Frankie Stein is only sixteen days old when she is reaped, and no-one thinks she can make it, not even her own parents.
"This is all my fault, I never should've never tried to -" Father's words are cut off by his sobs.
The verdict is simple: Frankie is too young and their world is so cruel, and they can only hope her death is quick.
But Frankie wants to live.
The Tributes that year are indeed much older than her, and Frankie's mentor, Sparky, is no help whatsoever.
At the Opening Ceremonies, she goes un-noticed, with her dress covered in lightning bolts, traditional and boring for District Five, without even the humiliating novelty of being naked like the tributes from Twelve.
During training, she has almost no luck with heavier weapons since she has almost no muscle. She's fast, but so are most of the other tributes.
In her private session, she scores a three. Since no-one wants to risk allying with a weakling, she's completely on her own. She supposes it's better this way, alliances in these games only ever lead to betrayal.
But the arena this year is a large metal box, entirely Normie-made, with hardly any light, no warmth, and limited oxygen.
This, however, works out extremely well for Frankie, as she hides in the shadows and rips out her stitches, leaving green stumps at the ends of her wrists.
Out in the darkness, two lone green hands head out towards any tributes they can find and wrap long fingers around the tribute's throats, choking them to death.
She certainly isn't the first monster to think of using her abilities to her advantage, since there has never been any rules against it. In fact, the normies think it makes the games all the more exciting.
After eliminating a total of nineteen of the twenty-four tributes, Frankie accidentally stumbles upon what is mostly likely the only water source the arena appears to have - a large pool of saltwater - and decides to take a swim. In seconds, she is electrocuting four tributes at once, allowing for a few agonising screams, but never the chance to see their killer.
As the trumpets sound and a bodiless voice announces her victory, her hands crawl back to her, stained with blood.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to present this year's victor, Frankie Stein!"
"Your games were over in three days," Sparky tells her. "That's almost a new record."
He should be happy, she thinks, but he can't even look her in the eyes.
"Do you think they wanted me to do it?" She asks.
"Perhaps." He says. "At least the ones you strangled died quickly."
"You told me nothing. What else was I supposed to do?" she snaps, glaring at him.
"I don't know." He huffs.
"You should. You know what the worst part was? When I did it - when I killed them - I felt nothing. I just wanted to stay alive, I just wanted to go home." Frankie gasps. "I didn't even know their names!"
"You will soon, after the ceremony." Sparky says. "and what you did to them - what you did to win - will haunt you forever."
As soon as the door shuts behind him, she brings her knees to her chest and sobs.
She wonders if this is what remorse feels like.
Frankie stares in the mirror.
The Normies have surgically altered her body, washed the blood from her hands, turned her skin a lighter tone of green - they would never make her look too human, otherwise the normies might become too sympathetic - given her new transparent stitches, even her hair once messy and knotted, has been cut short, and falls gracefully to her shoulders, no kinks at all.
She can barely recognise herself.
Her stylist, Clawdeen, has certainly upped her game - there are no lightning bolts this time. Instead, she wears a white corset with a short blue skirt that barely goes past her thighs. Her gold earrings are large and heavy - the Normies pierced her ears, too. Clearly, none of her was safe while under their knife.
Clawdeen looks nothing like a normie, and when Frankie dares to ask about it, Clawdeen gives her an honest answer.
"Smart girl. I'm actually a Victor from District Seven. The stylist for your District had to...leave unexpectedly."
Frankie is no fool. She knows the stylist was executed, though she doesn't care to know why. The Normies will kill anyone they suspect of being a 'Monster Sympathiser' without hesitation.
"Do you hate me then? For what i did to them?" Frankie stares at her shoes.
"No." Clawdeen acknowledges. "You were just trying to survive, just like the rest of us."
Frankie sighs, nervously running a hand through her permanently straightened hair. "How long until i have to go on?"
"Five minutes." Clawdeen confirms.
Pure terror registers in Frankie's eyes.
"You're gonna be fine." Clawdeen soothes. "Just remember: don't let them see your scared, don't let them think your weak. You can always throw up when you're alone, if you have to." She advices.
"That's the most helpful advice I've had since I got here." Frankie comments bitterly.
