Genevieve Mignonette is the forgotten 69th victor. The most beautiful girl in the district. She is not a fighter but a dancer. She is victorious as her mother once was yet at what cause. Why was she forgotten and why exactly is there so many mysteri...
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Blood is the one thing that makes us all equal. We all bleed, it's the most natural part of ourselves as humans. We all feel it running hot in our veins. Feel it keeping us warm. Know that the only way of keeping alive is to make sure it's kept inside. Inside and running through our hearts that so many times wishes it gives up. Yet, mine must keep going to save his.
Those thoughts came past my mind every time I keep on sewing in the morning. When my 16 hour shift would start and the lovely golden stones that shimmered in the light began to be stitched one by one by my own hand. That was the one thing that my parents used to do day and night. They were a tailor and seamstress. Best in town. It would be a normal accomplishment in any district but we were from 8. Textiles you see.
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Lucky for me I had the shop. Small. Simple. Nothing truly extraordinary, just a large room with a dresser that had an old table cloth as a separator and a basement that served as my work space. I would work for 2 hours in the morning. Before anyone was awake I would make sure to finish at least 7 garments before morning came. Then after I had to go up there to start selling. I would attend the front desk for another 10 hours and then once everyone's curfew was past I would keep on working on the work that was left over by the many people in the district.
I mostly sewed for peacekeepers, factory workers, and if other seamstresses had too much of a hard time on a garment they would bring it to me in exchange for scraps of fabric and thread. Truly it was not as bad as other had it. I tried to keep positive.I was helpful to others and in exchange respected enough to not have a hard time around the district. At 15 I had much more than others. Much more than my brother would ever recive.
