them were desolate enough for her to get away with reading about the past that wasn't taught to non-Capitolites.
The Hunger Games were a cruel sport but comparing the present to the past—the past was far more tortuous than whatever the present threw at them. At least, the current tributes were fed properly and there was adequate compensation depending on how long a tribute survived.
None of that was a thing in the past. No training. No real food or clothes given. A tribute was plucked and sent to die with nothing but the clothes on their back.
BANG!
"Hey, if you're not gonna eat, you won't be able to get through tomorrow's interview session." Zephyr banged on Celsi's door, pulling Sera back from her thoughts. "Don't ignore me, Celsi." He banged on the door once again before settling into an organized rhythm. "Cel-si. Cel-sy. Celsiii. Celly. Cel. Celsi. Cel-sy" He kept on going; the grin on his face getting wider and wider while his eyes grew wild in silent anger.
Faline threw Sera a hurried look of concern but Sera only patted the girl's shoulder and escorted her out of the hall. "Don't worry about them, Zephyr will deal with it."