"Sparky's useful, once you get to know him. And now you will."
"Great." Frankie snaps. "Then I can go home?"
"Yes," Clawdeen assures. "At least for a few weeks. Then it's on to your Victory Tour."
They announce her name, and the audience begins cheering.
"It's time. Good luck, Ghoul."
Normies outlawed the use of "Monster Slang" long ago, Clawdeen could get in huge trouble for that.
But Frankie smiles at her nonetheless. "Thanks, Ghoulfriend."
Clawdeen grins back.
Abbey really doesn't want to watch the interviews, but the moment she sees the new victor's blue and green eyes, she can't look away.
It's not that Frankie Stein isn't very pretty, because she is, and it's not like Abbey has never seen a very pretty woman before, because she has, but -
Frankie Stein is gripping the edges of the chair so tightly her knuckles are white, her eyes are wide with horror. She looks anything but okay, and Abbey wants nothing more than to hold her hand and tell her not to be afraid, that she can do this.
Abbey's own ceremony had barely lasted an hour.
That year, she had turned the arena to ice in a matter of seconds, freezing the all of other tributes to death before they could so much as jump off their plates. With so little to show, her games had been declared both boring and tasteless, and the head Gamemaker of that year was dead within a week.
But this year, it seems they have much more material to show, and Frankie Stein looks like she wants the Earth to swallow her up.
Abbey can't blame her.
The interview portion of the ceremony lasts for about half an hour. There isn't much to ask aside from variations on "How are you recovering after you murdered all those children?"
Frankie responds with the usual lie. "I'm doing fine, thanks to all of you."
Abbey knows better.
Frankie feels sick.
Her head hangs over the toilet, tears streaming down her face.
Someone knocks on her door.
"Frankie Stein? You here?"
She doesn't sound like a Normie, so that's probably a good sign, right?
"Yeah?" Frankie chokes out. "What-"
"I come in?" She breaks in.
"Uh, okay, sure." Frankie calls. She's too exhausted to argue.
The door slides open with a clang, and the woman steps inside.
Frankie turns her head to see a beautiful woman standing in the bathroom door.
"My name Abbey." Abbey says. "You need help, yes?"
"Yes." Frankie croaks out.
Abbey sits down beside her, puts a hand on Frankie's shoulder, and hands her a tissue. "I here now, it is okay."
Frankie takes it, grateful. "Thanks."
"I saw ceremony. Think you need a friend, am wrong?" Abbey sounds nervous.
Frankie shakes her head, biting her lip.
"It ok to cry, Frankie. Do not worry." Abbey says gently.
Frankie does cry then, and grabs Abbey's hand.
Abbey doesn't pull away.
(It's been a long time since she's felt this kind of warmth.)
Abbey is in the training centre, trying desperately not to look too incompetent, when a boy with flames for hair steps in front of her.
"Hey, two! Carry your axe for you, baby?" He is obnoxious and Abbey dislikes him immediately.
"My name not is baby, it is Abbey." She says, ripping the axe out of his hands, freezing him solid in the process.
His frozen face is plastered on the newspaper that evening – along with the headline Three Gives Twelve The Cold Shoulder! – and she is not allowed back in the Training Centre until he gets back to normal. Well, as normal as he can get, being a monster.
Now, Abbey knows that she hates him.
It's true that Heath is an idiot, but he makes her laugh, and with the games fast approaching, there aren't many opportunities to.
So, maybe she kind of appreciates him. A little bit.
The Interviewer leaves such little impression on her that Abbey can't even remember his name, much less keep focus on him in his ridiculous sparkling blue suit.
"So Abbey, I won't lie, this is my first interview with...someone like you. So, I have to ask - now don't take offence," the interviewer takes a deep breath. "When is a monster not a monster?"
"When it don't kill you." Abbey spits out, because they're already sending her to her death, so why should she care what they think of her?
The audience laughs.
Abbey briefly considers glaring at them, but decides it's not worth using up what little time she has left in this world to pay attention to those who will see her death as entertainment.
