FIRE AND ICE, p. mellark

𝐢: 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

Nemesis was a very systematic person. She was only ever comfortable when she had a routine that she could follow every day.

Every day for her would begin in the early morning, always before the sun rose. She would shower, brew herself a coffee, mix a bowl of oats and berries, and walk to her brother's house.

He'd let her in and the two would sometimes sit in his living room in silence; other times, they'd speak so much that there'd be no room for silence.

Orion and Nemesis carried a mutual understanding. Orion had won the 69th Hunger Games at the age of 18, Nemesis winning three years after at the age of 14. Neither one of them emerged from the arena the same way they went in, but they emerged more similar to each other than ever.

They had both spent their lives fighting in illegal training academies, all in preparation to volunteer. They were ready to enter the arena, but they weren't prepared for what life would be like once they came out.

Regardless, they went in and came out as fighters. The Cadel siblings were lethal in their respective arenas, even Nemesis, who despite her age, scored the most kills. She'd never say she was proud of it, because she wasn't, but she had to flaunt it to the people of the Capitol. She didn't know how she felt about that, about having to watch herself mercilessly murder children year after year. Nemesis tried to stay out of the public eye as much as possible.

When she couldn't, she blocked everything out and put on a show, as she learned to do.

This all being why she implemented an everyday routine for her life. It allowed her to have, in a sense, control over her life. It was the most control she possibly could have.

After sitting with her brother until the sun rose, Nemesis would regularly go back to the training academy and watch the potential future tributes perfect their skill. She'd often wonder who she'd have to mentor next. The first and last kid she mentored, during the 73rd Hunger Games, was fierce, but she was dim. She made it far, she was one of the last two people left; but when it came to using her wits, she failed, and she paid with her life.

Nemesis would never speak with the kids training, she'd only ever observed. She preferred it that way. She didn't want to get attached to anyone too soon, because it'd be too hard to shake that attachment off. She wouldn't want to be stuck with mentoring a kid she liked, especially not one with low odds.

Nemesis was only attached to a handful of people. Other than her brother, not very many people had earned her care and regard. Those who did, however, were people she could relate to, and that made her feel comfortable.

After watching kids train, Nemesis would train herself. It gave her a sense of security and made her feel as though she could defend herself. She wasn't quite sure against what, but she liked feeling like she could. She'd train every day for hours until an hour before dusk, polishing her already perfect skills. 

Nemesis would run and climb, but most of all she'd throw knives. Nemesis was deadly with knives. Nobody she'd gone after with a knife lived to tell the tale, but all of Panem had seen it. Nemesis didn't like the memories she had with knives, but they were her means of survival. She always felt the most secure with a set of knives on hand.

By dusk, she'd walk to the extravagant town square with the higher-end shops and richer District 2 citizens. She didn't have the fondest memories there, either; it was where she was reaped. She was excited when her name was called out, she was ready to make her district proud by doing what she knew best; fighting. She was ready to prove herself against anyone who second-guessed her, and she did. However, when she came out of the arena, she didn't quite see the point anymore. She found it absurd how people change in such a short amount of time.