Always

Fire burning soul (Revised)

When the train stops in the Capitol and we are taken to the remake center, Peeta and I part for the rest of the day. But not before he slips from his prep team to give me a sweet kiss and a goodbye. This action makes both our prep teams swoon and sniffle.

My beauty routine is so familiar to me that it hardly causes me to flinch anymore. I lay on the hard surface of the table as I'm waxed, buffed, polished, plucked, and whatever else they say is necessary. However, this process regains its suffocating nature when my prep team begin to get teary. Apparently, they'd already been feeling bad about mine and Peeta's situation, but seeing my ever growing stomach has only increased their sorrow. Each of them break down at least twice, and Octavia seems to keep up a constant whimper.

For three hours I comfort my crying prep team. This task would be hard anytime, but they have no reason to be crying. The fact that I'm having to comfort them, is completely unfair. Though I wouldn't shed a tear in front of them. If anyone has the right to cry over my life, it's me. My prep team isn't getting thrown back into the arena and they're not pregnant with a child that was doomed the moment it was conceived.

By the time Cinna comes in, I'm having to hold back a mouthful of snide remarks. Naturally, Cinna seems to sense this and asks my team to leave. "Damp morning?" he asks knowingly.

"You could wring me out like a wet towel." I tell him with an exaggerated sigh.

Cinna smiles. "I'll talk with them," he promises me.

"You're not going to burst into tears, are you?" I ask. "Because I can't handle anymore salty water droplets."

"Don't worry," Cinna assures me with a small smile. "I always channel my emotions into my work. That way nobody but myself gets hurt." He says as he unzips the garment bag.

"Why don't we get your costume on? I think it'll suit you perfectly." He tells me with a smile.

"Of course it will," I return easily. "You designed it."

Cinna's costume for me this year is a seemingly bland black jumpsuit. I'm surprised to find it doesn't have orange and red flames jumping off of it. He places a crown on my head of thick locks that looks extremely similar to the one I wore as a victor, except this one is coal black instead of a shiny gold.
"Alright, so let me show you how this works." He tells me while pulling at the side of my sleeve.

He presses a button on the inside and turns me to face the mirror. At first, the suit lights up in a soft yellow glow, but slowly, the colors begin to flicker and change to a bright orange and red. Fire. My makeup is dark and dramatic, my hair in large ringlets falling over my shoulders and down my back. The days of pink lipstick and ribbons are no longer around. I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a victor.
I'm the Mockingjay.

"Wow," I breathe. "Cinna, this is amazing! How did you do this?"

"Portia and I spent a lot of time staring at fires," Cinna replies with a smile, before pressing the button on the inside of my arm. My costume returns to its bland look. "Let's not run down the battery." He tells me. "When you're on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath you."

I smile. "Finally, something I'm good at."

Cinna returns my smile and nods. "Be careful," he says softly, and I know he's referring to the baby.

"Always am," I reply, and Cinna nods, though I wonder whether I've reassured him at all. These days, I have a hard enough time reassuring myself.

Cinna leaves, having other things to attend to, and I start to follow him, but seeing my reflection in the mirror causes me to pause. The tight black suit that shows off my curves. Cinna has made me dangerous, and everyone knows it. I'm not the girl who wore the yellow dress at my crowing, I'm deadly now.