"Oh look!" The Interviewer shouts, dramatically tapping at his watch. "It seems we've run out of time. Abbey Bominable, Tribute from District Two, will be appearing on your screens in less than two days, so remember to place your bets as soon as possible!"
His smile is far too wide and far too fake.
Abbey smirks. At least one person will remember her now.
Heath finds her after.
"What you want, flame boy?" She shouts.
"I just wanted to say..." He isn't looking at her. Is he nervous? "That I think it was really brave, what you did tonight."
Abbey's smile is small, but it is real. "Thank you, Heath."
He steps closer to her, and stares at her.
"What? I got something on my face?"
"I just...you're the only friend I've got now, okay? And there's not a lot of time left now for that – and I'm scared that I'm never gonna see you again and you're like the only Ghoul I know who can stand to be around me for more than thirty seconds and - and - and I don't wanna loose you." Heath bites his lip, tears welling up in his eyes.
Abbey wants to comfort him, wants to say something re-assuring, that Heath will never loose her, but she is not a liar. He will loose her and she will loose him and whatever it is they have will not survive the games.
She sighs, as if to say 'I'm sorry', and gets up to leave.
"Abbey, wait!" he calls.
She turns around.
"You're a career, you can win this. We both know I haven't got no chance." He tells her, and Abbey really wants to protest, but she can't seem to find the words.
"But, when the time comes, can you make it quick?" He asks quietly.
She nods.
"Good." Heath breathes. "and tell my family I love them, will you? On your Victory Tour?"
"I will." She vows.
On her Victory Tour, she gives Heath's younger sister a snow man that will never melt, and tries to forget.
Now, Abbey is sitting on the cold bathroom floor with a sobbing green-skinned girl, their hands linked together.
Her name is Frankie, and Abbey thinks she might have loved her from the second she saw her.
But love is not a luxury she can afford.
Not in this lifetime.
Frankie sits up. "I'm sorry, you - you - must be so tired."
"Not really-" Abbey starts, but her words are cut off by a yawn.
"See, I was right." Frankie sighs. "You can go if you want."
Abbey gets up, but she finds the door is locked.
"It makes sense." Frankie whispers. "Can't have their new victor running away now, can they?"
Frankie forces herself up. "Abbey, I'm sorry I got you caught up in all-"
"It fine." Abbey says, her eyes flickering to frankie's bed. "Give me pillow and I sleep on floor."
"No!" Frankie protests. "After what you just put up with, you deserve the bed."
"But you are victor. you deserve it!" Abbey replies.
"We could... share it, I suppose." Frankie reasons. "There's enough space."
"Alright." Abbey concedes. "but I get up earlier, before Prep Team come in. I say I congratulating you."
"Okay." Frankie says, and climbs into bed.
"You not change?" Abbey is confused.
"Nope." Frankie replies.
Abbey doesn't move.
"Are you gonna get in, or what?" Frankie asks.
Abbey does, and Frankie switches off the light.
Abbey keeps her word, and is gone when Frankie wakes up.
Frankie hoped she would stay.
Frankie spends the weeks before the victory tour reading ever issue of Monster Beat she owns – which is all of them.
She also has a telephone now, which is weird, because almost no-one in her district owns one.
But Abbey does.
And hearing Abbey's voice makes Frankie's bolts spark, brings a just little bit of happiness to her dreary day, and Frankie is so glad to have at least one friend in this awful world.
Okay, so that is not entirely accurate – she also has Clawdeen as well, but Clawdeen doesn't call much.
Clawdeen is too busy working on Frankie's outfits for the Victory Tour, and it's going slower than planned, because of an explosion in three of the textile factories in her District.
"Hey! 'Sup! Monster...Hi. I'm Frankie, Frankie Stein."
The Normie President glances down at her and Frankie knows she is doomed.
The second Cleo sees the president look down at Frankie Stein, sees the new Victor's eyes well up with tears, her mind is made up.
She walks over to Frankie Stein, head held high, and takes her arm.
"Hello, I'm Cleo de Nile, Victor of District One. Yes, I know you are blessed to be in my presence, however, no bowing is necessary. Now, I simply must introduce you to the other Victors!" Cleo commands, and half-drags the girl to the other end of the room, and to the monsters-only bathroom, and can only hope that her arm doesn't rip off.
