Disclaimer: I do not promote things mentioned such as, relief of mental pain by that of physical, or the exchange of the body for payment. I've decided that I needed to add this in to the story, I may be continuing after all!
Author's Note: May be a little confusing at first. But please keep reading! I promise it will clear up after a while. If you've read all of it and don't understand, I will explain the rest, no worries! Please don't hate me for continuing after I said I wouldn't! :( I just couldn't help myself... :)
Her eyes peer open just as the first lights begin to flicker on. Golden hair a tangled mess, night gown crumpled and torn. Her back aches from sleeping on the cold metal surface of the table. Lacking a blanket to cover her exposed body, the shivers come involuntarily. She stretches out her muscles, sore and worn from a hard night's work, and swings her legs over the edge of the makeshift bed. Wiggling her chipped, pink toes, she places her feet on the ground. A chill runs up her spine and her body quivers with shock from the hard tile flooring.
Slowly, she makes her way to the tiny compartment in the corner that is somehow considered a restroom. It's a small space with a standing shower that trickles rusty water out of pipes that squeal from overuse. A few cracks crawl up the sides of the wall, and there is no cover around the bathing space. Besides, what is there to hide? A tiny porcelain toilet even too small for Madge at her dwarfish size, rests in the corner crammed between the waste basket and the sink. She makes her way over to the shattered pieces of glass plastered to the grayish-green wall and examines herself.
The blood-shot eyes of a demon stare back at her, but Madge is used to this. Her rough, dry hands run over her face. Once perfectly manicured nails are dirty. Littered with dead human skin and tinted red with dots of blood. She balls her long, slender fingers into a fist and lightly runs the shredded skin of her knuckles over the curve of her make-up-blackened cheek. Unfurling her hand, her fingers trace down the trail of gray left by her mascara.
She had cried herself to sleep last night. Silent tears racked her body. The frightened girl had attempted to cut the agony out of her life. But they were smart enough to dull all of her tools. Any materials too sharp were taken far away, because that's what happens to the sharpest tools in the shed, they got rid of them.
All salvation had seemed lost. It was like a never-ending sea of despair, and growing up as a privileged girl of District Twelve, Madge had never learned how to swim. They had left her to drown in her sorrows alone.
That was, until just last night when they'd found her a ragged mess, sprawled out across the floor. Holding onto the bars on her window that kept her in this cage to suffer until the deed was done. They offered her a box. Her payment for the day.
She counted each vial that evening, to remind her why she was putting herself through such pain. Oh,, the anguish she felt when she realized they had cut her short. A scream crawled up her throat, never to be released in fear of waking her client. How could they do such a thing, she thought, after she upheld her end of the bargain, suddenly, they decided she wasn't worthy of what was rightfully hers!
Jaw clenched and eyes ablaze; she shut them. Furrowing her brow and inhaling the musky scent of the underground sewage. Careful to reopen them slowly when exhaling through her swollen lips. She bit the inside of her cheek. They can do whatever they want. She countered her own thoughts. Whatever reassurance she hoped for at this sentence echoing in her skull did not come.
Digging her nails into the crook of her elbow. Hissing through clenched teeth. With the pain came release, it numbed the sting of her thoughts. Slowly, they drifted away and she released her arm.
Her head hurt, pounding and pulsating, unable to rest. No physical pain could compare to the mental agony that came with her...profession. Sighing, she glanced back at the figure in front of her.
The skin on her face was weathered, it made her look old. Such a young girl, only sixteen, looking as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Dark shadows circled around her eyes.
The pink in her cheeks that he had loved so much had disappeared, along with the boy that once adored them. He liked her hair too. He said that not even the finest gold could compare to her shiny locks. His fingers combed through it every day, absentmindedly twirling them around.
Her curly strands were shorter now, only barely brushing her shoulder. The Capitol decided that the curls she inherited from her mother were too much of a hassle, and used some sort of cream to permanently straightened the fraying threads. "No more of those pesky knots and tangles!" Those ignorant fools had said.
She knows he would've missed them. She imagined his strong, calloused hands wrapping the strands around his finger as if it would somehow, magically, bounce the corkscrews back in place. When she would ask him what the big deal was, he would puff out his chest and claim that they gave her character. How keen he was on her character, so much like Katniss he would say. She would hide her hurt at his mention of her name and laugh in his face. He would scowl, like always. Then, like always, she would walk home alone once again.
These days, her tiara was secured tightly to her skull, squeezing the life out of her. Devouring every last morsel of torturous delight that was her work. For something that the Capitol was so proud of, strangely, they never flaunted her around like they did with some of them. Most of the victors and children of officials were kept hidden from the public eye.
There were a few that one could only hope would never be recognized for the job that they performed. It would ruin the fun for the media. Always creating meaningless backstories about Finnick Odair and his clients, renamed his string of "lovers".
It was nights like her previous one, when her fight with Gale had ensued. That she contemplates whether or not the tiara was worth the vials of liquid life provided for her mother. Was the suffering worth the pleasure it brought those who didn't deserve it?
Snakes that fed on and manipulated the minds of innocent civilians didn't deserve to feel satisfied. Power-hungry demons shouldn't be provided shelter from the harsh elements of truth. Bed ridden mothers who sold their children's innocence in order to wallow guiltily in peace shouldn't be given a blissful sleep.
A princess's life is undeserving, the high heels and diamond crowns weren't worth the price to be paid. A charmed life was definitely not that of a princess, it was that of a coward who couldn't work up the courage to fix it.
Author's Note: To clear up any confusion you may have on the reading, this is placed (time-wise) the night after the bombings (AKA Gale and Madge's "fight night"). Oh! And Madge doesn't know about the bombings. After all, she is stuck underground in the cells where the Capitol is keeping her to do her job. So now that you understand it, was it okay? If you have any other questions, I apologize. I'm still new at writing this way. If you have any questions please feel free to PM me! Please tell me what you think, and if I should continue. Please R/R! c: