𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕃𝕀𝔽𝔼 𝕆𝔽 𝔸 𝕍𝕀ℂ𝕋𝕆ℝ || [REWRITTEN]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟏

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𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑

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𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄

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Dove froze in place, her lips parted, blood dripping down with every cough. She was terrified, the result of her deal slowly sinking in. The power that President Snow held over her was remarkable. He could end her life at any minute. And what she could never admit to anybody but herself, despite being wary of it, if she had known what the vial's content would do to her, she wouldn't have changed her mind. To Dove, it had never been about if she could eventually die at the Capitol's hands, but when. She had to admit there was some irony to it. Despite her efforts to prove her worth, she only confirmed what her family had believed all along: her life's value was based on its usefulness, or rather lack thereof.

The hours until morning felt hazy. There was a lot of movement, a fair deal of light dancing through the air, and noises crossing from one end of Victor's Village to the other. Mags had gone rampant with worry, but no medicine seemed to work. At some point, the eldest victor couple were involved, and soon the search for help was carried to town.

From the few doctors that would accept the offer of visiting an Ogilvy, not one refrained from drooling at the promised high payment upon arriving at Mags' house. They were quick to reveal their true colours as well. Scammers such as them should have known that what one could sell to the desperate people in their district could never be advertised in the same way to the child and sibling of victors. They were chased out of the house before they could prescribe any herbal tea or a medicine that had no correlation with the symptoms, and were never heard of again after that, not even around town.

Without any other options, Theo and Mags concluded that they needed to use incitement to ensure Dove received proper medical treatment. As Rhett recruited through threats as a last resort, Angel convinced her little sister to being bedridden. The lack of bickering was in itself a sign of just how badly Dove truly was. Angel would have expected any kind of stubbornness, even just a slight complaint would have sufficed, but not one word had been spoken.

Dove lay in bed, resembling a corpse far more than a living person. Hours went by, and her condition became unbearable to look at. Her complexion was ashen, her lips dry, and her breathing erratic. It was obvious to everyone in the room that whatever had Dove in such a critical state could push her towards death's doorstep any day.

News of 'The Hider's' daughter's illness circulated in the town before dinner. Rhett explained it when he got back. He had ventured all around town, encountered countless rumours, and resisted the temptation to getting into fights with the rumour spreaders. No doubt two could play that game, though. Less than an hour had gone by when a decent-looking doctor appeared, claiming that he 'harboured no ill sentiment' for their patients. Rhett had to refrain from laughing at their face. They were abandoning their frail morals for a month-worth of a victor's payment and the promise to give their children a preference over other tributes in case of their reaping.

Nevertheless, it was for nothing. The doctor arrived at Victor's Village, the first not to be drooling for the money—a pathetic good sign in itself—and began the check-up right away. Expectations had grown to uncontrollable levels. Because of protection measures, nobody had been allowed inside the room unless the doctor or the patient so desired, and Dove had asked everyone to leave the room, so they had to comply. Hardly an hour went by in the stillness of the freezing evening air, letting their desires and hopes build up to where any bad news would crumble every piece of their souls.