It's only when the metal door slides shut that Cleo lets Frankie go.
"What in the name of Ra do you think you're doing?!" Cleo hisses.
"I don't know!" Frankie snaps back. "I just thought-"
"They don't give a damn if we can think or not!" Cleo knows better than to use the word 'Normie' here. These halls have eyes and Cleo knows what can happen if they find you doing something wrong. "They just want a good show! We are mere entertainment to them, and if we don't live up to their standards, then we get...cancelled."
Frankie's heard of that happening before. The Normies always claim it's the flu, or old age, but -
Frankie looks in the mirror, seeing tears run down her face. Cleo tares a part of a bandage off to wipe them.
Cleo sighs. "Now, you're going to put on your best smile, and you're going to go out there are pretend to have fun – this party is all for you, after all."
"I know," Frankie says. "Do – do you know where Abbey is?"
"Of course," Cleo grins. "and I for one, know that she'll be very happy to see you."
It's obvious to Cleo that Frankie isn't exactly sure what she means, but if she gets to see Abbey, maybe the poor ghoul can get through this night without bursting into tears for a second time.
Cleo is watching Abbey and Frankie dancing.
They look happy, sure, but Cleo remembers Frankie's lone hands choking children to death, Abbey freezing their hearts with a flick of her wrist.
They can't let this go on. She can't watch any more of her people loose to the Normies.
She rests her head on Deuce's shoulder, and whispers "It's time."
Deuce is silent, he nods.
Cleo holds him close and never wants to let him go.
Vampires and werewolves don't get along. They never have, and they never will.
Of course, that's why the Normies stuck the two of them in the same district.
Werewolves and vampires have hunted one-another for centuries, ever since the Normies took over.
The vampires make up the rich of their district, they have been around long enough that they have mansions, and money, and all the food they don't need.
And what do the werewolves get? Nothing.
So, on every full moon, the werewolves take revenge.
Clawdeen knows the taste of blood in her mouth.
She was five the first time her family took her on a hunt.
"But Dad, isn't she a bit young for this?" Clawd asks, nervously.
"It is better she learns young." Her father assures him. "Then she'll understand why we have to do it."
Her mother sighs, and light of the full moon glistens through their open window. "Time to go."
"Clawdeen, you're about to see something amazing." Father puts a comforting hand on Clawdeen's shoulder, and howls.
Clawdeen is seven years old when she makes her first kill.
The vampire's name is Mary, or Gory, or something and the purple streaks in her hair become matted with blood.
Her family are proud, and Clawdeen smiles with the vampire's blood still staining her sharp teeth.
Clawdeen is sixteen when she meets Draculaura.
Draculaura is a vampire, but she doesn't drink blood because she's a vegetarian or something.
Clawdeen can almost see her spine through her shirt, and wonders how she's stayed alive so long.
Clawdeen supposes she would rather not know.
Some small part of Clawdeen trusts Draculaura – Clawdeen fell asleep beside her one night from sheer exhaustion one night and Draculaura didn't slit Clawdeen's throat, and oh, how easy it would've been - and the air is still stinging in her lungs, her heart still trudging along.
(And maybe it would have been better if she had because Clawdeen doesn't know if she can stomach murdering her and -)
Draculaura is right there and she is smiling and – oh my ghoul, she makes Clawdeen so weak and Clawdeen really wants to hate her but she can't – and that stupid pink heart on her cheek is glowing in the sun.
Wait -
Suddenly, the sun is making it's want over the horizon and Draculaura is screaming and screaming and screaming and Clawdeen knows she's supposed to care nothing for vampires, knows that she's supposed to want to let this happen, want to see her turn to ash right before her eyes, so there's one less monster who's blood Clawdeen doesn't have to spill, who's throat she doesn't have to tear out but -
Clawdeen picks her up in her arms and runs.
The sun won't hurt her, but Clawdeen just hopes that her shadow will somehow protect her.
Draculaura gasps, grabbing at Clawdeen's hand. "Where are we going?"
Clawdeen doesn't stop. "Anywhere but here."
Clawd is in love with Draculaura and everything is wrong.
