The blood curdling screams, the writhing and moaning, the death of a sister.
If I was to say Glimmer volunteering didn't pull at my heartstrings, didn't make me want to weep and beat the ground with anger and fear, didn't make me want to strangle, cut and make that capitol bleed. I would have been lying.
If I said watching Glimmer kill and mutilate, watching her eyes turn from soft, icy blue to feral and unforgiving, her bloodlust clearly shining through her eyes, didn't make me go mad with grief I would have be lying.
For Glimmer James wasn't always like she was in the arena. She was a beautiful heart shaped toddler with glistening golden hair, large blue eyes practically popping out of her head when she caught sight of a butterfly, or the bejewelled tiara perched on the head of our mother. She was the family pride. My angel. I wasn't jealous our parents put all their money into her, giving all their love and blessings into her wellbeing. She deserved it. She was always there for me. Her pudgy toddler fingers keeping me safe from nightmares, then later her delicate thin ones lavished with nail polish.
She volunteered. I never even knew she had been training.
After her gruesome death I often wondered if she would have rather been cut by a sword.
At least then she would have died beautiful.