She killed her.
Her gray eyes betray fear, mistrust. Her movements are no longer smooth or precise, but choppy and jerky. She's scared.
Katniss Everdeen. It's her fault.
Everything that has happened is her fault.
Everyone in the Capitol is cooing all over her. She's their beloved 'star-crossed lover', their perfect little victor. She won, she's the best, she's the most fantastic fighter they've seen in years.
And how noble it was of her to be ready to eat that nightlock! She can't imagine living without her beloved Peeta, so she's ready to break every rule. I remember sitting in front of the screen when the berries touched her lips, and I had smiled.
It's what she deserved. She deserved to die, the scum of District 12. She deserved to never return home, to never see her beautiful little blondie of a sister. Her olive skin should have been shrouded in scarlet, blood racing into the cracks of the earth. I can imagine tears running down her sister's pale skin that probably was a result of malnutrition or a childhood disease. Weakling.
The little Everdeen brat that killed my sister deserves to die as well. It would only be fair.
ii
I remember my goodbye to her when she volunteered.
She wasn't supposed to volunteer, she was supposed to wait two years and train more. She was supposed to have a chance of coming back.
Clymene Flint was supposed to volunteer. Clymene Flint was supposed to go into the Games, and probably die. Her district partner was Cato Haldur, after all. Clymene, no matter her appeal as a tribute, wouldn't have stood a chance with Cato in the running too.
But Clymene backed out at the last second, and when Jacintha Lachlan was reaped, she was ready to nobly step up to the games, even though she was only thirteen and had only been training for about five years, instead of the usual ten.
Jacintha was scared, and everyone could tell. Cato's eyes had followed her thin figure while she made her long walk to the stage. The Capitol representative had asked if anyone would like to volunteer in her place.
The crowd was silent - at least, the crowd that fit in our square. District Two is rather large. "Any volunteers?" our representative had asked.
And that's when Clove stepped forward and shouted, "I volunteer."
Clove Mowriyah it was, the female tribute of District 2. Pushing her way through, she dully repeated, "I volunteer."
And when a Peacekeeper took her arm to lead her up, she shook it off and gave whoever it was a death glare. Her face was a mask of calm. She might make it back, she was the best knife-thrower in the entire district. She could make it back.
Clove climbed up slowly, steadily. She was determined.
Aurory Palumbo - our silly representative from the Capitol - shoved the microphone up to her face, asking what her name was in her ridiculous accent.
"Clove Mowriyah," Clove said shortly.
She turned oh her heel and walked back to stand with Cato, a distance between them as to not betray their closeness. Everyone knew that they were the bloodiest sort of people, and the bloodiest people deserved each other. They were always working together, always sparring with each other even though Clove was smaller, and they were always together. Sometimes Clove would go home with Cato and not come back until the next day, covered in scratches and bites and cuts. She always said they were from sparring, but even I knew better.
Her eyes were scanning the crowd. She wasn't scared, she was calculating. She was looking for me.
Aurory made her idiotic speech, peppered with stupid terms I'm positive are all the rage. When she wrapped her speech up, she told Cato and Clove to shake hands. When they did, they kept eye contact that I could see from such a far vantage point. Clove let go, but Cato's hand lingered on her fingertips until going to his sides again.
"Cato Haldur and Clove Mowriyah, I wish you the best of luck. Happy Hunger Games!"
ii
"Clove... What are you doing?" I had screeched at her after her reaping.
"Sorry, Bell-" I flinch at the nickname. I've always hated being called Bell. "But it's my time to shine. I'm ready."
"You're not," I say softly. "Cato's bigger than you. If you guys get to be the last two, he'll kill you without a second glance."
"Then I'll just have to kill him first. Won't be too hard."
"You're underestimating him. We both know he can tear you apart."
"Shut it, Bell. You don't know him. You don't know me. I can win this," Clove says, a glint coming into her eye. "I can win this. I'll be the victor. I'm the best there is."