Draculaura is a vampire, and Clawd is a werewolf, and this can't happen because then Clawd will be executed for betraying his pack and Clawdeen can't loose him.
Clawdeen is pretty sure their sister Clawdia knows too. She wants to a writer, but she can't because there are no monster authors anymore.
Clawdeen thinks she'd call this a plot twist, or something.
But their lives aren't some made up story, and Clawdeen can't sleep for days.
Honestly, Clawdeen isn't shocked when she's chosen for The Games.
She has a big family, and a big family needs a lot of food. Entering their names in multiple times was the only way to get that food.
Draculaura is screaming and sobbing Clawd is crying and her parents are staring at their shoes.
Clawdeen holds her tears back though. She won't allow herself to be seen as weak.
A boy's name is drawn. It's some blond vampire who looks as if he can hardly wait to kill her.
Somehow, Clawdeen survives, and the blond vampire's severed head rolls away as a bodiless voice announces her victory.
The second she climbs off the train, she hears Draculaura's cry of joy.
Draculaura sprints up to her and hugs her tight. She whispers "I'm so happy you're home."
"Me too, Lala." Clawdeen whispers back.
Draculaura laughs softly. "Lala?"
"It's your pack name. I came up with it while I was gone." Clawdeen says.
"I love it." Draculaura grins. "I missed you so much, Clawdeen."
"I missed you too." Clawdeen says, and pulls back, only now just realising they might have just had the longest hug ever to be broadcast on television.
A few years pass, and Clawdeen never returns to the Normie capitol. District 8 have many more victors to choose from to be mentors.
Until District Five's stylist is executed for crimes against the Normies, that is.
"Why me?" She asks, hesitantly.
The Normie president looks up at her coldly. "The talent you took up was fashion, and District Five needs a fashion designer."
"What if I don't want to go back?"
"If you don't do it, then that pretty pink vampire of yours will need to watch her back. There are a lot of freak fires this time of year, you know."
Clawdeen lets out a low growl, and curls her claws into her palms. "Fine, I'll do it."
"Excellent."
Frankie Stein lives, and Clawdeen is put to work making her Victory Tour outfit.
She's almost finished when the factory beside her house explodes.
Her house is burned down to the ground in matter of minutes, and she can hardly see through her tears.
Now, her entire family are forced to re-locate to the Victor's Village.
Their new house has a limitless supply of hot running water, and indoor heating, and fourteen bedroom and Clawdeen thinks that might be the only good things about the house.
She can't escape the feeling she's being watched and she hates it.
Clawd is all too happy with their new arrangement, though, and Clawdeen can understand why.
Now, he can have some chance at happiness.
"Do you love her?" Clawdeen asks.
"I don't know," Clawd replies. "Are you still in love with her?"
"Yes." Clawdeen says without meaning to. She can't look him in the eyes.
Clawd smiles sadly. "Then, I'll back off. There are plenty of nice ghouls in this district."
"But there's only one Draculaura." Clawdeen finishes. "Clawd, thank you."
"Hey, what are big brothers for?" Clawd says ruffling her hair.
Clawdeen kisses Draculaura the night before the Victory Tour, and feels something like hope burning inside her.
Breaking into the Head Gamemaker's office is almost too easy.
Cleo grips the amulet hanging at her throat. Father told her it will check for hidden lasers and any other trap the humans might have set for them.
"If you feel it burning, run." Father had warned her, matter of fact and serious, as always.
Though he doesn't show it, Cleo knows that her Father is proud of her. She revels in that fact.
She feels nothing and so she grips Deuce's hand and enters the room.
"Now, if I were a sadistic human with such a strong hatred for monsters that my job was entirely centred on creating entertaining ways of killing them, where would I hide my plans?" Cleo whispers.
"How do we know he even wrote them down?" Deuce asks.
There's a small box in the middle of the desk. It is bright and flashy, the artificial light of the desk lamp illuminating it.
Well, that's practically a sign from the gods themselves that this box is important.
Cleo takes a deep breath and opens the box. She finds only a piece of paper.
"Of course he wrote his plans down," Cleo rolls her eyes. "He's a normie. They like to keep track of their victories."
