ʙᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ᴘɪʟᴇ, catching fire

𝐢𝐢. capitals party

MAKARA never understood the point of the Hunger Games. She believed that something that happened decades ago should not engage in other people's lives. It was unfair. People died for entertainment, others died for war. There is a difference in those two plots.

Wells Jones died for entertainment. She was there.

Makara despised the Capital. She hoped that one day they will have something very horrible coming for them, and she wished to be the one to cause these disruptions.

Her heart cried for freedom of the Capital. Day, after day, she was reminded of the people she killed and the people who died to survive these games. But, the only person she found comfort in to escape this was her father.

"Dad?" Makara's voice echoed throughout the house, the sound of groceries hitting the wall as well. "In here!" She smiled at the voice, rushing to the kitchen.

But, her eyes furrowed at the sight of a familiar women. "Hi, my dear." It was her mentor, Beatrice Deni. She hadn't seen her in a year since her games.

Her eyes teared up at the sight of the pretty women, rushing to hug her. "I thought the Capital," she shook her head, squeezing her tight. "No. No, I just needed some time." Beatrice knew. She knew what was coming.

"Oh, you've gotten so big." Beatrice smiled, pulling away from her. "Well, I was just turning fourteen when you last saw me." Makara shrugged. "Of course." Beatrice smiled, her thick British accent flowed through her words.

"Why um— why are you here?" Makara questioned.

"Well, I came to get you ready. The Capital is hosting a party and they requested you to be there." She furrowed her eyebrows in a confused gaze, "I am not going." Beatrice giggled, "This is the Capital. You don't have a choice, dear."

She looked at her dad pleadingly but he simply shrugged, "Fine. Where's my stylist?"

        MAKARA hated parties. They reminded her of the interviews she was forced to take before and after her games. The cheering and laughter coming from the crowd were all she heard at every party.

"So, Makara," Caeser began, "How old are you?"

"I am thirteen," she deadpanned, a smile on her face, "Well, by the looks of it your a doll! Can you fight?" The crowd laughed loudly at his question, making her look at her fidgeting fingers, "My dad taught me when I was very young. I can do a lot but, that's for the tributes to see." She joked.

"I love it!" Caeser cheered, "I think that you don't wanna be here. That's what you spoke about during the reaping?" Her breath hitched at his words, "Does anybody wanna be here?"

Caeser lowered his head at her words, "Right."

"That's Makara Lee, everybody!" The loud screaming made her jump slightly as he basically ripped her out of the seat by her wrist, lifting it up. "Whoo!"

"Whoo!" Beatrice cheered, "You look dashing!"

Her dress was a royal blue dress with a trail behind her with white roses attached to it along with gems glued to her waist piece. Beatrice combed a hand through her long brown hair, smiling at her sweetly.

"Thank you, Beatrice. Louie went all out for the Capital." Makara pointed out, grabbing a glass of champagne off the tray, mumbling a thank you. "She just wants you to be presented well ts'all."Makara shrugged, before walking to the front.

Peeta Mellark stood on the steps, walking up until her heard even more cheers. He wanted to see what— who the fuss was about. But, then he saw her.