Chapter 2: The Sea of Snow
Katniss
He cautiously lays the obscure garment bag onto a vacant chair. Though it's virtually impossible to make out the contents of the sack, I can't help but stare. My heart has gone from a slow, steady pace to a rapid flutter. It's as though this article of clothing has brought me out of my stupor. Not the few seconds of daze I feel ever so often, but that dream that I have been living in for the past few months. The dream, nightmare really, that I haven't been able to shake; haven't been able to wake from. Until now. Everything hits me like a ton of bricks. Slaps me in the face: firm and repeatedly. As my prep team begins to pack up and make their way out, I nearly squeal. Bark at them to come back, to continue to rip out hair and poison my brain with harsh chemicals. But now I'm the one on mute; unable to form any words let alone sentences. So I just sit there, watching my last hope of sanity frolic out the door. My bizarre, flamboyant Capitol friends my last hope, of rationality at that. I think my lucidity is already starting to disintegrate.
Though Cinna has been a consistent comfort to me in the past, today I think of him merely as the man who brought me back to reality. The last place I sought to be. He glides toward me prodding my hair gently with his fingers. Flavius has done a marvelous job; each small ringlet of chocolate hair has been intricately weaved into one extravagant bun, a few additional curls framing my face. Though sour, my face itself isn't half bad either. The simplicity of the make-up: insipid pinks, earthy hues, a light coat of bronzer; all fashion a look of humble, natural beauty. Clearly, this was Cinna's concept. I couldn't picture any member of my prep team yearning for a look so modest. If it were up to those three and the rest of the ostentatious Capitol there's no doubt I would be dyed aquamarine, covered head to toe in gaudy tattoos and piercings.
While my appearance seems practically flawless to me, Cinna continues to make minor alterations and touch-ups. Not that I'm complaining; for the longer he takes to perfect Venia's work, the more time I get to pretend this is all a hallucination. However, he is done in only a few short minutes. Cinna treads back over to the unnerving container that embraces my fate. Well, my apparel. The rattle of the zipper makes my body cringe. I can feel the burn of stomach acid on my tongue but I only gulp it back, refusing to retch.
"Cinna," I squeak. He lifts his head, grasping my eyes in an empathetic gaze. He needs only to nod and I immediately feel the slightest twinge better; the smallest bit of ease. No words are required, just his presence and compassionate nature. I drink in a mouthful of sweet air and take my stylist's hand. He helps me dip into a sea of snow. The white silk devouring me: consuming almost every inch of skin. With a few tender pulls and tucks, I am seamlessly incased. I look up at Cinna and let the tiniest grin slither onto my expression. Then I'm instantaneously immersed in a pool of black.
Hello! Thanks to all that have read so far. I'm sorry for the short chapters. Originally, this was going to be a one-shot but I decided breaking it up into small chapters would be a lot easier, longer and definitely more detailed. I will try my best to update frequently. Happy reading!