Cleo reads the first line, and gasps.
"What's wrong?" Deuce is vigilant, one hand on his sunglasses, his other arm shielding her.
"This is it – the plan for next year's Quarter Quell." Cleo's voice shakes.
Deuce's eyes widen. "What does it say?"
Cleo is barely three lines in before the door opens.
"What are you freaks –"
Deuce lifts his sunglasses. Blinding emerald light engulfs the room.
Cleo blinks.
The Head Gamemaker is standing before them, his feet imprisoned in stone.
Deuce slams the door shut.
"Unless you wanna spend the rest of your days as a paperweight, you are gonna do exactly as we say." Deuce hisses.
The Head Gamemaker's eyes shift from side to side. Cleo knows he has accepted.
"Good," Deuce nods.
Cleo reads the rest of the paper, she clenches her fists to keep herself from tearing the paper to shreds.
She shoves the paper in the Head Gamemaker's face. "This is nothing more than a list of names! Tell us what you're planning for the Quarter Quell!"
The Head Gamemaker laughs. "You can kill me if you want. My life means nothing in the grand scheme of things. The President, however, will make you pay for this. He has a particular dislike for monsters who don't know their place."
"Monsters will live far longer than you humans ever could. There are many who can't even die, or are already dead. We vastly outnumber you." Cleo states proudly.
"Freaks who have lived long enough have seen just how ruthless we are to those who oppose us." The Head Gamemaker brags. "They would never stand against us."
Cleo sighs. "Perhaps we have never been given a proper opportunity."
"You really think rest of the freaks will willingly follow the pair of you? A daughter of the Mummy with all the beauty and no brains, and the son of Medusa who says dude at the end of every word?!" The Head Gamemaker guffaws.
His stone prison has been building upwards and is slowly creeping up his neck.
"Tell us what you're planning and this will end." Deuce interjects.
"Oh, I can't do that. It would ruin all the fun!" The Head Gamemaker jeers.
With that, the Head Gamemaker's victorious smirk is forever encased in stone.
Deuce is crying. "I didn't want to – I didn't think he'd –"
Cleo hugs him. "I know, I know."
Deuce hasn't harmed a soul since his games fifty years ago. Until now.
"What do we do now?" His voice is weak and vulnerable, and she leans into him.
"We wait," She says. "They'll find a new Head Gamemaker soon enough."
"They will know it was us, and they'll find us and then –" Deuce begins.
"No, they will wait until we think we are safe to strike." Cleo counters. "When that happens, we'll fight until the bitter end."
"But –"
"Look at me." Cleo commands.
Deuce stares at her behind those sunglasses, and Cleo wishes they could live in this moment forever, in a world where it was just the two of them without death or The Games or murderous mortals.
"We belong together. We are Cleo and Deuce, and nothing changes that." Cleo thinks that this might be the only promise she will ever be able to keep.
Cleo de Nile becomes a Victor at the age of 1600.
"She is extremely young to have killed so many," An ally of Ramses remarks with a twinge of empathy.
Ramses invited all of the allies he still retains to watch Cleo receive her crown. It is not her rightful crown, as she is not his firstborn heir nor can he possess a dynasty while the mortals still cling to power. However, it is close enough that he deems it worthy of a celebration.
"I must say, Ramses, I am impressed." Another adds, cheerfully, pouring himself anther cup of wine. "Your wife would be very proud, too."
"My wife watches over us, always. My daughter is young," Ramses replies. "But she is strong. She learned from the best."
Cleo comes home and nothing is like it used to be, especially her.
She jumps at the smallest of sounds, she can't sleep anymore - not that she needs it - and she begins to slowly despise all the attention she's getting.
All of the attention she's getting because she killed twenty-three monsters.
Sometimes - all the time - she contemplates smashing their cameras and microphones with her bare hands and telling them exactly how she feels.
She imagines how the camera would sound as it cracked - would it sound like a bone being crushed? she wonders.
(She knows what that sounds like. The boy's screams of agony still haunt her dreams.)
She is so scared and worries that she will soon become afraid of her own shadow.
Then, Nefera decides to throw her a party.