I raise a finger to interrupt, but she keeps talking.
"I can't wait to see me taking down everyone in sight on that screen after I win. The blood of those stupid kids who thought they could beat me. Clove Mowriyah never misses. She never loses. I will win, and when it's just me and Cato, I'll stab him in the back. Literally."
Her eyes shine with bloodlust. She's always been a little unhinged, but she's really going off the deep end here.
"And I'll wipe his blood on his face, and tell him before he dies that all this time, it was a trick. A sham. And I'm not his, I'm not anyone's but my own."
A peacekeeper grabs me by my arm and I struggle to break loose. "Time to go," he growls.
"I'll be back, Bell. Any last words before I go win?" Clove says, inspecting her fingernails casually.
I think quickly. "You're the blood queen. Brutal Cato and Bloody Clove." I know mentioning him in my goodbye will anger her enough to get her blood pumping. "Bloody, bloody Clove," I whisper before I'm hauled off.
I look at her one more time and the faraway look in her eyes is haunting. She can see his blood on her hands already.
And with that look, I am almost convinced she can win.
Almost.
ii
Then I snap back to reality. I'm standing off to the side of the stage where that black-haired harpy gets more honors and awards, along with that crippled bread-boy that they call a tribute. It makes me taste bile in my mouth and all I want to do is grab a knife and finish what Clove began.
My father grasps my shoulder blade after he sees my body tense up. No weakness. No fear.
Everdeen avoids my eye contact. She's playing with the end of her braid, like an ignorant schoogirl. I can feel that she's uneasy here. Not afraid - just nervous.
She should be.
The cripple glances my way, and we lock eyes. He looks sorry - after all, he didn't kill my sister. Plant girl and her neverending bravery did.
He's not sorry for me, though. He's happy Clove is gone. She could have killed him in an instant.
She could have killed anyone in an instant.
He knows that, too.
I try to stay calm, but all I can hear is my echo in my own head
Brutal Cato
Bloody Clove
Bloody, bloody Clove...
ii
After I get to leave that stupid 'celebration' I go to the training center and practice throwing knives. At the end of the night, I can feel myself slipping. I fall to my knees and mumble "Clove..."
I swear she's there and I can see her and I'm waiting any moment for her to tell me that throwing knives is her thing, and why don't I just go work with a sword or a bow or something, because this is her territory.
But I know that it's only in my mind.
She's not here.
And Bloody Queen Clove is never coming back to claim her kingdom.
Bell's first name is actually Bellona, and she is named after the Roman goddess of war. Bellona is three years younger than Clove, making her thirteen during her narration in this story.
Haldur is a Scandinavian surname meaning 'Thor's Rock'. I felt it was fitting for Cato, as he is trained somewhat like Thor - very strong and very powerful. The meaning of it is also to connect with District 2's industry, stonecutting.
Mowriyah is a Hebrew surname which means 'chosen by God'. This applies to Clove as she felt Jacintha was chosen as a tribute to get her to volunteer, which she thought was her destiny. This is also ironic in that she ended up dying after telling the truth to Thresh (the fact that she did not kill Rue).
Cato and Clove are implied to be in a relationship, although it is implied to be sexual and not all that loving. I liken it to that of Montparnasse and Eponine from Les Miserables - in that it is unhealthy for both involved, but they are so caught up with each other they don't care.
The concept of 'Bloody Queen Clove' came from me doing a report on Queen Mary I of England, and how she was called 'Bloody Mary'.
I really hope you enjoyed this. I got a plot bunny while doing my biology homework and worked through a horrible migraine to get this out of me. I'm sorry if I didn't do Clove justice, but I've never been good at writing slightly insane characters.
This was a long author's note, sorry! I felt like I needed to explain some choices I made in this, particularly the names, as I felt the meanings were important.
I am always open to criticism and I hope you take the time to review. Otherwise, I hope you liked it!
-Mara