𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑬 | 𝑃𝐸𝐸𝑇𝐴 𝑀𝐸𝐿𝐿𝐴𝑅𝐾

𝕭𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝕺𝖓𝖊 • 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫

⚔⚜⚔▏𝑯𝑶𝑷𝑬
➶⌢➴ training and ruined finals

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 with disturbing dreams. The face of the girl intertwines with gory images from earlier Hunger Games, with my mother
withdrawn and unreachable, with Prim emaciated and terrified. I bolt up screaming for my father to run as the mine explodes into a million deadly bits of light.

Dawn is breaking through the windows. The Capitol has a misty, haunted air. My head aches and I must have bitten into the side of my cheek in the night. My tongue probes the ragged flesh and I taste blood.

Slowly, I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I arbitrarily punch buttons on the control board and end up hopping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming hot water assault me.

Then I’m deluged in lemony foam that I have to scrape off with a heavy bristled brush. Oh, well. At least my blood is
flowing.

When I’m dried and moisturized with lotion, I find an outfit has been left for me at the front of the closet.

Black pants, a long-sleeved red shirt, and pretty leather boots. I put my hair in the single braid down my back. This is the first time since the morning of
the reaping that I resemble myself.

No fancy hair and clothes, no flaming capes. Just me. Looking like I could be headed for the woods. It calms me.

Haymitch didn’t give us an exact time to meet for break-last and no one has contacted me this morning, but I’m hungry so I head down to the dining
room, hoping there will be food. I’m not disappointed.

While the table is empty, a long board off to the side has been laid with at least twenty dishes. A young man, an Avox, stands at attention by the spread.

When I ask if I can serve myself, he nods assent. I load a plate with eggs, sausages, batter cakes covered in thick orange preserves, slices of pale purple melon.