"Hey little sister!" Nefera cries happily. "I loved watching you! I must admit that yours was one of the best games I've seen in years!" Nefera is so proud of Cleo's murders and Cleo wants to throw up.
It's not Nefera's fault, Cleo knows. Nefera doesn't really understand, because Nefera lost her heart the day they took Toralei.
Cleo thinks that, for her sister, killing those kids would be like swatting away at a particularly annoying swarm of flies.
"Why would you do this?!" Cleo exclaims.
Nefera's smile drops from her face. "What? I'm trying to be nice to you!"
It's at that moment that Amanita Nightshade waltzes into the room. "You all should be celebrating me!" She declares.
Cleo flees the scene.
The only thought that races through her mind is No. No. No. No. I cannot deal with this right now.
Cleo doesn't even know where the hell she's running to because she's hardly ever been outside her home. Father wouldn't allow it, not when there was so much more training to be perfected.
She doesn't stop until she feels as though she's been running for hours, for days.
She takes rest in a cave. It's cold, damp and dark but she is a Victor, she can handle it.
Then, she hears a voice.
"Who are you? And you did you find me?" A boy asks, one hand on his cracked sunglasses, another on a torch of flame.
Cleo sighs. "Who am I? Surely you must have seen this year's games! I'm the new Victor, though it feels like I'm their new toy."
"Well, we don't get much TV reception up here." The boy replies, shortly. "Normie's ain't treating you so hot? I know the feeling."
"When have the mortals ever treated any monster so hot?" Cleo asks, not even bothering to correct him on his barely passable terms of phrase.
Honestly, she doesn't know why she is wasting her time with him and yet she doesn't move. She blames her fatigue.
The boy lowers his hand from his sunglasses, clearly not registering her for the threat she is.
It's kind of nice, Cleo thinks, to not be seen as a weapon.
"I'm Deuce. Mind if I sit here?" The boy - Deuce - asks.
"Why are you asking me? It's your cave!" Cleo reminds him, though with not nearly the amount of hostility Deuce would have expected.
Cleo thinks he might be blushing. "Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, uh, you can stay – I mean, only if you want to –"
(Deuce hasn't really been around any other monsters aside from his mother, so he's not as adept with ghouls as some normie gossip magazine might have you believe.)
"I'll stay." Cleo says. "But only for an hour or so. I have to get home. The Normie's can't have their new Victor running off now, can they?" Cleo's voice is sad.
"You could try. I'd protect you." Deuce mumbles.
"I can save myself, but thanks for offering." Cleo gives him a small smile. "I'm Cleo, by the way."
"Cleo," Deuce repeats, and Cleo can sense that she might like this boy a whole lot more than she had planned.
Medusa is far from shocked when her son is reaped.
The Normies forced her back into darkness, into dank caves with little sunlight, so of course they want her son dead. They know it would cause her the most pain.
She also understands that his fate is partly due of his relationship with Cleo. The President doesn't like different species of monster mixing together.
She can't blame Cleo, though. She has made Deuce so happy these past two years.
She glances up at the stage, at the golden thrones The Normies gift District One as some pathetic display of gratitude for their services. Cleo is gripping the arm rests on the throne so hard her knuckles are white.
Cleo looks as though she wants to scream, but she keeps her face in check for the cameras.
Medusa hopes that Zeus will someday wipe every mortal off the face of the earth.
When Medusa comes to say goodbye, he hugs her.
This is not goodbye, she reassures herself, he will make sure of it.
"Give them hell for me." Medusa tells him as his tears fall into her shirt. Her voice is soft but resolute. She can feel tears pricking at her own eyes, but she holds them back, somehow.
She can't let her son to see how weak she really is.
"I promise." He gets out through his sobs.
"Mom, if I don't –" He starts.
"Don't even go there –" Medusa warns.
"You gotta look out for Cleo, okay?" Deuce begs. "Swear to me, on the River Styx."
"I swear it." Medusa can hear the heavy footsteps of the peacekeepers heading their way. "Deuce, I love you so much. I pray that Athene will protect you as she did me."
"I love you too, Mom." Deuce cries, and then the Peacekeeper's crash through the door and drag Medusa away.
