100 words for Clover.
Lyme's death is slow, a haze, the sky ablaze.
Shoes rooted, she stays.
The rocks rumble like God's fury, and when they come to her she can't remember anything except the clutch of terror.
Then, all of her sins flash back to her in sudden insight, had the Games not existed. The first time she stole food from her own sister; the first time, then the hundredth time she took up a sword...
Death comes slowly, a dusk settling over her eyes, a bitterly purple night sky.
Just once, she cries.