❝I'd rather die kind and forgotten than be remembered for being brutal.❞
⠀⠀⠀⠀ Had Bellamy not volunteered, he wouldn't be sent out for slaughter. Had he not volunteered, he wouldn't be a pawn in the Capitol's sick game of exploitation; the young and...
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( ミ☆ ) SEVENTEEN where there's sun
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⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀On his final morning in the Capitol City, the first signs of light are the absolute worst on him — a harsh reminder that he's living on borrowed time. It almost gets easier after that; numbing, like following the beats of a routine.
⠀⠀⠀⠀All too soon, Fenrin arrives to collect him, first dressing him in an unassuming black sheath Fenrin says all tributes will be prescribed to wear until they arrive at the Launch Rooms, their final destination before the arena. Hard for anyone to hide prohibited objects and weapons that way.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"I woke you a few minutes earlier than usual," Fenrin is telling his tribute in a low-whisper, "so that you may say your farewells, if you'd like."
⠀⠀⠀⠀Farewells.
⠀⠀⠀⠀For the last time.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Yes," says Bellamy, nodding very quickly. "Yeah." He stops nodding once he realises today is not the day to go making himself dizzy. "Please."
⠀⠀⠀⠀Seedy is the first to arrive, but not by Fenrin's doing. She steps inside and rushes over to Bellamy before the stylist has even left the room.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Hi, sugar," she greets sadly. In her arms, she carries a spread of food upon a tray, raising it up to him in gesture. "Shall we try some breakfast?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀He does try to eat this time. Somewhat. Who knows when his next bite of protein or lap of water will be? If Bellamy is to die in that arena, he decides it will not be of starvation — too often has it tried to claim him in the past, and more often than not has it almost succeeded. Cannibalisation at a cellular level, in his experience, is really damn exhausting.
⠀⠀⠀⠀After he has filled himself up (but not too much so as to later make himself sick), Seedy makes him stand so that she may look him over once more.