Cleo doesn't want let him go, not like this, never like this, and it's all her fault and if she hadn't met him then this wouldn't be happening and he would be safe, safe and far away from her.
Cleo has far more than two hours to say goodbye to Deuce, but she wishes she had forever.
Viperine is both Deuce's stylist and his cousin.
This is a plus because at least she sort of knows what he likes to wear.
Then again, he has not seen her for years.
She's been stuck working for this vampire, Elissabat.
He can tell Viperine is in love with her, because Elissabat is literally all she talks about.
It's sweet, he thinks, and he can certainly relate to being in love with a queen.
"And how is the queen of my heart doing this morning?" Deuce asks, handing her a bread roll and a coffee.
"Don't flirt with me. It'll only make it harder if you end up dead." Cleo looks as though she hasn't slept a wink.
"If? You sure got a lotta faith in me, Cleo."
"Why shouldn't I? We both know you're going to win."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Trust me. No matter what the world throws our way, we will always find a way back to each-other." Cleo speaks with such wisdom and power.
Deuce thinks he could listen to her talk for hours on end and never tire of it.
He may only have a few days left to listen to her, no matter how much he wants to deny it.
So, he sits and he listens and he tries not of think of how long it may take for his Mother to happy again if he doesn't make it out.
As the glass closes around him, Viperine reminds him to tell his Mother she says hi.
It's nowhere near good advice, but he's got more important things to worry about.
Cleo has to force herself to watch his games. She can't not watch it, she has to make sure he lives she has to, but there are sixteen dead on the first day, and ten statues lying in a field.
Deuce once always told her it would wear off in a few hours, and she knows that when it does, they will come after him. They might even form an alliance.
(She wants to believe he can survive but all it would take is a look at a knife blade and he will be gone.)
This is the first of many time she prays to Athene to help him.
She knows that the Normies call her mad for believing in such nonsense.
But she doesn't care.
She can't loose him too.
He survives, somehow, and Cleo burns meat on her upon fire and let's it travel up the chimney into the sky.
(She hopes Athene likes steak.)
Deuce wakes up and he's still dressed in what he wore in the Arena.
He stumbles to his door, he is confused and frightened and there are machine loudly beeping around him.
Cleo runs into his arms and he feels safe.
"Oh my gosh! You two are dating!" A nurse exclaims excitedly. "I knew it! This is adorable! I have to tell all my friends!"
"What just happened?" Deuce asks, and his head is wrapped in bandages, the snakes subdued.
"I think we just created a fanbase." Cleo's eyebrows knit together.
"It's too early for this." Deuce mutters.
"It's noon." Cleo tells him.
"I know," Deuce responds dryly. "Still too early for this."
Cleo giggles and gods, he has missed her.
The President knows of their love, but he can do nothing.
The mortals, his subjects, adore Cleo and Deuce. They have their faces on posters and t-shirts and badges.
If he were to do anything to either of them, he would face risking serious retaliation.
Medusa allows herself to smile for the first time in weeks.
"So, what are we crying about this week?" Deuce asks.
Viperine's got him a yellow tuxedo and it is not a good colour on him.
"Life. The fact that I will never be able to gaze upon your emerald orbs. How this contributes to my lacklustre fashion sense." Cleo reminds him, irritated.
"Great," Deuce says. "How about the fact that we can't get married?"
Cleo sits up. "Wait, you want to marry–"
It's at that moment that the two of them are shoved on stage.
Deuce grips her hand in answer and Cleo beams.
"Look, they're holding hands. I want them dead." The President declares.
Valentine puts on his sunglasses and nods. "That girl don't know what kinda trouble she just got in. Cupid!"
Cupid appears before them. "Who is it you desire?"
"Darlin' have you seen me? I could get any girl I want. No, I want something different from you." Valentine points to the picture of Cleo and Deuce. "Split them up. I don't care how long it takes, or how many of your precious arrows you gotta waste, just get it done!"
"You have my money?" Cupid asks expectantly.
"You gotta get the job done first," Valentine drawls. "Or else she dies."
"Fine," Cupid spits. "I'll do it."
"Good choice." Valentine smirks and it makes Cupid's skin crawl.