Scarlet.

XVI

"Memories Feel Like Weapons."

My hair is tightly pulled up, making my eyes stretch uncomfortably, and I struggle to keep them open. Also, the ponytail feels surprisingly heavy, as they've incorporated extensions to hide the fact that I've experienced significant hair loss in the past few months.

My prep team is incredibly enthusiastic about the interviews, and this excitement is evident in the meticulous details of my appearance. They've been working for hours, and despite their efforts to conceal it, I can sense the sweat on their hands. I look at my reflection in the mirror, struggling to recognize myself.

My features are accentuated in an almost violent manner—my eyelids darkened as the night sky and my lips a bold red, resembling blood. The black eye makeup extends to my temples, blending subtly with my hair. My lashes are a dazzling white, and a couple of sparkling stones are placed just beneath my eyebrows.

They've put false nails on my hands because I left them with so little to work with since I bit them to the flesh. The nails are sharp like daggers, and match the red hue of my lips.

The three women apologize and hurriedly walk out of the room, leaving me in my robe with strict instructions not to touch my face. Minutes later, I hear their voices in the hallway, but there are more footsteps than expected. When the door opens again, I remain completely still as my prep team arrives with Nouria and three Avox boys who carry what appears to be a large bundle of fabric and two swords.

"What's that?" I inquire, looking at Nouria, who instructs that the garments should be left on the bed.

"Your clothes for today," she replies, as if it's no big deal. "Don't ask, can't explain."

Reluctantly, I take off the robe, and Fayette wraps my torso with a flesh-colored fabric, making me feel entirely naked. I wait for some more clothes, but apparently, that's not part of the plan.

Nouria places a device resembling a flattened box, made of rubber, on my abdomen, right where the skirt begins. The four women struggle to keep the garment from tangling, as it consists of at least thirty layers of fabric. "Red muslin," I overheard my stylist explain. The skirt isn't overly heavy, but it takes up a lot of space, enough for Kezia and Alora to go barefoot, walking on it to reach me.

A shiver runs down my spine as the metallic touch of the swords grazes my skin. I'm clueless about how they managed to do it, but both weapons are now securely fastened to my back; their weight is enough to keep me standing upright.

"What's that?" I ask, referring to the peculiar artifact that is now concealed beneath the dress.

"No time for explanations," Kezia replies, her hands moving swiftly and skillfully to adjust the buckles in my hair.

Moving in the voluminous dress is quite a challenge, and my prep team urges me towards the elevator before I can even walk properly. We're running late, and upon reaching the stage, I question Nouria's decision to choose a dress that practically makes it impossible for me to sit down. I ignore the other victors while trying to fit into the small chair. Looking at Brutus in his white suit, I'm glad that he's wearing more layers than during the parade. My eyes are happy now.

I've arrived just in time as the music starts resonating in my ears, and Caesar Flickerman, his face and hair painted lavender, welcomes the audience. I'm so uncomfortable that I'm forced to pay attention to the interviews; I can sense even the finest fabric clinging to my skin, and the heat from the spotlights makes my back and palms start to sweat.

My senses sharpen when I see Cashmere in the center of the stage with Caesar, tears streaming down her face as she talks about how difficult it must be for Capitol citizens to say goodbye to their favorite victors. I suppose that it's part of her strategy to attract sponsors. When Gloss takes his turn, I realize he's employing the same emotional approach, expressing gratitude for the kindness shown to both him and his sister. I try not to laugh as I listen to him speak.