I walked into my flat in the Capitol. This life might be hell, but at least the food was good. I kicked those ludicrous heels somewhere in the living room, before going to grab some soup or something. All this work was exhausting. I shoved the soup into some fancy cooking device, it took packaged food and cooked it in a minute. Weird. I quickly downed the pill they left out for the girls everyday, at least the younger ones. I thought I might as well go get change out of these filthy underwear. Scuffing my feet across the soft carpet to my room, I pushed open the door. I groaned inwardly at the sight of the little slip of paper just waiting on my desk, picked it up and read about my latest torturer.

Magnus Nicator

Aged 32

Designer for the Annual Hunger Games - helps design the trigger areas and their content.

Pain level allowed - very high.

Allowed to do as he pleases, bar the below:

Permanently maim; mental damage; major bleeding; ruin any of the three ortifices.

Fucking fabulous. Another one of these rich bastards, that can afford to do whatever they pleased with us. Of course, it was quite rare if anyone wanted to be so rough to anyone but her. It had all been far too easy for the Capitol. After Katniss shot an arrow at the force field, the Capitol had picked them all up in their helicopters. All of us. Without any propaganda and with a low morale, the rebels quickly gave up. District 13 was back in Capitol power, and we were left to the mercy of the Capitol. Katniss, Peeta, Finnick, Enobaria, Beetee and I. Enobaria was allowed back to District 2, completely free. Beetee is forced to use his knowledge to design traps, electrical or not for the games. He has it just as bad as us really. The rest of us, we were turned into Capitol whores. It's not surprising really, it'd been happening before we tried to help. We all appeal to different types of people.

Finnick, his charm and looks attract any girl with a pulse.

Peeta appeals to those that are caring, sensitive.

Katniss appeals to boys and girls alike, all wanting to be able to say that they've slept with the Mockingjay.

Me however, I get the sadistic men that remember my games oh so well. How I drowned the little girl from District 3. How I buried the axe in the boy from 8's head. When I slit open the throat of my own District partner while he slept. All of these get used against me. Men pay plenty for the pleasure of slapping me across the face; dragging blades along my skin; whipping my flesh raw and then holding me by my neck, pressing my body against a wall whilst fucking me senseless. And of course, I can't refuse. How unfortunate would it be if Finnick, Peeta and Katniss were to die and I was the only Victor whore left? Left to take care of all of these customers by myself. Sure, it'll die down one day but for now it's an ongoing torture.

So tomorrow night I am to go to the residence of Magnus Nicator and do anything he wishes, no matter how painful it is for me. Well fuck. I walk through to the kitchen, pour the soup into a mug and down it. I better get a decent sleep, if I thought tonight was bad, tomorrow was going to be hell.